#he envies them for their eternal life and their endless amount of time

[yetdevout]

i think blake's listener should die

sometimes plans just do not work. sometimes plans just fail. i would love to see blake’s listener come face-to-face with brachium; they have a brief conversation, similar to the one him and sunshine had. brachium informs the listener on what blake's done and how they'd like to proceed.

they take all of this in... just let go of the riverbank, willingly succumbing to the death river. them being alive would be walking proof that their fucked up ex-friend's plans succeeded. those poor people that he hurt don't deserve that — his listener doesn't even know who they are. but all in all, he would win. blake had taken so much agency out of their own life, done all of this behind their back — so this is their shot of taking control of the situation for once.

i want blake to see his plan crumble and for elliott and sunshine to make it out in one piece, together. i think we all deserve the satisfaction of watching blake realize that there are forces in this existence that are out of his control. death is gracious and inevitable, elegy is the lament of the dead.

#redacted asmr #redacted blake #maybe a part of blake envies daemons #he envies them for their eternal life and their endless amount of time #maybe the perimeters of humankind wasn't enough for him and he believed that he could be more #i want him to fail

[djarindroid]

Marry Me

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Daryl proposes to you under the stars (Established relationship. Setting- Alexandria)

Word Count: 712

Comments: I just wanna write endless fluffy fics for Daryl 💕

The evening breeze carried a feeling of peacefulness as you and Daryl sat outside. This had become routine for the two of you, after a long run or a day's hunt, you’d enjoy a quiet breath of fresh air together. The light from the porch lantern cast a soft glow over the both of you as Daryl meticulously cleaned his crossbow, each movement practised and methodical. 

You, perched up on the porch railing, stared at the clear night sky. You’d always found solace in the stars, sparkling way above you, not affected by any of the horrors down here on earth. You almost envied them, so removed from everything, but if you hadn’t faced the uncertainty of this world you wouldn’t be here, with the man you love. 

The amount of times Daryl had cleaned his crossbow allowed him to keep his eyes on you as he worked. His gaze was filled with nothing short of adoration as he watched the starlight dance across your skin. To be truthful, if he could spend eternity watching you gaze at the stars he’d be a very happy man. Deciding this was the perfect moment to break the comforting silence, he uttered two of the most important words he’d ever said. ‘Marry me.’ 

Instantly bringing your attention away from the sky you looked to Daryl, finding him watching you with a soft smile. His request settled around you, making the night air warmer as you felt a grin gradually spreading across your face. You hopped down from the railing and crossed the short distance of the porch to stand in front of Daryl. His eyes never leaving your face, he looked at you as if you were his whole world. You were sure the look on your own face was a mirror of his. 

You’d face everything you'd been through all over again if it meant you’d end up here, in this moment. You knew you’d do anything for the man in front of you, and couldn’t fathom a life without him.

You gently cupped his face with your hand, ‘You sure you wanna marry me D?’ You couldn’t help but ask, though you were sure of the certainty behind his words. 

‘Yeah,’ he responded without a second thought. The corners of his mouth lifted even higher as he added, ‘never been more sure of somethin’.’ He cupped one of your hands in his and tilted his head to place a delicate kiss on your palm. 

You always knew you’d spend the rest of your life with Daryl but hearing him so sure and eager to do so caused happiness to overwhelm every fibre of your being. It was so overwhelming that you couldn’t stop the tears that slowly rolled down your face. 

Daryl, ever the man of few words, spoke through his actions. Putting his crossbow to the side he stood up, his eyes stayed glued to yours. He brought his calloused hands up to tenderly cradle your cheeks, using his thumbs to delicately wipe your tears away.

‘Marrying me that bad huh? Didn’t think ya’d cry,’ he jested quietly as he rested his forehead against your own. You laughed quietly with him.

Saying yes to Daryl was as easy as breathing, ‘I’m just so happy and being Mrs Dixon is everything I could ever want,’ you confessed whilst lovingly wrapping your arms around his neck. Fireflies had circled around the two of you, as if the stars themselves had fallen to witness this moment of love that had survived the apocalypse.  

‘Good, because I dunno what I would’ve done with this if you’d of said no.’ He pulled out a simple silver ring from his pocket. It was perfect, not too flashy, just a perfect reminder of the connection between the two of you.

Time seemed to stretch around you as he carefully slipped the ring onto your finger, the weight of its significance settled into your heart. Life was no longer about surviving, it was about building a future together. As you gazed into Daryl’s eyes, gratitude washed over you, thinking about how lucky you were. You knew the stars you loved to stare at didn’t contain all the answers, but in Daryl’s eyes you saw a galaxy shining just for you. 

#just another short lil fluffy piece for Daryl #🥰 #like this is just how I pictured him proposing to someone #simple and loving #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon drabble #daryl dixon #TWD #the walking dead

[stuffymcstuffsworld]

Performance

Performing was an art. One that requires passion and ambition. To truly give your audience a great show, you must be willing to offer your soul. For a stiff character has no place amoung the stories you wish to tell.

Something was wrong. Class 1-C was having difficulty and needed more time to prepare. They had worked very hard, and you knew that they didn't deserve to get a bad score for the props taking longer to set up.

You quickly whisper into Dali-Sans ear before he can announce them. "They need more time something went wrong." He nodded and flashed a smile to the audience. "We're in for a special treat, it seems, this year! Our own staff will be giving a small performance as well this year!"

You frowned. What in hell was he thinking? "My lovely friend here will be entertaining you for a short while as we help set up for the next act!" He handed you the mic and rushed off. Oh, you were going to kill him later for this.

But not before you got your own fun out of it. "Kalego-San, didn't you promise to assist me?" You smiled as Poro-Chan gasped. You knew he couldn't resist a show with Kalego in it. It guaranteed his distraction.

Kalego narrowed his eyes as he was set down and placed before the stage. Before he could say anything negative or deny, you started. "Oh foolish man of whom pride lays claim to, your arrogance may be your very undoing."

Pointing a finger at his accusingly as you watched him now make his way on stage storming up to you. "How time hath changed you. For you are not the one that I knew so long ago." You sighed.

He glared at you before speaking his voice carrying without assistance. "You are also not the one I so fondly remember or have you forgotten? You whose soul is now filled with envy." His smug smirk rising as a challenge.

Fine then. You tossed the mic backstage, knowing someone had caught it. "Fondly, he says." You scoffed mockingly. Both of you started circling each other in intimidating manors.

"When have you ever thought fondly of me?" He advanced forward, and you let him grasp your chin. "There are many things I do it seems that escape your notice." He pretended to examine you before letting go.

"How dare you! If I do not notice, it is because you neither show nor say anything!" You hissed, turning your back to him.

"Must I say anything? Must I show you? Why must I constantly remind you of such?" He questioned as he leaned over your shoulder seductively. "I pity the soul who lives with your affections." You brushed him away and moved back to your original starting point.

"Do you not wish a life with me?" He asked rather softly. You paused, glancing back. "Do not be foolish." You stated firmly. "Time and time again I have remained by your side have I not? Or has your swelling ego allowed you to forget?"

Crossing your arms, you turned away again. He laughed bitterly. "And you claim to pity any soul stuck with me. I'd hate to see the sap trapped in what you call love." You winced clutching your heart.

"Do not speak to me of such things!" You snapped, spinning to face him. "My love is as vast and as endless as the sea. My love amounts more than the stars in the heavens! My love shall remain eternal through summer, winter, spring, and fall!"

You glared at him, eye to eye chest to chest. "How could you of whom I care for so much not know?" You asked. Waiting for a response. He did not answer. Instead, he turned his head away from you.

"Then maybe we did not know each other at all." You stepped back and turned to leave. You felt him grasp your wrist. "I know that you drive me insane." His voice is calm yet held a depth you couldn't understand.

"I know each day I wake up and start worrying about all the trouble you will cause me." You continued to stare ahead, not looking back. "I know that you love so fiercely that time seems to halt just so that you can produce more of your inane affections."

You peered back at him. Somehow, you knew that the two of you weren't playing anymore. "You say that as if you love me." The room was quiet. As if you were the only two inside.

"I- I love you so much that words could not describe and actions can not convey how I feel to you." He swallowed, looking at you painfully. Embarrassment crossing his features.

You turned to fully face him now. "You are arrogant and cocksure." You said, and he winced, releasing his hold on you. You took the chance to grab his tie and pull him closer.

"You hate showing weakness, so you pretend to not care because you were taught that caring is weakness." Now you were nose to nose. You could see the fear and hope clashing in his eyes.

"Someone so prideful yet secretly kind as you. You should not have given your love to someone as greedy as me." You leaned in and brushed your lips together briefly. Pulling back, you smiled. "I plan on keeping your love all for myself."

Kalego only stared at you in silent shock. For a moment, you thought you went too far. Maybe you had misunderstood or read the signals wrong.

"If you're going to love me, love me properly." He scolded. You blinked. What did he mean by that? He grasped you close and pressed his lips hungrily to your own. Oh! Oh, he meant that.

You sigh, relaxing into his hold. Both of you were startled by the loud cheers and applause from the audience. Kalego swore under his breath before dragging you backstage to hide his embarrassed face in your shoulder.

#mairimashita! iruma kun #welcome to demon school iruma kun #reader #kalego sensei #naberius kalego #dantalion #kalego x reader #poro

[junhwe0309]

A Thousand Faces but No Wings

Shmi once told Anakin a story about the saddest slaves, the ones who loved their chains so much they remained in bondage. They were so happy they could not see the tears that fell from their eyes and disappeared into the greedy sand.

Ekkreth wears a thousand faces, but Anakin Skywalker wore two. Ekkreth was a beautiful red bird, but Anakin had no wings. Ekkreth was unfettered but Anakin Skywalker was heartbound.

Anakin loved Obi-Wan and he was grateful to the Jedi, for all of their faults. They could have cast him aside so easily but took him in, no matter how begrudgingly. Anahkeen owes them a half-debt and it festers snarling resentment under the guise of begrudging compliance. The Jedi cannot help the slaves of Tatooine but they can help their slavemasters. They point their fingers at Anahkeen and do not see the ones that point at their backs. The Jedi Masters disapprove because Ekkreth has a thousand faces and a hundred thousand hidden facets to him and they see a bantha only for a bantha.

Anahkeen knows he is many things. He is prideful because the Sky-walker does not bow to a Master. He is jealous because he cannot help but envy the other children who came to the Jedi earlier. He is accused of greed because the Jedi mistake his desperation to please his Masters for avarice. He is criticized for his laziness by the Masters in his classes because Watto wanted a smart slave but did not want a capable person. He is shown disdain for the eagerness he takes food, even when eating the proper amount because a Jedi eats to live and does not live to eat. His passion for saber-fighting is scrutinized as aggressive and almost bloodthirsty. Perhaps they are right; most of all, he is wrathful, because real gods drown the half-gods of wine and flowers in flesh and blood.

He is many things and content is the last of them. But Anakin has a beautiful wife and a duty to the men. He cannot say no, because he remembers the last time he abandoned someone he loved. The gods must have laughed as they reminded him of his disloyalty, his unending debt. When he thinks of Shmi, he thinks of all the ways he failed her. Anahkeen tried to name which of the deadly seven may apply, and when he failed, he decided to append an eighth, regret. His agony seeds shameful tears.

The Jedi can have their temple, their lavish ships and water. They can have their glowing blades, and soft robes, and endless amounts of food, and bacta and tall buildings because slaves have no use for them anyways. Anahkeen wanted nothing more than his ragged, old cotton bedsheet and the moonlight shining through the desert clouds, and the cool breeze under his feet while he ran around catching fireflies. He is almost sick of seeing so much plant life. There are even days when he misses Seek because his cruelty was one Anahkeen saw in himself and countless other faces.

But the Jedi won him a long time ago, and it was not long before his Master Knighted him and he got married. It was not long before he became a war general and a teacher to a bright, young girl. But none of them contribute to his joy now. His apprentice is long gone to the wind, becoming a woman before he could realize the girl he helped raise had bloomed. His wife is a woman he is eternally grateful for and he knows he can never repay her enough. His Master is a Jedi, and it is both good and bad. He is among thousands of Jedi and clones and he cannot help but feel so lonely in their company.

Desolation drives a man to think about times he once wanted to forget. Maybe someday he will get to go home when the war is over. Anahkeen remembers a freed Grandmother, who was born on a lush planet. She once told him a story he did not understand until it was too late.

“When a person crosses the river, Ar-Amu gives him what he wants. I don told the All-Mother I don’t want nothing much – only my home. I don’t think that’s much to ask for. I suppose she’ll send me back there. I been waiting a long time for her to call.”

If Kitster could see him now, he would feel pity for Anahkeen for the first time in his life. At least with Watto, he was useful but not important.

Some days, he reveled in his own ruin. Some days, he is not a Sky-walker. Many days, he is not Shmi’s son.

#anakin skywalker #prequel trilogy #clone wars #shmi skywalker #anakin and shmi #religious conflict #tatooine slave culture #fialleril #ekkreth #star wars fanon #ficlet #character study #amatakka #ar-amu #star wars #obi wan kenobi #padme amidala

[lfzyxf]

Ghost in love

Summary: A ghost in love, what a sight to see.

Loki Odinson x reader

Word count: 1163

Masterlist

There were many theories on what happened after you died. Some people believed you would go to heaven, or hell in some cases. Other people thought there was nothing, just an endless pit of darkness. Another thought was that you would come back as someone or something else.

None of that was true, at least not for you. You were stuck with walking around on earth, for all eternity. You were some type of ghost, so far no one had been able to see or hear you.  

It was lonely, it was sad. You had no one to talk to, nothing to do. So, you just hung around places. Eventually you wondered into a huge tower, bigger than the ones surrounding it. It had ‘Avengers’ on it in big letters.

You’d heard a lot about them, the TVs in stores talked about them a lot. Merchandise was sold in stores and people spoke of them with praise.  

A few days had passed since you arrived, walking around endlessly. Watching the people inside with curiosity, with jealousy, envy. How much you wished to be human again, to be alive again. To be able to talk to people, to feel warm again, to be seen.

Life took a turn at the news of someone coming to the tower, the brother of Thor, Loki would be joining the rest of them as a sort of punishment. To help him become a better person, you doubted that would help. No one here liked him, how could that possibly help him?

You were surprised when they finally arrived, you weren’t sure what to expect. You certainly didn’t expect said god to look like this, no words could describe the amount of beauty he held. The way he spoke was like he came from a different planet, which he did, but still. It was beautiful, the words he used and his voice were unlike any other.

You loved listening to him speak, which happened rarely. You loved watching him read, relaxed in his room, holding a book in the low light of his room. Eyes focused and imagining a different world.

Over time you had realised you’d fallen for him. You had fallen for the god of mischief, without ever having spoken to him. You didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t even see you! Your heart would only break even more.  

A ghost in love, what a sight to behold. And as time went by, you spend your time more with him, hovering next to him, sitting next to him as he reads. You followed him around like a lost puppy, wishing for him to finally notice you.

---

As everyone sat in the kitchen in the early morning, you stood behind Loki. Everyone was enjoying their breakfast when you noticed Tony’s cup standing on the edge of the table, very close to falling, falling onto Loki. And as it fell a second later, your hand shot out to catch it, surprisingly enough, you did.

Silence fell over the room as everyone looked at the floating cup. “Loki, is this your doing?” his brother, Thor asked. Shaking his head, he answered, “no, it is not, there is another presence here,” he took a pause before continuing “it’s been here since before I arrived.”  

“What, you’re saying there’s a ghost in my tower?” Tony asked, confused at the god’s words. “Yes.” your eyes widened; he had noticed you. Looking at the cup in your hand you carefully put it back down, this time not on the edge but in front of Tony’s plate.

“What the hell” his voice spoke again, scared of the fact that there was indeed a ghost in here. “Okay... ghost, can you touch my hand?” Natasha asked, not believing it. You shrugged before making your way to her, hand raising before putting it down on her shoulder.

“Oh my god- there really is a ghost.” her eyes wide as you take your hand of off her, making your way back to Loki. “Where are they now?” Tony asked, slightly panicking. “Next to me” Loki answered. “They always are.”  

“So, what the ghost has a little crush on Loki?” Tony laughed at this, making you upset. Stomping your foot on the ground, the table trembled at the power, plates and cups shaking at this.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry, no jokes about Loki. Got it.” Loki smiled slightly, standing up before leaving the room. “Where are you going?” Steve asked, Loki answered not looking back “to find a spell.”  

----

A few hours had passed before Loki asked for you. “Are you still here?” you nodded before realising he couldn’t see you. Instead, you placed your hand on his shoulder, caressing it slightly before letting go. A smile on your face at the fact that you could touch him now.

A smile fell on his lips as well at your soft touch. “Thank you,” you sat down next to him, making him look at you as he felt the bed sink a little. “there is a spell, that could make you visible.” your eyes widened at this, you could talk to people again? You could be seen again? You could finally talk to him?

“Would you like that?” he asked softly, scared of your answer. He might not admit it but he had grown used to your presence. It felt warm, friendly, like someone actually cared for him.  

There was someone who chose to spend their time with him instead of with someone else. He was scared you would reject it, preferring to stay like how you are now. But he wished to see you, to feel you, to hear you. The presence he had started to love having with him.

You took his hand in yours, hoping he would get it. “I’ll take that as a yes then...” he smiled at the feeling of your hands laced together. And as you squeezed his hand, he opened his spell book again. Turning it to the right page.

Taking a deep breath, he began, chanting words and moving his hands in ways you didn’t understand. His magic was beautiful, it was a magnificent shade of green, one of your favourite colours.

And as seconds passed you felt your body beginning to change. It felt different, it felt warmer. Just another moment later he turned quiet. Your eyes met his as you wondered if he could see you.

His hand moved to your face, caressing your cheek as his voice spoke softly, “you’re beautiful.” A low gasp left your mouth at his touch, a tear rolled down your face as you felt warm again.

Moving closer to him you wrapped your arms around his tall frame. You shuddered at the feeling; it had been so long since you were held by someone. You cleared your throat before separating from him a little. Looking into his eyes you opened your mouth, saying your first words in years.

“I love you.”

#loki #loki imagines #loki x reader #loki x you #loki odinson #loki x y/n #loki odison x reader #Loki odinson x reader #Loki odinson x you #loki layfeyson x reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson fluff #loki fluff #loki odinson fluff #tom hiddelston x reader #tom hiddelston imagine #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston fluff #avengers imagines #the avengers #avengers fluff #fluff

[excitedlysuffering]

Green With Envy

It’s past 2am and my eyes hurt so it’s unedited for now sorry y’all😅

Original Request (from Wattpad account): What makes the boys jealous, if possible?

Guest stars: Sasori and Sai!

Masterlist     

Naruto~

Oh, this boy… he’s too oblivious sometimes he doesn’t even know to be jealous. He was at a hot spring with friends once and someone says, “(Y/N) is so hot…” Naruto just grinned and said, “Yeah, she really is.”

But that doesn’t mean he won’t protect your honor. If someone says something a little too… risque like ‘Yeah, I’d tap that’ for example, get ready for more Narutos than you can count all charging you with a Rasengan.

He will not stand other guys cozying up to you. He’s the one who should be blessed with your hugs and cuddles. Won’t hesitate to cause a scene and yell to the entire world that he loves you and won’t let any other guy make a pass at you.

“Naruto, you didn’t need to go that far! You blasted him through three walls!” He’s endearing, really.

Sasuke~

Is jealousy an Uchiha thing or just a Sasuke thing? One of life’s many mysteries. Anywho, unlike Naruto, the second your name is brought up in conversation, he goes on guard and he’s listening closely.

If anything is said that he deems inappropriate, whether it be disparaging or otherwise, Sasuke had better be held back or he just might punch you into next week.

“Sasuke, calm down! He just said I had good taste in clothes!”

Even though he can easily get jealous, he knows the importance of freedom and he trusts you. He won’t come guns blazing (or sword slashing rather) and drag you away unless you need it of course.

The last thing he wants is for you to feel like you’re dating your dad or something. He’s very blunt and if he becomes uneasy with the way another male is talking to you, he’ll let said male know. Maybe after scowling with his Sharingan activated, however.

Neji~

Neji doesn’t really get jealous per se, more like offended on your behalf. Because of his upbringing, which taught him manners and the utmost respect, he really can’t understand talking about girls like they’re objects? Will never refer to a woman as ‘hot’ or anything like that.

If someone even dares speak of you like that, (even if you’re not necessarily together yet) he will fight them, and they will experience the 64 palms technique.

He especially hates people in your personal space. He really does trust you, just not others. Is not afraid to embarrass someone on your behalf. Half the time his glare is enough to scare them off, but some people are just clueless. (They wake up in the hospital)

“Neji! You can’t just throw me over your shoulder and leave! And that guy looked like he had seen a ghost?!” Needless to say, even cool, calm, and collected Neji has his limits.

Shikamaru~

Shika is too laid back to get jealous over little things. Somewhat like Neji, he doesn’t get jealous. He might feel threatened on your behalf, but never jealous. He can trust you with his life why shouldn’t he trust you with your relationship?

However, if someone is clearly harassing you or just generally making you uncomfortable, he will not hesitate to step in and make them leave. He won’t resort to physical violence (too much work), but he will intimidate them or put his genius to use and play some kind of trick on them.

He honestly has endless patience and at the same time no patience? Patience with you if you’re having a pleasant conversation with someone, but will go from 0-100 (or 50, really, anything more is a lot of effort) real quick.

“Shika, that guy thought he was really paralyzed, thanks to your shadow possession!” Being jealous is a waste of time, but clever revenge is always a treat for Shika.

Kiba~

So. Jealous. So. Easily. Kiba is naturally animalistic (in the best way) and just like a dog, can be very possessive. If explicitly asked, he will try to tone down his jealous fits, but will still be protective. If he does have free reign, however, oh boy…

No chill at all, whatsoever. Whether it’s absolutely destroying the object of his rage or just simply making out with you right there. No matter how annoyed he may get, he respects you with every fiber of his being and would never tell you to change or try to control you. He wouldn’t ever embarrass you (unless Kiba and Akamaru pummeling a room full of guys is embarrassing).

Just let him FIND OUT someone is making you feel the slightest bit of unease. One second, they’re chatting you up and then BAM! There’s a flash of white and a huge dog ready to maul them.

“Kiba, what do you mean they all looked at me for too long?! We walked in the door, of course, they turned to look!”

Gaara~

Gaara is a bit of a conundrum, but in a way that makes sense? Like, he doesn’t feel the need to get jealous of guys because when you leave, he’s going to be kissing you goodnight, and he’s the one who gets to spoil you.

However, he will get jealous of little things. Oh, you’ve spent a good amount of time playing with an animal/pet? Be prepared to walk in on Gaara giving them a stern lecture on stealing you from them. Gaara knows he has any potential suitors beat, but tiny adorable animals and children? In his mind, he can never be too cautious.

He gets a little pouty but that can easily be cured with cuddles, sometimes with that evil little pet that stole your affections from him. He can never stay jealous for long, he views it as an unproductive waste of time. He could be actively trying to get your attention, but instead, he’s going to be sulking in a corner? Yeah, no.

“Gaara! Stop scolding my cat, that’s not doing anything!”

Sai~

On the rare occasion that this cinnamon roll gets jealous, he’s confused and shocked. Like just imagine the surprised Pikachu face and that’s him. He knows what jealousy is, he can identify it just fine, but he doesn’t know why he’s jealous.

You aren’t doing anything, all you did was laugh at someone else’s jokes, but still… do you find them funnier than him? Are you going to leave him because he’s not that funny?! Cue the slow onset into insanity… Poor Sai is losing his mind to paranoia and made-up scenarios.

Will most certainly drag you away (gently) from whoever is taking your attention and leave. He doesn’t even bother with a fake smile, they don’t deserve it. He’ll explain to you calmly even though he’s panicking on the inside. Once he is back to normal he’ll show you his nearest artwork.

“What the-! Sai, you can’t just draw caricatures on people’s car!” You don’t even want to know how he figures out which car is theirs...

Kakashi~

Too cocky to be jealous. He has the right to be though because one glance at him without his face mask can cause instant pregnancy. Anywho, he knows you love him and some guy trying to hit on you like some high school douche isn’t going to change that.

He does like to intervene, however, just to flex like ‘yeah, I’m the boyfriend, now get lost’.

He’s not big on PDA, so he won’t start kissing you to ward off strangers, but he will wrap on arm around you or hold your hand and ask who your ‘friend’ is.

When there’s that one stubborn person who won’t take a hint, Kakashi doesn’t mind rocking someone’s world or getting kicked out, he needed to perfect that one offense technique anyways. He’s pretty laid back though, so it has to be somewhat drastic for this though, plus he knows you can handle yourself.

“A thousand years of death?! Isn’t it weird to be poking old men in the butt?!

~Akatsuki~

Pein~

Pfft. Who does he have to be jealous of? He’s a god among mortals, after all. To him, you’re a goddess and as such you belong with someone like him, not the peasants around you.

But on the offhand chance that someone doesn’t heed his godly status, he will not hesitate to pull you into his side and yell ‘Almighty Push’ and totally obliterate that loser. (A/N: Holy crap I think that needs to be a one-shot cuz, wow, Pein being all protective is making me swoon?)

If it’s not a big deal, he’ll easily let you take care of it. If you’re strong enough to catch Pein’s attention, you’re more than strong enough to deal with some lowlife. That doesn’t mean, however, that they won’t feel his wrath too.

If you ever want to witness a true royal rumble, dare someone to mess with Pein’s S/O. It’d be an epic tag team match (slaughter, really) for the ages. One would d be surprised how quick he can lose his cool when it comes to you.

“Pein, that’s the fifth time this month! Kakuzu is going to murder me if I ask for money to fix this wall!”

Deidara~

Need I even say it? Jealous boy all the way. You’re his favorite masterpiece so why should let an uncultured swine who doesn’t even understand your worth touch you? Rhetorical question, he wouldn’t.

He is not above fighting or placing a bomb on someone who gives you one too many glances. He’d make sure they knew it wasn’t art, they weren’t good enough for that, before blowing the offender up.

No one and he means no one gets to talk bad about his S/O. If someone insults you in his presence they might as well as swallowed one of his explosives and trusted him not to blow them up.

Will one 100% hide you from view if you look too appealing. He thinks you look ravishing, but he’s the only one who should be able to think that, in his opinion. Don’t worry, no one’s ever gotten close enough to harass you with Dei around. His one-eyed scowl is a great deterrent.

“Deidara! You blew up my favorite restaurant! He didn’t even say anything to me!”

Sasori~

Would rather die before admitting he was jealous. As adamant about not being jealous as he is about art being eternal. That’s not to say that he won’t take action though. He will use chakra strings to make the perpetrator walk away, meanwhile making them bump into literally everything in the general vicinity.

The two of you don’t leave the base all that often so it’s unusual to see an envious Sasori action, but it’s a real treat when it happens. After he deals with whatever idiot crossed him, he’ll be a bit more affectionate that day/night.

Not huge things, but instead of working on puppets all night, he’d be more apt to hold you that night. Average people hitting on you make him insecure because he realizes he’s not that great at normal relationships but he still doesn’t want to lose you. That feeds into his jealousy and he figures the only way to get rid of it is to make sure those other guys can’t offer anything he doesn’t have.

“Sasori! If you wanted a hug, you could’ve said that instead of treating that guy like a ball inside of a pinball machine!”

#naruto x reader #sasuke x reader #neji x reader #shikamaru x reader #kiba x reader #gaara x reader #sai x reader #kakashi x reader #pein x reader #deidara x reader #sasori x reader #naruto scenarios #jealousy #naruto shippuden #request

[halo-jpeg]

Bearable | A Reddie Fanfiction

Read it from the beginning

Chapter 6.5

After 8:00 pm Stanley hadn't expected any more customers- Mrs. Earnshaw had told him he could close just after 9:00, which was a mere 30 minutes away. Curled up behind the counter with The Shining held in shaking hands, he was letting the time slip slowly by as the sweet aroma of flora and fauna soothed the otherwise expected fear from his veins. Despite the steadily rising intensity of the book, Stan simply couldn't feel afraid. Even as Jack Torrance ran from bloodthirsty hedge animals, the atmosphere was too pleasant to be spoiled by nerves. Roses on Deane was a beautiful little shop and Stan had discovered a newfound interest in plant life because of it; with only one day of work experience, he was already captivated by the leaves and the petals, the different soils, the surprising amount of knowledge and care it took to nurse and mother a plant. The shop wore dark Jacobean-toned paneling, shelves and shelves of flourishing plants lining each and every one. The lights were dim during the evening, allowing the red-hued artificial ones to feed the plants as needed throughout the course of the night, giving everything the feel as if he were disconnected from the world. If he let his imagination wander, he could convince himself that this building, his building, was floating in a state of suspension, where time had stilled and he could sit, silent, for the rest of eternity.

Ever since he was a child he had used this state of suspension as a getaway. From the ages two to seven, the trigger, the gateway, the one thing that allowed the disconnect had been his nightlight. To Stan, that nightlight in the shape of a star, giving off it's warm gold hue, had meant safety and youth. As he grew, the nightlight passed away and instead his trigger was the space in his closet, where he had stuck small luminescent stars and hidden away whenever anything grew difficult. He'd go through his bird books and drown out the sounds of his parents fighting downstairs in the kitchen. After the closet, the disconnect came with more of a scenario than a place or an object. This scenario was harder to achieve, but when it happened, when he managed to let his mind float away, he had felt safer than ever before. This scenario was the feeling of the Barrens with Eddie and Bill. The endless hum of the Kenduskeag rushing on it's endless course often grabbed hold of his thoughts and carried them away right with it, down towards the ocean and out to sea. It often washed away everything except for his two closest friends. Together, in silence, the three would do nothing but sit and bask in the still nothingness, the timeless sense of being with one another and needing not to worry about school or bullies or the future. Roses on Deane was already emanating the soft, enveloping comfort, the warm tones and safe hues of a gateway. Without needing to debate it, Stanley knew that he would never be harmed here, among the plants and the flowers, surrounded by the rich scent of life and growth.

With his nose in his book, minutes passed though he hardly felt them. To be entirely honest, Stan could have sat there until long past closing time, time both entirely unmoving and racing past him all at once. The only reason he didn't was because he was given a customer- at least, he thought it was a customer until he placed his origami crane, folded out of deep blue gold-star speckled paper and used as a bookmark, into it's place and glanced up to greet them with a smile. That smile grew soft, surprised, almost, at the sight Bill Denbrough rather than anyone else who would have actually been interested in plants.

"H-Hey," He said with a gentle grin, approaching the counter, "Just w-wanted to stop by and say h-hello," Stanley rose from his seat, setting the book aside. He was about to greet Bill right back, maybe ask what he was doing out so late at night, but before he could Bill swiped the book from the countertop and flipped open to where Stan had left off. Reading a few lines with gently squinted eyes (it was difficult for Bill to read in the low-light, especially since he would soon discover he needed low-prescription reading glasses) he was reminded of exactly what had happened up to that point, and returned the book once more. "Great book, hu-huh? It only gets bu-better, trust me." Bill hopped up onto the counter, "So, h-how was the fir-irst day?" Stan had expected the tender atmosphere to wane, or maybe to shatter completely, at the sense of another presence- but Bill's being here only made it better. Stan leaned forwards, forearms rested on the aged wood of the cashiers till, and shrugged his shoulders.

"Slow, but... pleasant." A silence fell over the two like a weighted blanket. They didn't need to speak. If anyone understood Stan's need to retreat into silence, into this other world of the disconnect, it was Bill. He had never judged or laughed or mocked- Eddie hadn't, either, of course, but anyone could tell that he sometimes thought Stan to be... almost silly, in the way that he so often craved the quiet, the slowness. "What are you doing out so late?" At last Stanley voiced his question in a gentle, fuzzy tone, delicate like the soft pink petals of the flowers on display beside his elbow. They stood tall and proud from an intricate blue-glass vase, flourishing in the perfect conditions the shop provided. Just as it promised safety to Stan, it promised it to these plants. Bill scanned around, soaking in the details, relishing in them in the same way as his friend, and then finally responded, his voice just as light,

"Me and Eddie went to Richie's for dinner," He explained, "There aren't any leftovers but I can help you make something for yourself when we get home." Quirking a brow, Stan was met with a soft wave of questions, popping up like small green buds breaking from the dirt.

"You and Eddie? Willingly?" Stan asked with a hum, tilting his head and running his fingers gently through his curls, "And what do you mean 'we'? Are you... staying here?"

"It was... actually Eddie's idea, for dinner. Well... he got the call from Richie. I think he just wanted an excuse to hang up on his mom. She called him," Bill toed off his shoes and pulled his feet up onto the counter to sit cross-legged, in order to better look at Stan. The soft lighting bathed his face in an orange colour, giving him the image of a statue of gold. "It was actually pretty nice. We watched The Birds. I was thinking of how much you would've liked that movie the entire time- horror might not be your favourite, but I think you'd actually laugh," With a chuckle, Bill flashed his handsome grin, "It's stupid. And," he moved on to address Stan's last question, "If you didn't mind, I thought, maybe... I could stick around until you have to close up. I have nothing else planned and I missed you today."

"Oh," Stan straightened up, clasping his hands together, "I," He struggled for the words, something he rarely did, and then swallowed the lump in his throat and recomposed himself, "That would be nice, I think. If you really don't mind." Joining Bill on the counter, Stan removed his own shoes. Now, the two were sitting facing one another, legs crossed. It was no secret, at least to himself, that he had a crush on Bill. He had known it for years now- Bill was... perfect, in every form of the word. He was handsome and smart, and he had an extroverted self-assurance that Stan envied more than anything; but what Stan had really fallen for was the kindness, the endless fields of it. Bill was always kind. It amazed Stanley sometimes. There was music in the shop, so silent that he had hardly noticed it until now, in the total stillness. Mrs. Earnshaw enjoyed classical. He enjoyed classical all the same. "Hey, Bill?" Stan asked, his hands clasped in his lap. Bill met his gaze with his own, steady, steady.

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever... miss Derry? I know we haven't been gone for long, but..." Stan shrugged. He suddenly felt very silly for even asking. Again, Bill chuckled, a low sound that was anything but mocking. It was almost sad, the timbre of it, and Stan realized he wanted to take Bill's hand. He didn't.

"Yeah, I do."

"What do you miss most?" For a moment, Bill pondered, and then he said,

"The Barrens." Stan agreed with a small nod. Silence again, warm and comfortable. "What about you?"

"Probably the river. Sitting in the sunlight, surrounded by the nature and the water, even though it didn't always smell the best." As if having read his thoughts, Bill reached forwards and took both of Stan's hands in his. Bill's blue eyes were the same shade as the sky above the Barren's treetops. He didn't have to explain what he meant when he spoke,

"We'll find a new place like that here, I promise. It'll happen, soon, I'm sure. A new place where we can all just... sit. And be. Maybe a place where everyone else can be with us, too." Stan felt that this moment, right now, with his hands in Bill's, their faces inches apart- he felt like this moment was more important than it seemed to be on the surface. Like there was more to it than just a promise between friends. It felt almost like the day before, in Portland Authentic with Richie, with Ben, with Mike and Eddie and Beverly behind the counter. Something similar yet drastically different from the disconnect weighed on his shoulders, something else that was comforting but in an entirely different way. The disconnection comforted him because he felt nothing- this new weight, the overbearing presence he had felt for no more than a moment, had been like that of a mothers love. For the briefest moment the solidity fell out from under him and he really was floating- but then, he was right back there with Bill in front of him and his whole entire future stretching wide and endless like the oceans led to by the Kenduskeag.

#reddie #reddie fanfiction #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #stan uris #stanley uris #bill denbrough #stenbrough #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #benverly #mike hanlon #it #it movie #it chapter 1 #it chapter 2 #it 2017 #it 2019 #the losers club

[alice-in-wonderart]

Could you do marriage proposal headcanons for the junior quartet (Sizhui, Jingyi, Jin Ling and Zizhen), pretty please?

Oof, I apologise for the wait, dear. This got much longer than anticipated- regardless, I hope you enjoy me clowning the juniors. After all, proposing isn't easy.

Jin Ling

Panic. Panic. Panic. Panic. Panic. Panic.

"Why do I have to propose?! Can't she?!"que angry whailing from the Juniors.

No, in all honesty, Jin Ling would be utterly out of it. The moment he realizes he wants to spend his life with you hits him in the face like a brick. And suddenly he doesn't know what to do with himself... So he turns to his friends, who of course, tease him like hell for it.

Ultimately, they help him set up some sort of plan - the plan of taking you out and proposing. The whole idea was for him take a day off from being a sect leader to spend it with you, which turned into an impromptu mini trip to Yunmeng. And so the plan is set in motion.

But nothing ever goes as planned, does it? For the most part - it went okay. He took you around Yunmeng, showing you anything and everything interesting, reminiscing even. But you knew something was off - Jin Ling was jittery, much more unruly and quick to anger than usual.He was blushing like crazy at the simplest of touches. In fact, he was a walking time bomb ready to explode any second. And- it did.

It did, when work found him anyways. Urgent business he had to discuss with his uncle, apparently something which couldn't wait. He wasn't even listening to the logistics of it, his mind was on you - who was going to have to wait for him patiently. Not only that, but because of said work - you'd have to stay longer than expected. (Maybe he should have warned his Jiujiu about his plan, but such smart decision-making doesn't run in the family)

And, you see, usually this wouldn't bother him much, but when he had meticulously *tried* to plan a PROPOSAL, things were very different. So, coming out after a few hours of endless work, he's pissed - at himself, at work, at life...and he yells at you. He yells at you for asking why he's been acting strange all day, frustration falling from his lips like a sinner's confession.

"Strange?! You have no idea what is going on, do you!? No, of course you don't! Ugh. My entire plan got ruined!! This is a disaster!!"

And you'd have to calm him down, that no - nothing was a disaster, you had fun, Yunmeng was lovely, you'd love to stay a bit more. And once again it was proven to him, that there is nobody in the entire world he'd rather spend his days with.

"Okay, look. I know I'm not perfect. I can be rash, hot-tempered, bad-mannered. I'm a sect leader, I'm always busy. And even now, when I tried to make everything perfect for you, it still failed. And here I am, standing in front of you, feeling like an absolute lovestruck moron, like you're my first crush and I just lose my train of thought around you. And-

Goddamn it, I love you, I love you with all of my heart. And I want to show you that everyday. I want to give you everything, I want to give you the world and - I just want to know if- you'dwanttomarryme?"

Lan Sizhui

Sizhui knew very well, that one day he was going to marry you - after all, you were his light, his soulmate. His first love, his world. You stayed with him through thick and thin already, you were his support, his treasure. And he simply couldn't imagine a world without you.

But proposing didn't come as naturally as he'd expected. After having witnessed WangXian in its full potential, having been a part of their wedding, and knowing fully well how it should go down, he still felt a tad too lost and decided to ask for advice.

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were very supportive, albeit teasing. Ultimately they were of little help outside of support, suggesting (WWX) all kinds of crazy proposals, from poems, to serenades, to fireworks, wild animals, crazy adventures. Lan Wangji suggested simply asking, which also didn't quite sit right with Sizhui. He was never one for the extravagant show-off performances, but a little more care would never hurt anybody.

Ultimately, he decided to ask you during one of your occasional evening walks around Gusu. He'd told you to wait for him outside a tad later than expected. That of course caught your attention, since Lan Sizhui was never one to break rules, but the little night date was set in motion regardless.

Walking around the back mountain and near the pond with the bunnies, he felt his hands sweat a bit, while waiting for the right moment. He seemed much more distracted than usual, a light pink dusting his cheeks. Soon he found himself kneeling next to you, as you were holding one of the white fluffballs in your hands, lovingly petting it.

"I could stay like this forever" he'd hear fall from your lips. Or perhaps it was something else? He wasn't listening.

"You can..I mean- we can. Just you and me." he'd mumble, gently taking one of your hands in his. He took a deep shaky breath. The bunny jumped off you and he gently caressed the palm of your other hand, before pulling it slightly to his heart. The questioning look you gave him made his heart skip a beat..or two. He smiled warmly at you.

"I..called you out here for a reason actually. I've never actively looked for love, never thought I might find it, yet here you are. And I love you very much, much more than I have the words to express. And you see, everytime I look at you, I can't help but imagine a bright future with you, together, as partners. Even now, my heart beats so fast around you, I fear it might jump right out of my chest. No amount of eloquent poetry or masterfully crafted music can contain everything that I feel for you."

He stopped and moved to kiss your knuckles. "And through it all, we stayed together. You know me better than I know myself. And I know now, that I can't imagine a life without you in it. With all the love and respect I have for you, I'm asking you if you'd like to marry me?"

Lan Jingyi

Let's say your cultivation level isn't the best for the sake of the scenario lol

Panic. Panic. Panic. Panic. Panic - Part 2

Oh wow, something scarier than ghosts - commitment love.

Jingyi is lost. He knows he loves you more than anything and he's pretty sure you love him too but- marriage?! He's never had to deal with...that!? Out of desperation, he'd turn to Lan Xichen, who would give him the unhelpful advice of "Follow your heart and see where it leads you." thx m8, rly helpful.

At the end, he'd simply decide to ask you outright. And he was going to propose to you after the upcoming night hunt. He'd imagined it so romantic - him, returning to you, adrenaline-high and sweeping you off your feet with a proposal even the gods would envy.

But then you just HAD to request joining the night hunt. And Lan Xichen had the audacity to agree!

Each time he'd look at you, his heart would skip a beat, his face would flush and he'd forget his own name. It wasn't fair - that you decided to accompany him on his night hunt, since now he had a constant distraction. And of course, he'd complain about it. Not only did he have to look after himself, but now you too? Why was life so cruel?!

And of course, you'd just giggle with your perfect melodic voice and assure him you'd be perfectly fine, and that if something were to happen, you'd be safe and sound next to him. And of course his heart would do a 360 and run an entire marathon. Who needed sanity anyways? Not him, nope.

But night hunts aren't always safe. And that night, resentful energy had seeped much deeper within their hunting grounds than usual, bringing about an army of spirits to roam the dark forests. And when a few decided to sneak-attack, things took a turn for the worst, quicker than expected.

The ambush, of sorts, left you vulnerable, when everybody else ran in all directions, dealing with the spirits at hand. And as much as Jingyi was keeping an eye on you, in the dark of the night, amongst the resentful ghosts, he lost track of you. And panic struck over unlike anytime before. At once his fear of ghosts was utterly deminished and a single thought flooded his mind - where are you?

He stopped in the middle of the battle ground, looking at every direction imaginable. And surely enough - there you were, about to be attacked by a spirit.

And Lan Jingyi saw red. In the blink of an eye, he was in front of you, dead set on protecting you until the very end of time. And that he did.

Once the threat was taken care of, he turned to you, no disregard whatsoever about the others around him, and pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, asking over and over if you're okay, if you're hurt and if you needed anything.

After having to assure him, that you are in good health, he pulled away from the hug, only to grab you by the shoulders and leave a quick kiss on your lips. Lan be damned, he nearly lost you.

"Forget anything, what if I wasn't there on time?! I just realised how unpredictable this life can be and now how do you expect me to rest peacefully, without you safe by my side? I almost lost you just now! How could I live with myself if that happened? God, this job is so dangerous! We live a life where any second could be our very last and I can't stand that thought! Let me protect you for all eternity and marry me!"

*cue dead silence from half of the Lan clan and a severely amused Wangxian.

Ouyang Zizhen

I call him - a modern day teenager in ancient China, which applies to his idea of marriage as well.

Out of all of the Juniors, he'd be the most set on actually proposing the "right way" - whatever that meant.

To him, a day meant for a proposal was a day meant for spoiling. It was a "show my love I'm ready to do anything for them" day. Was he an absolute nervous wreck? Yes. Was he showing it? ....well. That's arguable. Did you absolutely know something was off with him? Of course. You'd spend enough of your life with Zizhen to know him like your own name.

So, when he came up to you, gingerly asking if you'd like to go downtown for a little walk, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, you knew you were in for a wild ride - after all, that's one of Ouyang Zizhen's many charms - the adventurous spirit. ( ugh, he's such a Sagittarius. Don't @ me, we don't know his bday)

Upon setting foot in the middle of the town, he turned to you and smiled brightly. "Anything you pick today is all yours. Anywhere you want to go, we go. Anything you want to eat - will be given to you." And he meant it.

He didn't expect you to, however, disregard all of that, instead choosing to spend the day with him, simply walking around and talking. Perhaps drinking a cup of tea. And he followed your humble request, of course.

Yet he still wanted to spoil you - from the freshly baked goods further down the street, to some pretty hair ornament he absolutely insisted would look lovely on you. He just wanted to show you how much you meant to him. Alas, he just wasn't sure how.

He proudly strode by your side, hand in hand, despite his bashfulness, loving every minute spent with you. You ran around, enjoying each other's company, listening to the funny gossips, petting all kinds of animals in the streets, all until you got to a street musician. (I swear those have existed back then - I've seen a documentary, but if I'm wrong, do correct me ✌️ )

He ran up to him and whispered something you couldn't hear, then payed him. The musician in question smiled in return to him and changed the song to one you both recognised and loved. Turning to you with the most bashful of smiles, Zizhen spoke in a fairly hushed tone. "And this - this is for you."

Through a painfully big smile, you couldn't help but ask whether you were forgetting an anniversary, or if it was your birthday and you hadn't realised. The slight worry that you had forgotten some important day threw him off immediately and he frantically waved his hands. "Oh no, no, no. You haven't forgotten anything!" Then he grabbed your hand and turned to you fully.

"Today isn't an anniversary, but I was hoping it could be in the future... We've been together through so much and I wanted to repay you for all of the kindness, understanding, and love that you're giving me. And before you argue that repaying isn't an option, let me finish first. Sometimes I lie in bed at night, wondering what I've done to deserve you, what wonderful hero I must have been in a past life to have you here next to me. And then I always hear your beautiful voice in my head, reminding me, that you're here to stay and I just can't believe it. I wanted to make this day special for you, because I love you and I appreciate everything you've done for me. And well..there is one more thing. I've thought long and hard about this and... Well... I can't help but wonder, if you'd want to stay with me until the very end and marry me?"

Thank you for reading~

#wei wuxian #grandmaster of demonic arts #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #mo dao su zhi #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jin ling #juniors #stan jl #jin rulan #ouyang zizhen #oyzz #the untamed lan sizhui #lan sizhui #lan jingyi #ljg #lsz #lszh #lan juniors #the untamed #mo dao zu shi x reader #Lan x reader #Juniors marriage #lan zhan #Wangxian mention #Wangxian #I FOROGT TO ADD FAIRY #Were street musicians a thing in ancient china #Lol I'm uncultured apparently #Welp

[1-800-channie]

Cigarettes & Mint | Chapter 1

→ Chapter: 1  |  2  |  3  | 4 |  5

→ Genre: Very Angst / Fluff / Highschool!Au

→ Warning: Strong language; slight eating disorders; cursing; bullying;  smoking; heartbroken; 

→ Pairing: Badboy!Hyunjin x Innocent!Reader;

→ Summary: When your ego is bigger than your brain, you don’t mind breaking someone’s heart. As soon as the smell of cigarettes and mint invade your nostrils, your heart starts beating faster and your life starts falling apart. I bet you will end up broken.

→ Playlist for the Chapter: 

    ↳ Paper Doll - Bea Miller ↳ Fool - NCT 127 ↳ Best Friend - iKON  ↳ Friends - Chase Atlantic ↳ Colours - Day6 

→ Words: +2K

→ N/A: Hiii everyone! I’m so excited to finally post my lovely ‘Cigarettes and Mint’ Fiction! It took me so long to write, every chapter was carefully written and revised at least five times. This is very important to me, so, i hope you love to read it as much as i loved to write it. OH and… Prepare your heart ;)

[Previous] [Next] [Masterlist]

[01:20 PM/ ONE DAY BEFORE THE BET]

The Canteen has never been a clean place, the tiled floor was always dirty with stains that would make your trainers get glued to the floor, but it’s was always a place full with enthusiasm and freedom, where everyone can talk aloud, and curse as much as they feel like to. The thin walls painted in white with the word ‘CANTEEN’ in yellow did a terrible job to preserve the loud yelling from inside, but no one seemed to care, almost like the canteen was a holy place, where everyone was free to do and say what they want.

The yellow color from the large wooden doors seem to become more vivid when the room is full, inside, students that could be mistaken to animals due to the amount of food they eat and for talking with their mouth packed, something that always made you want to throw up, are openly hanging out.

As everyone feeds their cravings for food, you feed your dark eyes by watching shamelessly the boy that is currently laughing at something that his best friend showed him on his iPhone. He is like a k-idol, impossible but inevitable to fall in love with, and you couldn’t help it but admire how handsome he was.

The music that echoes inside your brain from the headphones you have plugged in, is from a kdrama, where the boy stays under the freezing rain to kiss his beloved. And because of it, you feel your heart skip a beat while imagining you and Hyunjin on the same plot. As the slow beat went on you got lost on him.

As you stare blanked at the bad boy in front of you, your innocent brain makes it more accessible to cloud your eyes and make you face the scenario of him, drenched, over the icy rain, his huge hands on your tiny ones while he confesses the love he holds for you. His brown hair glued to his forehead and his lips red from the cold.

When someone yanked your headphones out of your ears you came back to reality, and there he is, in front of you, with a destructive smirk on his full red lips. He seemed much taller than you, and you felt so miserable staring at him while sitting down.

“Listen to me, Angel…” Hyunjin’s seductive voice orders you. “I know you like me very much, but the constant staring makes me uncomfortable as fuck, so please, stop staring at me like that, yeah?” As soon as he ceased talking everyone already had their attention on both of you, and they were giggling and pointing at your petty figure.

Your cheeks heated up from embarrassment, at that moment you wanted to dig a hole and hide inside until next week, so everyone would have forgotten about it already. When you stood up to excuse yourself, your legs weak and trembling, the hero of the story comes to the view to save you:

“Hyunjin, you didn’t need to be such a dick to her. You could’ve just talked to her privately, why humiliate her like that?” Hendery replies, a mad emotion taking advantage of his heaven made features.

“Look, you dont-” Minho came to help his friend, but your friend didn’t even let him finish. Hendery’s veiny hands gripped his shirt and he almost lifted him off the floor, angriness taking advantage of his bright form.

“Hendery~” Your scared frame whispered while tugging at his shirt. “Let them be… Please. It’s ok…”

Your childhood best friend takes a glace of five seconds at your appearance. You are bitting your lip nervously, he perceives your body trembling from the hand you have gripping him, the blush on your cheeks is redder than ever and small, hot and salty tears are forming at the corners of your eyes.

He releases the bad boy and gets closer to Hyunjin, their noses practically touching and he threatens him:

“Dont come close to my best friend ever again, or ill beat you until you can’t fucking walk, understand?”

Hyunjin grins. “Yes, sir.” He salutes him before turning his back at both of you and going back to his original seat.

You, with your whole body shivering, grab your green backpack and wander out of the happy canteen, where you were starting to feel suffocated in. The tears in your eyes seem to be stronger than all the strength in your body and they flow down your jowls, making you despise yourself for being so pity.

The tall man that just defended you runs after you on the immense corridor, his steps loud and lucid, and he grabs your wrist, holding you back.

“Let me go… please.” You beg your voice muffed, making it crack from all the sadness peaking up at the exterior.

“You know i can’t do that.” And with that said, he draws your body against his, your head leaning on his shoulder as you whine. “Why do you always fall for the bad boys huh?” He jokes while caressing your wavy hair.

You let a timid laugh escape your edges as you sob, the sense of being protected drowning you completely. Hendery is that efficacious, he makes you feel special and safe. He has eternally protected you, but you, being the careless silly you are, never really paid attention to it.

As you feel your body calming down, you lift your face to gaze at him, a dumb prince-like smile displaced on his margins.

“You always show up at the best timing… Do you have any kind of seventh sense to know when I’m in trouble?” The laugh that he left out could be considered the cutest laugh you have ever heard if you weren’t stupidly in love with the bad boy that just shamed you in front of half of the school.

“I do, babe.” He plays and laughs right after, a pleasant silence involving you both on your walk out of the school. The endless corridor is full with lockers in both sides and your steps are echoing inside it, due to it being empty. The only light inside it is provided by the little lamps on the ceiling, that unsuccessfully make their job of brightening your way.

As you both sit down on a bench, outside, the wind feels refreshing on your hot cheeks. The sun seems to fade away at the right time, leaving you and him on a fresh shadow. Hendery has an adorable little pout on his thin lips, you watch him confused:

“What’s wrong, big boy?” You ask while squeezing his cheeks, he groans annoyed and takes your hands out of his appearance.

“Just because i had to save the beauty from the beast, i didn’t get to eat lunch. Now, I’m hungry.” He informs you in a grumpy tone, crossing his arms over his chest like a child when their mom doesn’t give them what they want.

“Here.” You say, taking your lunchbox out of the backpack and handing him the food you should have eaten on the first break.

Hendery looks at you irritated. His thick eyebrows pushed together and his lips pressed in a thin line, making it pretty obvious that he was about to lecture you about not eating your food.

“Are you doing it again?” He asks more concerned than angry. “I dont want you in trouble again for throwing food out on the bin when it’s totally eatable. And, please, dont tell me you are stopping eating because someone called you fat…” He explains, his hand brushing your hair comfortably and his eyes stare deep into yours in genuine love.

“No… It’s not that!” You lie, taking his hands off of you. “I just dont like this conserve my mom chose…” You try to cover up your dirty lie and he seems to fall for it, at least for now. You feel relieved that he didn’t dig deep on the problem.

Hendery feeds the bread calmly, casually sipping the juice he bought not too long ago, pineapple flavored, also your favorite. The package of it it’s simply colored in green and yellow, with a picture of a pineapple, kind of aesthetic pleasing in your eyes.

“Are you… hmm… alright? After what he did?” His clumsy self asks without looking at you. So he could avoid your hurt expression because it would damage him too.

“It was my fault… i completely froze while looking at him, i would feel exactly like him if i was in his position.” You answer honestly, and Hendery couldn’t believe that you saw the good side of what that sucker did to you, and even defend him.

“Still…” The cutie sitting next to you remarks, stuffing his mouth. “He didn’t need to be that bold and rude.” He blunts out shrugging, talking with his mouth full.

Noticing the gross action, you slap his shoulder playfully, making him laugh and almost choke. Then, when you both were calmer, you leaned your head on his shoulder, seeking a way out of the images of Hyunjin.

[11:20 PM/ ONE DAY BEFORE THE BET]

The sounds that could be heard from the bottom floor were laughs and loud RnB music while the three friends hung out at one of their houses. Changbin is the one that has more money out of the three, his house looks like a palace, and it’s so quiet that Hyunjin envies it.

The spot where they usually stay is Binnie’s basement. It’s a big, cozy room with an even bigger TV, where they usually watch films. A fluffy carpet that they use to lay down on, and an expensive bathroom that always smells like vanilla.

Hyunjin was laying on the sofa, watching Changbin, that was sitting down o the fluff carpet playing ‘Call of Duty: Zombies’. Minho just came out of the luxurious bathroom, smiling at both of his best friends paying so much attention to a game. This makes him feel like he is the most mature out of the three.

“I want to do something fun…” The older boy says kicking Hyunjin’s body so he could sit next to him on the comfortable sofa. Changbin, the owner of their favorite place to hang out, turns off the PlayStation and turns his attention to the boys behind him, resting his head on his hands cutely.

Hyunjin already had a dangerous cigarette caught between his full lips, the urge to take those memories out of his mind was killing him. Binnie, scenting the disgusting smell of the smoke, mad, took the tobacco of his best friend lips and put it on the trash bin in a fast movement.

“I told you, no smoking inside my basement didn’t i?” The back haired boy warns his friend, watching Hyunjin groan out of annoyment. He just needed help to forget you and your sad eyes.

“I need to fucking get revenge out of that motherfucker,” Minho said angrily, he hated to be threatened, especially from someone as insignificant and poor as Hendery.

The three of them didn’t like him, but Minho was the one that hates him the most since the girl he was trying to date was stolen from him. Hendery and Lee’s crush, dated for one year, and she was treated like the queen she was. When she showed up in front of Lee Know, her neck full with bruises from a night of pleasure, he felt extremely jealous and swore to himself that the prince-charming needed to pay.

Hyunjin wanted to be left out as much as possible, he didn’t want to talk to you again, because now, he couldn’t stop seeing your hurt expression, and he felt bad for what he made you go thru. He hated Hendery for always being there and not leaving you alone.

The seductive boy plays with his lip ring as he thinks to himself how impulsive he was, and how he could have talked to you more carefully, without calling your best friend’s attention.

“What do you plan to do, huh?” Changbin asked while bitting the gum he had bought just for this specific moment of being with the only people that understand him.

“Get him hurt. I want him to suffer…” Minho said, his eyes traveled at the boy sitting on the sofa next to him, his legs wide open, his head was thrown back, he knew something was up with his friend, but he couldn’t bother to care, not when his ego was hurt.

“We need someone to get to him, right?” Binnie asked with a smirk on his lips.

“Guys please let him be… or dont get-” Hyunjin was trying to make his bestie quit the idea of hurting the boy because after all, he was just taking care of the girl he likes.

“THAT’S IT! THE ANSWER IS YOU, MY FRIEND.” Minho yelled, not letting his devastated best friend finish talking.

“I told you. I’m not doing it…” Hyunjin assures.

“I just needed you to fuck, Kim Sun, the girl you humiliated today, and make him suffer. I know he is in love with her ever since they met. If you hurt her, you will hurt him.” The blond man says smartly, feeling proud of all the sin inside of him.

“Nah. Nop. Fuck… No. I’m not doing that.” The lip ringed boy sifts uncomfortably on the sofa, a weird pain consuming his whole body just by thinking about you.

“I can do it,” Changbin says, the confidence taking advantage of his short body. “She is hot as hell, i dont mind doing it.” His large hands drawing an invisible line of your ass and tapping it right after.

“Nah man. She won’t ever let you close to her…” Minho denied his friend, and Changbin felt ridiculous for being left out of the group once again. He misses those times where the three of them would do everything together for fun, and not bother other people. He was afraid that if he refused to do what his friends wanted he would be left alone. And he dislikes being left alone.

Lee Know turns to the tall man next to him once again and tries his luck once again.

“Come on, Jinnie… She has a big ass, just like you want. She is quite pretty… It won’t be that hard.” He blunts out. “She is totally in love with you, she will be yours in just a few hours.” He feels his smile fade away when the stubborn man beside him shakes his head in a negative way for the third time.

“Well, i guess you are that weak, huh? Can’t even make a virgin girl fuck you without catching feelings.” Minho spits angrily those vulgar words, he knows Hyunjin will give up. Just because his ego is way bigger and stronger than his poor brain.

“What the fuck are you talking about man?” The smoker yells. “I can fuck her in less than three days, just by looking at her, i know she will fall on her knees for me!” Jinnie says full of himself, the images of your broken face being replaced by imagines of you moaning out loud his name.

He is Hwan Hyunjin, the biggest playboy of the school, not just someone.

“I bet you can’t get into her pants in three days and then leave her right after,” Minho smirks and throws fireworks inside him, he finally got what he wanted.

“I bet i fucking can!” Hyunjin was obviously irritated, and his ego was hurt.

“Good, we start counting tomorrow then,” Changbin says, forcing the angry boys to look at him.

Hyunjin knows he shouldn’t do this. He will hurt you, he will break you., he will tear you apart, but he couldn’t care less, because his ego was being tested.

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#stray kids #hyunjin angst #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin stray kids #stray kids angst #stray kids smut #straykids fluff #kpop #kpop angst #fanfic #chapter 1 #smoke au #high school au #hwang hyunjin #changbin #minho #hendery #female reader #angst #kpop smut #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin au #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin smut

[witchingrey]

obey me! tidbits .

C.C. is Celtic, and part fairy or fae; or  Tuath Dé / Danann, having been abandoned by her full-blooded Mother from her original birth place within part of Ancient Britain’s corner of Northern Ireland, the fabled  Tír na nÓg before eventually finding herself living in the very human realm of the isles of ancient Britannia / Britain. Long before it established itself and wars were an every day occurrence. This lends itself to her natural longevity. 

With a natural, immeasurable talent for magic and power ingrained in her half-fae blood, or Sidhe, C.C. roamed between the portals of time and space without an ability to control her magic; already quite powerful as a little halfling child; she eventually came upon a teacher who would be teaching her into about her nigh two hundredth century by her own blood’s natural favoring.

The teacher had ulterior motives, and whatever happened between that time and, only a few centuries later would the ancient Witch discover to be a transferred ‘curse’ of immortality, the already guaranteed long life sealed with a curse instead of the freedom of the fair folk to which she both and did not belong. This betrayal has scarred C.C.

C.C. has an enigmatic history with Leviathan @perfectbluu​ as a child, having witnessed him once upon the seas wreaking havoc in full form; a changeling child no one wanted in long spurned rags and stale bread for company. As he wreaked said havoc upon the mortal realm; she confused him for a ‘great dragon’ and not a serpent. The girl foolishly offered a loaf of bread near the dock before concerned acolytes and fellow supernaturals took her back into a safer portal elsewhere. 

Eventually C.C. took residence in the Devildom after the entirety, start to finish, of the Witch Trials endured, and many other such things you’ll not find from her lips, finding no comfort among Man, long having been tortured, abused and manipulated in her innocent days by fire, quite literally, and other methods of heartache, tragedy and countless eternal stories that have gone into the thousands of her immortal life, one that would be consider blessed if not for the means. 

She began research into her ‘curse’ , taking many Witches and Warlocks / Sorcerers as apprentices to stave off loneliness and to make them wise in the world of demons, to whom so many easily gave their soul’s natural providence of dominion.

C.C. has spent countless years in the Devildom establishing herself as ‘The Great Witch / Grey Witch / Witch of Fate’ and other both seemly and unfriendly nicknames while keeping her blood a secret; though her nymph-like hair color, her rich, sun-colored eyes and regal features denote an otherwordly sort of beauty that no glamour could imitate. 

She is ultimately one of the key magical, non-demonic entities of myth that many young witches and warlocks aspire to be like, or in some cases, avoid due to unsavory rumors and far-fetched legends due to how long she has graced the earth both under hell and heaven.

Naturally gifted the power of seeing the strands of fate; C.C. has the natural given gift of ‘Sight’ and ‘Clairvoyance’, able to see the ‘red strings that bind’ and at times, even intervene but only on the personal vow of it being in the person’s best interest. She calls her actions of intervening for better or worse blended with knowing it is the right thing by her Sight, the Witch’s Scissors, because her Sight / Psionic abilities allows her to see the outcome. She uses it sparingly, as freedom of choice in longevity was taken from her; so too does she wish her students and proteges to find their own path. Although very few have become the latter due to either fear or unnecessary awe. 

C.C. ultimately reunites with Leviathan, finding familiarity in the yellow eyes that are not mad with bloodlust, but familiar all the same, stumbling upon him at some point in the Devildom prior to the MC arriving. She considers him her closest friend and one that has not left her in the flow of time. Aware of who he is after that long time ago as an innocent witchling girl; she finds relief that for his hermit-like ways, he seems more at peace in his hobbies. 

Ultimately, C.C. will if not in her main verse always harbor deeper emotions for the Avatar of Envy, Annie’s to be exact, having a history only she remembers awoken by him proposing a Pact, something she has avoided for many an age since her mistake with her first pact with a demon named Mao. She is notorious for being immensely and frighteningly powerful without having excessive amounts of demons for ulterior motives.  Which lends herself if she falls off the beaten path as a legitimate threat.

When summoning Leviathan, as discussed, he will take the form of a massive draconic Serpent just as she remembers him, but with sanity and reason. She generally does not call upon them, viewing their bond and mutual hurts and joys as sacred. 

Despite her curse expanding an already assured existence, C.C. still finds great purpose and an ability to see forward into her life’s endless flow due to her natural fae-given abilities, thus encouraging her timeless body to for ‘boredom’s sake’ partake in the studies of the Devildom if only to be a comforting source for young Witches. This has stopped her from becoming entirely cynical.

C.C. is easily one of the most powerful non-demonic entities in the Devildom and mortal world by hard work, natural talent, and sheer cunning. As a Witch, she is a paragon to many who seek her out for wisdom or teaching; finding she is a surprisingly gentle if not cryptic teacher known for both her beauty and her strictness. 

C.C. will only ship generally with @perfectbluu​ in Obey Me! Verse as she is highly protective of him and feels they have kindred spirits; only generally talking a liking to Beelzebulb, Satan, Lucifer and Mammon. That can easily change according to how they treat her chosen demon of pact, and will not hesitate to challenge them on their treatment of him and his hobbies as a coping mechanism, in the same sense she would feel a kinship with Solomon. A softness for Luke, and a wariness but quiet appreciation for the kindness of Simeon. She generally is too old and too busy to waste time on silly scruples of race.

Basically C.C. is known as both an enigma, her origins a secret, her age unknown, and renowned for both beauty and brains. To many witches and young magic users, she is an ideal, if not eccentric and gentle teacher who oddly enough always seems to have a knack of knowing just what might benefit their life’s path… 

#.* ◇ ─ : they may rule hell; but they don’t rule her. ╱ ❪ verse: obey me!❫ #i discussed a lot with annie! #i can't say she's irish since...she's celtic / old english but originated for a brief time in the unchanging world of the fae. #her green hair is a quick sign that she may be of other race. #ironically in a lot of fan.fics of c.c. she is described as a fairy and hoo i've wanted to explore how she is both nymph witch and maiden. #or fairy if you will. #but yeah she's loyal to annie's levi and did not push the pact on leviathan. it was an intensely emotional reunion and bond of two hearts #that few if many can understand. #. * ◇ ─ : to give form to a forgotten color. ╱ ❪ c’s world. ❫ #basically she pretty she cryptic and you don't f with her the end

[crowcrownprince]

Okej så massor av frågor för the writing ask meme: 4, 5, 6, 11, 17, 20, 21, 22 and 23!!

oooooh, I love getting so many!! *rubs my hands together*

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

Camilla was a ghost. 

She was the ghost of Castle Krakenburg, that resided in the walls and could be heard giggling or running down through the hallway when a lonely maid found themselves all alone in the hallway. Servants whispered to each other in the corners, stealing a moment or two to chat away from the eyes of their superiors, and they talked about the crown princess that had died at a young age a hundred years ago and that still resided in the walls, looking over the court that never had become hers. Ladies in waiting tried to scare each other over tea with stories about a woman that had wrongfully been executed for a crime she hadn’t committed, the crime changing every time the story was told, and since then haunted the castle, seeking revenge on her long dead executor. The guards tried to best each other with the scariest story about the butcher’s twins that had been found dead in their room some forty years back. To the kitchen servants she was a concubine looking for her noble lover that had betrayed her, to the gardeners a noble’s unwanted bastard child, and to some… to some she was just superstition. The tales that surrounded her were endless. Camilla listened to all of them, perched in a sofa during teatime, overheard them while on her way to her next lesson, coaxed them out of the soldier in charge of overseeing the training weapons. She loved them all, loved hearing about the fear that she struck in people, and how completely off every theory was. No one seemed to connect them to the princess with purple hair. Yes, Camilla was a ghost. She was the ghost of Castle Krakenburg, everyone and no one at the same time. 

But she was also a ghost in other ways. She was a spirit that couldn’t get rest, who was condemned to tread through the same hallways, the same halls, the same days for eternity. She walked the same ways, from lesson to lesson she was supposed to attend, from library to music hall, and then down to her daily tea with Mother in the west drawing room. She was a tolerated presence, but she wasn’t much else. She was a princess, which gave her rank and status, but she was also the daughter of a court sorcerer, not a queen. She was someone and no one, a ghost caught in the world it once had inhibited but no longer had any place in. To servants she was someone to envy, her beautiful dresses and lavish dinners so far from their own world, like the dead envying the living. To nobles she was someone to scorn, her very existence a blight on the royal family, a subject to be sneered at like the living despise death. She was dead but alive. Alive but dead. A ghost with a heartbeat, a heart pumping around blood she didn’t deserve in her unworthy veins.

---

This is a bit long, I admit, but I’m very proud of it and I feel like the two paragraphs are so connected I couldn’t have one without the other. This is from my wip Inseperable about Fe Camilla’s childhood. I think she’s a very interesting character, even if canon doesn’t give her enough space or depth, and I wanted to explore how her childhood could have looked like. It’s a character study, I suppose you could say, as well as a look into how the actions and sins of others can shape your life before you have even been born. I have been working on this piece for quite a while, but it’s also progressively becoming longer and longer than I first anticipated... Heh. 

Speaking of, this ask is turning longer than I anticipated as well, so I’ll put the rest under a read more! 

5. What character that you’re writing do you most identify with?

Hmn... Lawrence, I think. He’s an oc of mine, and even if he’s not my main character in the story, I believe he’s the character in the story most inspired by my own emotions and my way of viewing the world. Lawrence has to put on a pleasing facade, and his livelihood is dependent on others liking him. It’s only through writing that he is able to express what he truly thinks and feels, and even then he’s forced to do it in a subtle way or tone it down because his peices must always be entertaining as the first priority. My own situation isn’t as dire, but it’s certainly something I identify with. 

6. What character do you have the most fun writing?

Oh, Dominic, without a doubt!! I really love writing him, not only does his personality, struggles and his relation to both Ethan and Rayne lend themselves to very interesting scenes and a joy to write, but they also leave room for sweet moments, hilarity, and a good amount of sass if I want to~ Not to mention that he inherited my love for big buff loyal men and I can live out my romantic fantasies of being carried bridal style through him,,, 

11. What do you envy in other writers?

The ability to create a plot, no doubt. I’m rather good with one shots, but when I try to write something longer like a multichap or something I tend to get lost in the details. I’m getting a bit better on it, though, because I have learned a few ways of making drafts and outlining and such, so it’s a tad easier. But one shots are still my forte, and I want to brave out in longer stuff. 

17. Do you think readers perceive your work - or you - differently to you? What do you think would surprise your readers about your writing or your motivations?

Hmn... Now this sure was an interesting question... The most things I have heard about this is people being confused or surprised about the topics I decide to write about. It’s a tad darker and angstier than expected, I believe, haha. It seems blood and gore doesn’t really fit with the soft aura I have, and that surprises people. But this is what I’ve heard from friends and such, and I don’t know if that’s something that would surprise those who know me by my writing, not my personality or appearance.

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

Ohohohoho~ *rubs hands together* happily! 

While writing Inseperable there’s a lot of meta, actually, mostly callbacks (callforths?) to canon or building up to things that happen in canon. Canon shows that Xander has gone through many changes to mold himself into the perfect crown prince, but what I know it doesn’t talk much about how Camilla’s personality was as a child, and how she grew into what she became to be. So the most part of meta is building up to canon, like events mentioned in canon (like the concubine wars), but mostly how their personalities and bond has changed from childhood to the adults they are in canon. There I work a lot with how the past changes the present, even the past we had no control over, like who our parents are. 

In Madame Guillotine, however, the meta is a bit different. There I work a lot with circles, “what goes around comes around” and repeating history. For example, Rayne that shackles Dominic to him, and uses threats and punishments to keep Dominic in line, while remaining unknowing that that’s what his father did to his mother at the beginning of their (arranged) marriage. Or how Rayne’s father stabbed Dominic’s mother in the back and then publicly executed her without giving her the chance to defend herself and her country in battle, and then ends up meeting the same fate - betrayed, and publicly executed in front of a cheering audience, with no way of defending himself from Dominic’s revenge. It’s a bit of the characters sealing their own fates, pushing each other into craving vengeance, and then being surprised by the knife in the back it gives them. All of it is connected, everything a circle, going on and on... 

21. What other medium do you think your story would work well as? (film, webcomic, animated series?)

Well to be honest with you I wish I could make Inseperable into a film or something. There are a few scenes that I think would just be better on screen, that need a motion that is much harder to capture in words with the same emotion. 

22. Do you reread your old works? How do you feel about them?

Oh, yes, many times! It’s good to look back on old works, to find old ideas I had and see if there’s something I can recycle or, if the work is unfinished, mature into a improved version. I can also find inspiration there, older works I’m still proud over can fuel me to continue on on the projects I have. And I can always look back on them and see how much I have improved. When I read them I find myself editing the text in my head, which shows how much I’ve improved since I wrote it, and that I still am improving. It’s very refreshing to look back on older works. 

23. What’s the story idea you’ve had in your head for the longest?

Hmn... This one is a tricky one, because most of the ideas I have in my head are things that I have for daydreaming, and it’s few that I actually have intention of writing. The story idea I’ve had in my head for the longest would probably be what would become Insperable, I think? Ever since I learned of the concubine wars when playing the game for the first time I wanted to explore that, as well as how the nohrian sibs grew to become so close despite that. But it took time for the plot to actually grow, and for the longest time it was just a vague idea of “I wanna write on this topic”, so I don’t know if it counts... 

This was really fun! Thank you so much for asking~! 

#luddy answers #ask game #writing #this got long lmao #okay on my computer this shows up nice #I hope it works on mobile too

[ninaahelvar]

A Warrior’s Bride (1/?)

Summary: Bakugou Katsuki is a goblin, doomed to live for eternity until he meets the goblin bride. Nearly 900 years later, and he meets the quirky student, Uraraka Ochako, who claims she’s the goblin bride. If only she could see the thing that will grant him eternal rest. 

AO3

A/N: WOOHOO! Goblin AU that I've been craving for, my lads! and now, you get to experience the kind of au's i beg for. My beta, @doesitsaysassonmyuniform, has been yelling at me not to post without an edit because she wants this au to be as perfect as I want it to be. Please enjoy!!! xx

In a lonely field stood a rusting sword, planted in soil that was defiled by the body that had rot and crumbled decades before. Beneath the surface, hidden by the years and decay, a lonely and spiteful body lay waiting. The gods all watched, laughed at the man that once conquered more armies than the planet knew what to do with.

In the midst of endless days and nights, it was decided.

His fate was sealed with the blood on a blade pierced through his chest.

He would be doomed to be immortal, living as a god, but human - bound with morality.

Bakugou Katsuki would live for eternity, until he met his bride.

*

“Only the goblin bride could take the sword from his chest, allow him to die and be at peace,” the old man continued, his story of the ageless immortal told like he was so used to. “It was an awful and cruel fate. A goblin born again to live immortally. He is everywhere and is nowhere all at once. Even now, he’s searching for -”

The woman laughed, her hand finding her lips as the old man spoke. His eyes narrowed at her, hair hanging in front of his face as his hands roamed over the trinkets he was selling. With the short assortment of vegetables and fruits, he looked at the young pregnant girl.

She visited Aizawa many times on her way home, and over time, there was a reluctant bond that hand formed between them. He didn’t want to get involved in her life, but she had a bright smile, and she was kind. It was worth forgiving the fact that she bothered him every time she passed him.

“Why are you laughing, you rotten girl?” he snapped, and Mayumi blushed, pursing her lips as she crouched in front of him.

“Even now, he’s still searching for his bride. ‘And that bride is you’, isn’t that what you were going to say?” she laughed again, her big red coat on, surrounded in her red scarf, holding herself tightly against the frigid winds.

“Don’t come around here next time and wonder why I’m gone.” Aizawa grumbled. He tried, in his own way. It wasn’t his fault that she wasn’t listening. She fiddled with items, little bows she could clip into her hair or an assortment of jewelry. “Who will a single mother turn to in this town. You won’t get sympathy from anyone.”

Her hands stopped, looking back at the ancient peddler, his feet crossed in front of him and his eyes tired. He would never apologise, and she knew it. “You’re mean,” she replied, unclipping the bow from her hair and putting it back where she found it.

“Well, so is life,” Aizawa grumbled, “do you want the discount on the spinach and cabbage or what?”

“How are you both nice and mean to me?” she crossed her arms as she maintained her squat. Aizawa was unsure how her ankles were holding her weight. He knew she was feeling it - the pregnancy a little more uncomfortable than it had been just a month before.

“You’re on your own. What more should I do? Raise you?”

“I suppose,” she shrugged, curling her arms around her knees as she looked back at Aizawa, “it’s a terribly romantic curse, if you think about it. Having to find his bride in order to die. It’s cruel but...maybe there will be happiness.” There was anticipation in her voice - wondering if the world was kind. He knew more than he could say.

Honesty for a moment was all he had.

“God is mean. Selfish and jealous. He only cares for himself. Your husband is evidence enough.” Pregnant and alone. Not her fault - newly married husband killed in a construction accident. It happens.

Fate just had a different plan for the Uraraka family.

“You’re right,” she sighed, the reality of her life coming into full view. Mayumi had suffered a lot - too much to feel all at once, and not now with a baby on the way, “thank you again, sensei.” Mayumi bowed before the old man and began to walk.

Aizawa reached out, snatching at her wrist and making her look down at him. He swallowed the feeling, knowing he could say one thing. “When you are on the brink of life and death, be sure to pray earnestly. A lonely god may hear you.”

No one said he couldn’t warn the poor girl.

*

In the streets of Paris, 1968, there were countries and cultures that merged to one - welcoming and sometimes harsh living for some, but it was better than the alternative. Bakugou had the cigar in between his teeth, regretting lighting the damn thing in the first place. He had given it up over a century ago, but that low life businessman said these things were to die for.

Lying son of a bitch.

With his hair slicked back, dark trousers, leather jacket, and basic white shirt and black tie, Bakugou blended into the background. It wasn’t like Bakugou cared - he just hated suffering. He had seen it enough to know that pain for a child was far more damaging - and they could never stop it. He had the power, so why not use it?

On the edge of a street corner, hidden in a busy cafe, he observed. Over a cup of coffee, he put his cigar to the side, sipping at it whilst he waited. Putting his cigar back between his teeth, arms folding, he watched it all unfold.

Bakugou Katsuki watched the small boy run from his cruel stepfather, the abuse amounting to too much pain in the young boy’s body. A distance away, Bakugou slid his fingers, and across the way of the chasing parent slid a large potted plant. Broken ribs made it impossible to bring his arm over his head. A broken wrist meant that it would useless and painful to strike the child. Bakugou stood, paying for his drink and wandered the streets of Paris once more.

When it had first happened, Bakugou thought it was strange - seeing the future of a person he never truly would know other than glimpses. What Bakugou did do, however, was save that kid a life of running away, his mother constantly looking for him, and in the midst of it all, more pain from living on the streets.

Bakugou would never be rewarded for his kindness, nor would be want it. It would be too many eyes, too much joy for a rescue he never wanted now. He once wanted praise, to be the envy of others and to be admired. Bakugou was a hero.

Now he was just a pitiful god.

*

Before he was a god, he was human - a warrior. A general of an army of millions - he took pride in his underlings. They either feared him, or admired the strength he placed in hem. He had killed thousands, a blade stained with blood that dripped crimson wherever he walked. The hilt of his blade, a white tiger’s face engraved there, filled its etching with blood - now resembling the teeth of a dragon; fierce and deadly.

On a battlefield, the bodies lay and the two armies fought - one decimating the other. Bakugou was knocked to his knees, air finally deciding his lungs were an unfit place to stay as he raged. Digging his thick blade into the soil, he used it to keep him upright. He wasn’t going to get tired. Not now.

A soldier came charging at Bakugou. Sucking in a breath, he waited for the right time. The right moment when the soldier’s belly was exposed. With his blade raising high, Bakugou struck up and deep, swiping the sword to slice right through the man’s torso.

It gathered his strength.

It got Bakugou to his feet.

Tearing across the battlefield, Bakugou would not be pulled down for any of it. Arrows soared past him, nipping at the edge of his skin, but he would kill ten thousand men before an arrow could touch him. He knew how to fight - he was built for battle more than any other man in the world.

He watched his army fall, and his army rise, the soldiers around him defending the name of their king and their general. Bakugou praised them for just a moment before bounding into another fight.

Bakugou was known as a god of war - bringing his enemies down until there were no more enemies left to fight. He was the path that they all would take - death walking, and no mercy to be shown.

One soldier after the other, Bakugou struck them down, killing in every way he could. Stabbing, slashing, maiming and wounding for others to finish off. There was no end that Bakugou hadn’t accomplished. On that day, however, he had yet to take down their General, and he would not stop until he got that man’s head.

Staring the general down, half an army away, Bakugou had chosen his next victim. When their eyes met, the general ran, shoving his own men to get away. It wouldn’t matter. Bakugou grabbed a horse and chased the man down. Narrowing his gaze, Bakugou twirled the hilt of the blade in his palm, feeling the weight before the distance between he and the pathetic general was about to be nothing.

The sword rose above his head, before swinging back down and slicing up the general’s back as hard as he could. It helped somewhat that Bakugou was being held up by a speeding horse. The man fell, his surprise something that only gods could understand.

The war was over.

They had won it for their kingdom.

The ride back was calm, his army on his heels, exhausted but proud of their achievements. It had been so long since Bakugou - or any of his men - had been back home. Along the road leading to the gates of the palace, the common people praised Bakugou’s name, bowing to him as he rode past.

They made it to the entrance of the palace, secured by the palace guards, and the army stepped down from their horses, allowing others to take and feed them. Bakugou pat the black stallion before it was escorted away, and he started towards the palace gates.

“Bakugou Katsuki,” the guard yelled,“take off your armour and lower your weapon on the king’s orders.” It was called down the path, making Bakugou’s second in command step forward, yelling the things that Bakugou wanted.

“Traitor, you will comply!” The guard yelled again.

He should have known the king would follow through with his word. He was young, though, Bakugou thought he would come to his senses. It was clear….this was Bakugou’s last stand.

“Stop,” Bakugou snapped. They all looked to him. “I fucking heard you. Just wait.”

Bakugou began stripping the metal armour off of his chest - enblazened with the mark of the king and a spiraling dragon. He was in dark robes to mask the blood that they swim in. The black silver metal sheets fell from his body, and the army behind him followed suit. They were left in their black robes, defenseless

“Traitor, you will die for the crimes you -”

“Say another lie to my face again, and I’ll rip your tongue out and feed it to a dog,” Bakugou spat back, challenging the guard. The archers on the top balcony readied their aim at Bakugou and the men waiting behind him.

“Drop the sword, traitor!” The guard tried again.

“Stand aside. I’m meeting with the damn king!”

“Bakugou Katsuki, if you -”

“If you stop me, I will go straight through your shitty body,” he warned, glaring the guard down. He was shaking. “Get out of my way.” Bakugou moved forward, daring him to act in defiance to Bakugou’s challenge.

The arrows flew down, sinking into his army like they were deer led to the slaughter. It happened in the span of a second, whistling through the air before landing in hard and sharp heaps. Bakugou turned back to the group, seeing half of his army laid above the gravel - returned from war, only to be killed by their king was a torture beyond what words could say.

Katsuki wanted to strangle someone.

“Open the gates!”

That rattling voice. The same one that whispered in a young boy’s ear, charming him into jealousy and misinformation. He drove the poor child king into a frenzy, and would kill to maintain his own reign. Tomura didn’t even know better. He trusted the old bastard. He guided him from infancy, why shouldn’t the king trust his most loyal advisor.

He had no name - none that was worth telling - all that anyone knew to call him was ‘All For One’, because that’s all he cared about; the big number one...himself. Only King Shigaraki Tomura knew his true name.

The gates slowly crawled open, guards and royal officials stood in place. The stairs would be daunting to anyone that wasn’t Bakugou. But this was a final stand. It was meant to be daunting. Instead, Bakugou walked up them, seeing the Queen out in front, another set of stairs between her and the king. And All for One. A safe distance, Bakugou thought.

It wasn’t long before Bakugou stood next to the queen, her brown hair floating in front of her face as the winds picked up. It would rain that night. She was in white, wrapped tightly in her royal dress. She looked ugly, but beautiful in her own way. Bakugou saw his entire household staff kneeling before guards. Bakugou saw his mother and father. Kneeling.

“Take another step and your family dies,” Shigaraki warned. Bakugou glanced to the Queen, her chin raised as she faced forward, her back to the men that were betraying Bakugou.

The queen turned to him, the red in her eyes resembling his own.

“General. Go.”

“Haruhi…” he stopped, biting in the inside of his cheek, “Your highness, I can’t just -”

“Katsuki,” she said in a soft voice, eyes weak to stay open, tears formed at the edge. Haruhi, much like her mother, never cried. Yet, she did. Haruhi knew...she knew before Bakugou did. “Go.”

And so he did. He reluctantly rolled his shoulders, gripped his sword a little tighter, and he continued with slow and deliberate steps. What he didn’t expect was Shigaraki’s hand to raise and fall, the sharp whizzing of an arrow flying, and the heavy thud all in the span of a few seconds.

Haruhi was down.

He didn’t know if she were dead or just wounded.

But Bakugou continued.

Go. She said.

He had to comply.

It was only a few steps, but they were painful.

Then, he saw his parents being pushed to the forefront, his mother slipping on her robes and trying to grab at his father’s hand. They were pulled apart, sword slashing at them so quickly, there was barely a moment to register what Bakugou had seen. It would be torture if he dwelled on it.

He saw his mother, dead on the stone ground. He saw his father, lying beside her, trying to touch her hand in his final moment. It was gone before he could even reach her finger tips.

Bakugou felt the shiver rush over his body.

But he didn’t stop. He continued to go.

“Never look back, Katsuki, you are a general and generals never look back on those that die.”

His mother had drilled that into him before he left, the old hag. She was a force of nature that woman. And now….she’d be one with it.

His household staff were pushed to the ground in front of the king, kicked to the floor, and it took Bakugou a moment to register who was among those on the ground, trying to remain calm in the face of a death. Toshinori. A mentor. A guardian. A master of influence for Bakugou. He was dedicated to the Bakugou family - and he gave everything of himself.

Katsuki stopped dead in his tracks. It felt like when he was a boy, caught training with a blunt sword that Toshinori told him never to go near. He was too stunned to even move.

“Halt!” Shigaraki commanded.

Toshinori looked to Bakugou, the soft pleading in his eyes for the boy to run.

But Bakugou couldn’t do that to Toshinori. He wouldn’t.

“What are you doing? Make him kneel!” The bastard yelled, the king standing by and letting the shitty old man take control. In a sudden, but not unexpected moment, Bakugou felt the foreign blade slice at the back of his calves, making him topple to the ground. His sword scraped against the ground, trying to keep his entire body from hitting the ground. The same guard brought his sword up, ready to bring Bakugou down. Before he could, Bakugou defended the attack, knocking the guard to his ass.

“This is not for you to do.” Bakugou scowled, and the guard backed off.

He would not be killed by their hands. He wouldn’t allow it. He positioned the hilt on the ground, the blade pointed to the centre of his chest. He could just fall. A pathetic way to die.

Bakugou didn’t know what else to do. It was at least on his terms.

“Katsuki!” he heard her yell, watching as Haruhi had stumbled over to Katsuki, falling in front of him and he helped her to her knees. The arrow that had struck her had landed in her left shoulder, blood seeping from the wound like a breaking a stream. She was so pale, frost could not compare to how quickly she had lost colour in her features.

“Haruhi,” he grumbled, getting to his knees, inspecting her face. “get out of here. You can still get out of here.”

“I’m not letting him touch you,”  she replied weakly. He tried to get her to her feet, but she merely shook her head. “Katsuki, you know I won’t make it,” she said, eyes looking back at him to challenge him to argue. Even in the end, she would still be spiteful towards him. Haruhi took the hilt of the blade from his hand, letting her delicate fingers wrap around it until she could handle the weight.

“Do you know where to put it?” he asked. If it were to be anyone, he’d want it to be Haruhi.

“Show me?”

Bakugou let his head nod briefly, positioning Haruhi and finally putting the blade’s edge at the centre of his chest. He could feel his hands shaking, but Haruhi was still, even when she was weak. “Push as hard as you can, I promise it won’t hurt me,” he said.

In one breath, she drove the blade forward and Bakugou hunched, the blade sinking so far in and through to the other side, he was almost touching the neck of the blade where the steel ended and the brass finishings began. Bakugou groaned, blood pouring from his mouth, and he had to clutch to his sisters robes.

“Liar,” she mumbled, hands from the blade, and finally, her body landed on the floor, unable to keep herself upright anymore.

“Haruhi,” he gurgled, resting back on his feet and watching as the king left; the enemy he thought he had was now finished - no mortal man could survive such an end.

Bakugou wanted to die - he felt the pain of every inch, the smooth lines of the edge piercing into his skin and everything inside. But he wasn’t dead yet. Everyone he ever thought he cared about was dead - but the pain wouldn’t go away. He’d die angry and sad, wanting an end that was so far off, he couldn’t reach it for some time. Staring back at the man that was hellbent on destroying lives, he smiled at Bakugou and if his body would allow, Bakugou would have strangled that man.

“No one is to tend to the traitor’s corpse. Throw it in the field for the animals and birds to feed on.”

It was All For One’s warning. Bakugou was placed in a field, his blade pinning him directly into the soil, and his body laid there to be nothing but something the ground and animals used for their own livelihood.

Nearby, his servants all prayed, cried for God to listen to them and allow him safety and peace. There wasn’t much fucking use. There was no god. It was when the day was the brightest when Bakugou finally closed his eyes. It was done.

Bakugou was twenty-seven when he died.

Years later he would realise just how young that was.

*

In 1999, Kirishima was used to his job. It wasn’t exactly fun. Who in their right mind would say collecting the souls of the dead was a fun thing? For three hundred years, it was what he expected as a grim reaper - taking care of souls, giving them their tea in his tea shop, and letting them rest. He had been through hell with some clients, if he could even call them that. In the last century, it had been hard. So many dead, so much pain and sorrow, and he had to be emotionless. Cold.

Even if he didn’t remember the life he had before being a grim reaper, he knew he wasn’t unfeeling. Whatever trick was played on him was cruel. But he only had a few thousand more clients to get through to be complete with his time as a grim reaper.

It was barely a life he was living. But then again, he didn’t remember when he was alive. All he did was work, work, work. He carried the dead, ushering them to the other side and telling them that good things later beyond. He didn’t know for sure. But it was better than saying nothing.

Kirishima was tired. Really freaking tired.

He’d had tea thrown in his face, couples arguing about their deaths and a subsequent fight….that didn’t matter.

Because they were dead.

Why fight?

They were dead! Dead! The big end! The last breath!

DEAD!

That was beside the point.

It was just long, and seemingly endless.

In his next life, Kirishima wanted to live.

With his black suit pinned tightly to his body, fixing his hair to sit comfortably, before adjusting his black brim hat. It was the signature of all grim reapers, the things that kept reapers hidden from mortals. In Kirishima’s teahouse, hundreds and thousands of used tea cups sat resting in their shelves, perfectly in line with how Kirishima wanted it. Fixing up the silver dragon brooch on the top of his lapel, the chain linking just above where the buttons of his suit started, he looked out the window, marvelling at the day. The city streets were crowded, people rushing about to attend to their business - each person passing by without a second glance to where he stood in the window.  

A flash of movement on the street, and Kirishima turned his head. To his surprise, he saw something he’d never encountered before. A blond haired man, soft scars in his face - just above his brow, and one hidden on his chin - Kirishima could tell from the moment he saw him that the man….he was not mortal.

“A goblin?” Kirishima said to himself. The man tucked his hands into baggy jeans, red flannel shirt pushed aside as he stopped and looked to Kirishima. No one could see inside his tea shop - something that humans overlooked everytime they passed by. But he did.

“A reaper?” he asked in return, and Kirishima shifted his weight, trying to understand the creature. “Shitty hair,” The goblin said with a tut, and continued on. Kirishima’s brow furrowed, hitching up his hat and watched as the foul mouthed goblin continued on his way.

It had been so long since Bakugou had been back home. A lavish lifestyle was what the generations of families wanted for him. He just moved wherever they told him to. He’d tried working for them in the past, but that only resulted in a lot of yelling and anger management classes that never stuck. A thousand years holding a grudge does things for the anger department.

Returning, however, was infuriating for a number of reasons. The main being that the sword was still in his chest. Centuries had passed, and Bakugou knew from the moment he became a goblin, he would never find a bride. It was a stupid and fucking ridiculous curse to place on him. Ironic as fuck, he supposed. He’d never paid much attention to sex and love and all that sappy bullshit when he was alive - far too focused on improving his skills as a warrior. Now that he actually needed it to pass on, it seemed even more impossible. Poetic justice they’d probably call it now, that immortality was spent on a man that just wanted to die. He had fun with it over time, brawling when he in a particularly bad mood, or when another venture failed - he’d drink himself stupid. He’d formed some pretty bad habits over the years - not like it would kill him. It wasn’t like he had much else going for him.

*

Bakugou didn’t have many memories of the time between his death and his rebirth as a Gobin.  He remembered endless plains, wandering aimlessly as the world blurred by. Sand passing in the wind, and sun blazing down, drying him out. He remembered the strange feeling of longing for nothing - needing nothing to sustain him. Just. Existing.

When he’d heard God, it was like dunking his head into cold water - a sudden rush of awareness that had his head spinning.  That damned voice rung in his ears, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“They pray for you,” the voice had said somewhere near his soul. “Crying for you to breathe again.”

“Yeah? What of it?” He’d called back - his arrogance returning along with his thoughts.

“You killed so many - and such a life cannot go unpunished.” The voice continued, as though he hadn’t interrupted God in his anger.  “You will live, Katsuki Bakugou, until your bride pulls the very sword you used to slaughter others out of your chest. Only then will you be at peace.”

Bakugou could still remember the haunting sensation of his body returning, no longer lost to nothingness. He could breathe, and wiggle his toes, but along with it came the sharp pain of steel in his chest.  He tried to grab at it, stomach roiling and nausea making his body shake, but his hands slipped right through it.

“Until your bride…”

His What?

“Young Bakugou?” A rattling voice asked nearby. To his side, he saw the skinny, frail old man - and when Bakugou laid his eyes on him, knew everything about him. His entire history was laid bare for Bakugou. Toshinori. It was Toshinori for sure. “You’re...alive?” he asked, bent on his knees, eyes so hollowed out, Bakugou could barely see the man he once knew. The man was weathered in age, and Bakugou tried to grapple with how long he had been… gone.

“It seems,” Bakugou replied, standing up with a quick breath pulled through his teeth. Which he had. Because apparently he was alive again.

He looked over to the old man’s side, seeing a young boy with yellow hair bowed next to him.  He didn’t recognise him personally, but his features were so distinct, he couldn’t be anything but a Kaminari - another family that had served him and his family.

“Young Bakugou, how are you-”  Toshinori tried to ask, but Bakugou had other plans.

“ Later,” he cut in, shakily standing up. That motherfucker had killed his whole family, and then shoved his dead corpse in a shitty field to be eaten by the vultures. No fucking honor in that.

He’d show that coward what a warrior really was - how a king should have acted. Afterall, it wasn’t like he could kill Bakugou twice.

No. Apparently now he had a Bride for that.

Fucking universe.

*

At the house, he met with Toshinori Yagi and Kaminari Denki. Descendants of the ancestors that had once served Bakugou. They were practically the same - their faces finally aligning with what they once resembled.

Toshinori was a skinny man, and had become skinnier over the years. At this point in time, Toshinori called Bakugou his nephew. Kaminari called Bakugou uncle. It had been this way since Bakugou was a goblin - his age and face remaining the same, but those around him changed. When he had first met Toshinori, Bakugou was called uncle. Soon, he’d be called son. And soon, he’d be called brother. Though, he fucking hated the idea that Kaminari would think he was able to call him brother.  

But, Kaminari was still a boy, no older than four. It would be decades before they’d be the same age physically.

Bakugou wasn’t sure how many years that passed between his return and a night that felt heavy with regret and pain. He sat on the letters of the glowing sign, so far up in the air that the wind felt like it had a voice. He was drinking beer from a can, likely going to finish the entire six by the night’s end. The sounds of the city didn’t stop - everything was blaring noise in Bakugou’s ears. Sirens on police vehicles, crying from babies being ignored inside their cribs, yelling from parties that were happening all over the city.

Everything was happening all at once.

And it never stopped in the city. The noise just a constant reminder that he was aged - old and tired compared to the peace that the city once was. It took getting used to, and to be fair, Bakugou rebelled whenever he could. Still didn’t have a phone. Didn’t have social media - whatever the fuck that was. Barely had any actual interactions outside of his staff. It just meant he was alone more. It also helped not having any other attachments. No other people dying.

The crash happened suddenly, the warning of screeching types on snow covered roads, the heavy thud of something hitting metal, and the rolling of a person back onto pavement. Bakugou watched, the woman’s breathing harsh and strangled. The car simply sped off, as though it were never there. The woman groaned in pain.

Bakugou drank his beer.

“If there’s a god. Please. Save me,” she begged, a soft sob filling the end of her sentence. She panted, trying to breathe and not cry. Bakugou drank. “Save me, I’m begging you. Someone. Please.” It was her final beg, the cry of someone so desperate for life, she’d give anything. Bakugou sighed, downing the rest of his beer and setting it to rest beside him on the sign.

Then, he pushed himself off the side.

Mayumi’s eyes felt like they were constantly out of focus, the crash causing nothing but pain and she felt like she was fading so quickly - she couldn’t focus. And she knew she couldn’t focus when she saw a plume of smoke appear, bright blue flames, and from it came a man almost as though he were the fire he stepped out from.

He looked like someone her age, but something in him seemed old in spite of what he wore - jeans that were a little too big, white shirt that may have had a stain on it or at least wet, and a leather jacket worn from years of use and a flannel shirt tied to his waist. His boots scraped along the gravel under the snow until he finally got to her.

“Who are you?” she asked, looking up to him. He tucked his hands into his pockets.

“Someone.” It was simple. He didn’t seem interested in anything that was going om

“Please help me,” she begged, trying to reach out to his shoes, but her hands only caught snow in between her fingers, fisting it into clumps.

“I don’t have all night. Why should I save you of all people?” he groaned.

“W-what?”

“I don’t get involved in mortal lives, especially death. What makes you special?”

“Please,” she pleaded, her hand resting on her stomach. He tilted his head, watching her softly cry.

He heard the heartbeat, soft and weak. “It’s not your life you’re begging for.”

“Just...save the baby,” she tried once more, her breathing becoming so strand, she was gone in the next few she took.

Around her spread a pool of blood that resembled something like a withered rose petal. Death surrounded the girl. She was Haruhi’s age. Young - barely started with their lives. Uraraka Mayumi. Lived a hard life, pregnant on her own, husband of only a few months died, and at the same time finding out she’d be raising a child by herself. She was shunned. Alone.

Like him.

“You’re lucky,” he sighed to the barely dead. “If the big guy had his way, you’d be dead. But me, I’m a nice god. I don’t wanna see any shitty humans die tonight,” he grumbled before kneeling down beside the dead woman. From his hand, the blue fire appeared, like it radiated from his fingertips.

Mayumi gasped awake, clutching at her stomach and coughing as she felt herself being forced to breathe. The man that once stood in front of her, had vanished. She was left in the snowed out street, but this time, she could hear someone nearby. They stopped the bleeding, they helped her from the ground and to get her to the hospital. She had never been more relieved in her life.

Kirishima walked to the scene. Uraraka Mayumi, twenty four years old. No name. Zero years old. A blood stain rested in the snow, soaking into it like a permanent mark into the ground. But no body. No soul. He was missing his client.

He sighed, looking around, and noticed something strange. “Snow and blood,” he commented to himself, turning around to the tree nearby, fully in bloom in the middle of winter, falling like snow, but smelling like a wondrous spring. “And cherry blossoms?”

A lost soul.

Tainting the name of a grim.

Shit.

Kirishima groaned, knocking off his hat and glancing around.

He hated paperwork.

In the hospital, Uraraka Mayumi gave birth to her daughter, Ochako, on the twenty-seventh of December, the hours so early, dawn hadn’t even broken yet. Ochako cooed, barely cried at all, but over her mother’s caring shoulder, she would see the spirits that would haunt her for the rest of her life. Ghosts that only she could see.

“The Goblin Bride.” They all whispered. “The Goblin Bride is born.”

Ochako would never understand those words, regardless of how often she was told.

Uraraka Mayumi was the most loving and caring woman - she could make most people a little weak at the knees, falling for that beautiful smile and warm personality. Ochako never really understood it, but she thought her mother was the most amazing woman alive. As her mother left Ochako on the pier to take care of things with some local fishermen, Ochako watched - observed - letting her hand rest out. In a moment, she saw a cherry blossom petal fall into her palm, a bright smile on her face.

On Ochako’s back, a birthmark lit up, the shape of a withering rose petal. It’s dark, ink-like appearance, suddenly became white, before fading to brown tone once more. It went unnoticed by the eight year old who smiled at the petal in her hand.

“So, what sort of mochi do you want for your birthday? Daifuku? Ice cream mochi?” Mayumi asked, reaching out for her daughter’s hand. Ochako beamed as she jumped to her feet and grabbed hold of her mother’s hand. They began walking up the beach, smiling to one another.

“Can we have a party this year?” Ochako begged.

“What do you mean, honey?”

“I want an actual birthday cake with candles this year. Maybe that’s why my wishes never come true,” she reasoned, and Mayumi laughed, shaking her head.

“I didn’t realise, sweetie. You always liked mochi, so that’s what we do. A birthday cake it is,”

“Really?”

“Really.” Mayumi loved seeing the biggest smile on Ochako’s face, the pure joy her daughter held was beyond what the universe could comprehend. How could she be blessed with someone so magical - it was a wonder how she deserved Ochako.

“Oh! A puppy!” The girl yelled, pulling away from her mother and racing off down the beach.

“Where sweetie?”

Ochako bent down to the puppy, a little labrador, patting the docile little thing as it sat patiently. Ochako had never been able to get so close to dogs before, especially ones without an owner, but it was so friendly and nice she wasn’t scared to say hello.

Mayumi sighed, watching as Ochako bent down, stroking the air and showing off a petal in her hand. She knew her daughter was different - Ochako was always going to be different - yet, it was painful to see it first hand so clearly.

*

Ochako raced home from school, the night drawn in, and her mother waiting in their home for her. Smiling wide, she started to take off her backpack from school. “Mama! I got one hundred percent in English today!” Ochako beamed and her mother smiled weakly back.

“That’s amazing!” she replied, shifting in front of the coffee table, the small cake resting on top of it.

“Wow, it’s a cake!” Ochako squeaked, “Mum, are we doing the party now?”

“Yes,” Mayumi nodded, gesturing towards the matches beside the cake. “Hurry and light the candles.”

“I can light them?”

Mayumi nodded. “My little Ochako is all grown up now, so she can,” she spoke softly.

“That’s right. I’m nine now. I got one hundred percent on my test, so lighting candles is a piece of cake,” Ochako laughed, her own choice of words making her giggle. Mayumi joined in.

“Is that right?” Ochako lit the match, lighting each of the candles.

“I might even be a genius, don’t you -” Ochako stopped herself, watching as the smoke from the candles faded up into the air. Her smile dropped, looking at her mother and seeing it.

“What? You should make a wish. Happy birthday, honey,” she tried to seem excited, but there was a hollowness to her words.

“You’re…” Ochako stuttered, “you’re not.”

“Hm?” Mayumi could feel her eyes watering.

“You’re not really mum. You’re mama’s soul,” Ochako said, voice breaking, a torture that only a child’s cry could inflict.

“You really can see them, can’t you?” Mayumi whimpered, holding her lips tight. “I wanted you not to...that people would treat you differently, but…” Mayumi stopped herself, hand pressing to her lips. She still felt whole, in spite of everything.

“Mama...are you dead?” All Mayumi could bring herself to do was nod. “Where are you? Where are you now?” Ochako begged for an answer as tears streamed down her face. Everything inside the small child was shattering a life she knew, blown apart.

“I’m at the hospital near the crossroad,” Mayumi explained, when her heart gave out, she heard them discussing it over the emergency call before she passed. “Someone from the hospital will call soon. Your aunt will meet you there.”

Ochako nodded, trying to work through her tears.

“It’s cold outside, so make sure to wear your scarf, and ask the old man, the one with the tired eyes and funny hair. He’ll take you. You can find him, right?”

“I know where sensei is,” Ochako nodded, sobbing a little harder when she spoke.

“In the future, don’t ever make eye contact with spirits. They’ll latch onto you, and people will think you’re strange. But you are special Ochako. My special girl,” Mayumi warned, the tears pouring from her eyes. She didn’t even know how it all worked, how to feel and not feel all at once, and to watch her little girl break was the worst of it all.

“I’m glad I can, so I can say goodbye, mama,” Ochako sobbed and Mayumi shut her eyes, trying to not cry as hard….it was her last words.

“I think I have to go now. I love you, sweetheart,” Mayumi said, smiling as her lips quivered and tears came down more.

“I love you too, mama,” Ochako replied, watching as her mother faded from their living room, left a barren place of a lonely child, and the heartbreak of knowing her mother was dead.

The phone rang, and Ochako was barely done crying, sobbing as only a small child could. She hiccuped mid breath, trying to calm down before she answered.

“Hello, is this Uraraka Mayumi’s residents? This is Tokyo Medical Hospital,” the woman on the other end said.

“I know, I’m coming,” Ochako replied, hanging up the phone and whimpering some more.

Ochako found her mother’s red scarf, too big for Ochako’s shoulders, but as she wrapped it around her neck, it was the only thing that brought her comfort. With three loops around her neck, giving a soft knot in the front, Ochako buttoned up her jacket and held herself tightly. Turning back around, she watched the candles of her cake flicker, a birthday she’d never had. A mother she’d never get to celebrate with.

No one was looking out for her.

Why would anyone - any god - be so cruel to take away Ochako’s only family. Her only mother.

“A wish. I’m not going to make a wish. There’s no one to listen even if I had one,” she said, voice shaking as she refused to cry.

A child forced to grow beyond her years. Tired, scared, and alone. She’d always be alone.

Mayumi crouched next to Aizawa, his hands fiddling with cutting instruments and slicing up vegetables. She still admired the ring she always picked up in his collection of things. He knew she was gone. But he still carried on with his business.

“How come you never age Sensei?” she asked.

“How much more can a man age?”

“I suppose you’re right,” she clicked her tongue. There was a silence; a scared, waiting silence. “Would you look after Ochako when you can? From time to time?”

“Why should I look after your daughter?”

Mayumi huffed in disappointment. “You really are mean.”

“I thought we had this discussion,” Aizawa said, watching as she cracked a smile.

“If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here. I got to spend nine years with my baby,”

“I’m glad I helped,”

“Thank you, Sensei,” she replied, leaving in a moment, gone with the blowing of wind. She’d be waiting in the tea house by now...but he wouldn’t be there.

Ochako.  

*

Ochako tugged on the door handle, closing it behind her. She fixed the scarf and began walking up her path, but stopped when she saw a man standing at the end. He was dressed in black from head to toe, topped with a black rimmed hat. A light glowed from behind him before fading, the car nearby moving on and the darkness of night remaining.

“Mister, who are you?” Ochako asked nervously, clutching onto her scarf. The man tilted his head.

“You can see me?” he replied. Kirishima had never been seen by a human before.

Ochako shuffled back on her heels, the safety of her home what she wanted more than anything. “I...I forgot my scarf, I should get my scarf before I -” She began turning, trying to find security in her home.

“You’re already wearing your scarf,” he said, interrupting her steps. She stopped and couldn’t bring herself to keep moving. “This is Uraraka Mayumi’s home, correct? She wasn’t at the hospital,” he said, and Ochako gripped tighter to her scarf. Kirishima tilted his head again, looking at the girl and measuring the height of her. He thought about Mayumi...and had a strange feeling. “By any chance...did you turn nine today?”

“Go, leave the child alone,” a deep voice stopped the answer. Ochako turned to her side, looking at the old man that was always wrapped up in a sleeping bag these days. Ochako perked, racing over to him.

“Sensei!”

Kirishima huffed. “You’re interfering with my duty.”

“Duty my ass,” Aizawa spat back. Ochako clung to Aizawa’s side, the small girl’s hands shaking as they gripped hard into his sleeping bag. He kept a hand on her head, trying to calm her down. “You failed to do your duty all those years ago,” Aizawa reminded the reaper.

“I’m happy to do it now. I’m running out of time, the day is going to end soon,” he replied, irritated now.

“That’s your problem. Is this child’s name in the book? The child back then didn’t have a name, but this child does,” he challenged. Kirishima went tight lipped - everything would be so good if the god of fate wasn’t standing in his goddamn way. “I’ll let you take her if you show me the card with this child’s name on it,” he said again, and Kirishima’s fist bound tightly.

“This child has nine years of paperwork we have to catch up with,” he replied and Aizawa grumbled. The look in his eyes was fiery, determined to scare the reaper.

Get through me.

He couldn’t. “I’ll see you again, Young one,” he muttered, leaving with the wind, and Ochako watched as he turned to dust and disappeared like nothing.

“Sensei, mama is…” Ochako sniffed and her sensei bent down to her, groaning as he got to her level.

“I know, that can’t be helped. You need to live. Move within three days so he can’t find you. Since you’ve made eye contact with a grim reaper, hell find you quicker here. So live somewhere else,” he rattled it all off and Ochako kept up, nodding even though tears were forming in her eyes. She was so scared, everything felt like it was on the verge of collapse and there was no one there to catch her.

“If I move, he can’t find me?” she mumbled, choking back a cry.

“He can’t,” he reassured and Ochako nodded, sighing, but her shoulders still shook - the unknown world still so scary to the child. Aizawa shook his head. “Your aunt and her children will be looking for you at the hospital after midnight. Go with them. It’ll be hard, but you don’t have a choice,” he told her.

“Why are you telling me these things?” she asked. He sighed, wiping away her tears.

“Because I like you. When I gave you to her, I was happy,” he smiled, something he rarely did anymore. But for Ochako...the sweetest little thing, he’d smile. From under his sleeping bag, he handed over a large head of cabbage in a plastic bag. “Here, your birthday gift,” he smiled again and Ochako finally cracked a smile. He pat the girl’s head again before walking off.

He would hesitate the entire walk, his age shedding by years, a young man in his thirties was his new attire, wrapped up his hair into a lousy bun. Maybe it was the shifting of time that made him lose the wrinkles and greying hair - Aizawa forgot about time occasionally. By the time he realised it, the age that made people turn and intrigued, he had wandered for ten years, wondering about the poor and lonely Uraraka, destined to live out a sad and lonely life.

*

For ten years, Bakugou stayed in his home, roaming back and forth, searching and considering his shitty life. It wasn’t as though he was depressed - though, some episodes he had should be considered that way - he just hated being alive so long. No mortal - even with god-like status, should be subjected to live like a human being for all of time. He was subjected to all of this because the shitty fucking god decided that a clever joke was to kill him through romance.

Shitty romance.

He wasn’t going to find a bride that didn’t exist.

But still, he searched. Reluctantly. He wanted to die, sure. But at what cost? Did he really want to make some poor woman fall in love with him in the hopes she could end his shitty life?

The gods weren’t being cruel to just him.

In the meantime, Kaminari had not stopped being a pain in Bakugou’s ass. Obsessed with his credit card, spending on and on, he relied heavily on Bakugou and Toshinori. To spite the little shit, Bakugou withdrew the entirety of the kid’s bank account - look it was petty, sure, but hell it was funny to read a book whilst the kid cried over the voicemail about being declined at a restaurant.

He liked hearing the sparky little guy squirm.

*

Ochako liked high school. Sure, it was hard, especially being known as the girl that sees ghosts. But, she studied hard, ate her lunch, and learnt all she could. No one talked to her - the ghost thing sealed that for her - she remained friendless up until her last year of high school. She felt like she had an eternity to go, but it was only a few more months than exams. She could handle that.

A few tables back in the cafeteria, she heard girls gossiping about her, speaking loudly and mocking her from tables away. Uraraka ignored them and continued eating, like she always did.

Leaving school that day, the rain coming down and without an umbrella yet again, she put her hood up and headphones in, singing along to songs she liked. But on her back, she felt the irritating nagging of a presence that she’d encountered before. Walking, she saw the girl, red hair and green dress, lingering on the side of the path. “Hey,” she whispered. Ochako continued on her walk.

The girl appeared in her path again, on her right this time. “Hey, I heard you’re the goblin’s bride,” she tried. Still, Ochako ignored her. “You can see me right?” she faded in, like the flickering of an old tv screen left on pause. Then, the girl sprung up in front of Ochako, screaming in her face. “You bitch, don’t ignore me!” Ochako jumped back, wrenching out her headphones and holding a hand to her chest.

“God, your voice is so loud!” Ochako complained as the girl’s head lingered over Ochako’s shoulder, batting her eyelashes as she looked hungrily at her.

“So, you can see me,” the ghost said. Ochako grinned, there was no escaping this encounter now. The ghost laughed, holding onto Ochako’s arm until her laughter stopped. The ghost stared off into the distance, and once there was a menacing look in her eye, there was no fear. “It’s..it’s true then,” she stuttered. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” The ghost yelled before leaping into the nearby wall and disappearing.

“What was that all about?” Ochako said to herself, putting her headphones back in and shaking her head. She didn’t pay any attention to it and tucked her hands into the pouch of her jumper, walking home.

Bakugou liked wandering around in town, especially when it was raining. There was something about it that always reminded him of when he was human - the smell, the way the wind blew, the simplicity of a city covered by rain. There were times where the city felt most like home - so he liked going out in the rain. He remembered better with the patter of it all.

Walking the crosswalk, Bakugou adjusted his umbrella over his head, noticing a high school girl, a hood up over her head instead of an umbrella. He watched her for a moment, watching as her attention came to him, and they looked at each other in passing - the moment seeming to stay frozen more than any moment ever had before in his lifetime.

On the crosswalk, Ochako looked up to a figure walking past her, as though she couldn’t help herself. The man had a mean face, but fierce red eyes and blond hair messy. Although, she thought it did suit him. He didn’t seem like a ghost, but there was something so otherworldly about him, she couldn’t put her finger on what. He looked like an ordinary man in his twenties, but aged more than any of them. He had a hand tucked into his jeans, bomber jacket keeping him from the weather.

Umbrella over his head, he kept walking, but their eyes met, lingering on each other. Bakugou could see her life, the fate that he could gather from just a glance was different than normal. It was a fuzzy mess of events, things he couldn’t grip onto, as though he was seeing everything through a flickering screen blurred by years of damage. She continued on, keeping her attention forward, but Bakugou stopped, turning slowly in the street to stare after her.

She...was different.

Different.

Bakugou talked with Toshinori when he returned home. The girl a sign - lingering in a place, interacting with mortals in his own country, it was tedious, and he was wallowing in a place where he’d never find his bride. As much as the quest was a stupid and impossible task, he still wanted this to end. He’d given up on living centuries ago.

“This is for your next life,” Toshinori said, handing Bakugou his passport. “I doubt we’ll see each other when you return,” he sighed, taking a seat next to Bakugou. The goblin laughed, shaking his head.

“You’re not that old, bastard,” he said, looking through his passport. Bakugou Masaru. His father’s name. He carried it with him sometimes, though centuries passed between when he was known by it again. He only ever remained as Bakugou. Masaru was a calm force, something that Bakugou never understood until he was older - a few centuries older, but still, older. Although Bakugou was still a hothead, he knew he was like his father when he wanted to be.

“Uncle!” Kaminari yelled, charging into the house. Bakugou groaned, running his hands through his hair and ready to pull.

“This little shit,” Bakugou groaned, “I’ll get a tumor before the stupid bride turns up.”

“He isn’t that bad,” Toshinori tried.

“Yagi,” Bakugou argued, and Toshinori shrugged.

“You said it, not me,” he replied, cracking a smile.

Kaminari looked like a wreck, his shirt pulled and missing buttons, a purple eye and a tear in his pants. He wasn’t very good at fighting - Bakugou thought about teaching him. But he wasn’t a babysitter. “Didn’t you hear my call? I need a credit card and I was almost pu-” he stopped, looking down at the table. Bakugou covered up his papers and books with his arms, trying to hide“What’s all this?”

Toshinori huffed, trying to sit up. “Denki, you can leav-” Kaminari put his hand up to silence Toshinori.

“Wait, are you leaving again? Are you finding your bride?” Kaminari asked and Bakugou rubbed his hand over his brow.

“No. Go away,” he warned, looking back at the twenty year old. Kaminari suddenly perked, kneeling down to Bakugou’s side.

“What day, date, and time you’re going exactly? To the minute would be good,” he asked and Bakugou rolled his eyes, collecting his belongings moving to his room. Toshinori said goodbye, but the little shit hung around for far too long. It didn’t matter, Bakugou usually ignored the idiot anyway. It was just a little harder than usual with the bastard screaming “Uncle!” outside his bedroom door. But he worked through it.

*

Ochako’s alarm started to blare beside her. She bolted up from her bed, snatching at her phone and switching off the alarm. It was another sad morning, filled with the knowledge that her mother wasn’t there. On her birthday no less. It was never a fun day. Ochako was reminded of it every year. Her aunt - Yuna Nakamura - was a mean woman, and her kids followed in her wake. Mio threw her pillow at Ochako for making noise, but Ochako kept her chin up and moved on with her day.

Dressing in her uniform, zipping up her grey hoodie, Ochako prepared breakfast, gathering all the ingredients for a big breakfast to share amongst her ‘family’ members. It wasn’t long before she had all her things packed for school and her meals prepared and set aside.

“Breakfast!” she called to the house. It didn’t rouse anyone. “Breakfast! Come get it!” she yelled again, gathering clumsy struggles with bedsheets and lazy feet against floorboards.

“Shut up will you?” Mio complained, her hand in her hair, scratching it before she yawned. Kaito stumbled from his room, pant leg stuck just above his knee and a drool line running down the side of his face.

“Making a big meal like it’s someone’s birthday,” he complained, sitting down and taking a bowl of food. Mio sat with grabbed onto as much food as she could, a spoon already between her teeth.

Ochako’s aunt moved into the room“Huh, it is,” Yuna clicked her tongue and laughed. “So proud of coming into the world on the day that her mother passed away,” she said, sitting down with the others and already eating. The spaces around the table were taken, not even an inch left and the food divided up amongst themselves. Ochako sighed, nibbling at the scraps and watching as they ignored her completely.

“Thank you for celebrating my birthday, aunt,” Ochako spat, moving to her room and gathering her backpack.

“People told me I was crazy for raising you,” Yuna yelled from the next room, her mouth full of food, “spiteful child,” she said in a snide voice. Ochako bound her hands into her bag, frustrated and annoyed.

“It’s not like you liked my mother anyway. Some sister you are,” she whispered to herself. Flicking her bag over her shoulder and walking out to the entrance, sitting on the edge of the steps and putting her sneakers on.

“Where are you running off to?” Isn’t it obvious? Or was the checkered skirt and blouse not a big enough give away?

“School,” Ochako replied in a huff.

Opening the front door, the rain was pouring down, harder than it had in the last week. Looking to her side, Ochako saw the umbrellas resting beside the door. Two. She could take one...it wouldn’t be - “You take the umbrella, you’re dead,” Kaito warned with a mouth full of food. Ochako sighed, forgetting the chance to take it.

“Bring your bank book to the bank after school. If you don’t bring it today, you know what’s coming, right?” Yuna said and Ochako huffed, fixing up her backpack.

“I told you, I don’t have the bank books. How many time do I have to -” A bowl was thrown at the back of Ochako’s head, smacking her hard and rice spilling over her jacket and tangling in her hair. Ochako grimace as she rubbed her head.

“Then where are the bank books? Where is your mother’s insurance money?” Yuna yelled, her voice raising and cracking as she screamed.

“How should I know? You took everything, aunt! You even took the house deposit!” Ochako snapped back, watching as her aunt snarled, her finger in her ear.

“You talk so much for so early. Bring it or you should be scared to come home,” she groaned, getting back into her meal.

Mio moved to her mother’s ear, loudly whispering. “I’m telling you, she’s possessed. All those bank books in your purse disappearing, it has to be it.”

Ochako scoffed, trying to clean rice from her hair. “You’re right. There’s a ghost on your back.”

“Hey!” Mio yelled, slapping her hand to her back. Ochako pulled her hood over her and waded into the rain.

Ochako wasn’t sure what came over her when school ended - the fact that she was lonely, the rain had stopped, and she wanted her mother - she found herself with a cake at a pier that allowed her to breathe in sea air. It was a better home than the one she lived in.

Bakugou had arrived in the same place he always went the first day he searched for his bride. With a bundle of buckwheat in his hands, surrounded by fields of it, an expanse so bright it would blind those who looked too long. It was his field. Where he rose and fell. He wandered the field, wondering why he always did this - the pacing and the waiting - but he found it better than doing...nothing.

With the candles all scattered around the cake, Ochako began lighting them one by one. It didn’t feel right to celebrate her birthday, but she’d never done this properly. Pulling her scarf around her neck, she stopped the cold from coming to her, allowing her a moment to consider what she was going to do.

None of them could see the sword. Fucking shit. No matter how many women Bakugou met, they never saw the fucking sword. That’s why he was in this stupid fucking field, filled with death and life - maybe it was a way to get on with his life, to remind him of where he had been. Bakugou hated waiting.

Ochako sighed, looking at her cake. “When I was nine, I made up my mind to never do this. But I’m so desperate, so I beg for some understanding here,” she started, clasping her hands together tightly and shutting her eyes. God, she was stupid for doing this. So. Freaking. Stupid. Screw it. “Please let me find a part time job, and do something about my aunt and her family. Please let me have a boyfriend too!” Ochako begged with her whole heart.

In the field, rich with buckwheat flowers, Bakugou stood and listened to the pleas of a girl on her brink. She begged for relief from her aunt, wanted cash...and a boyfriend? What? What kind of nutjob prays for a boyfriend? He wasn’t an all powerful god granting fucktoys to desperate women. Why was he being bothered by all of this? It didn’t make sense. The biggest question was - how was she able to pray to him?

Ochako peaked open her eyes, looking at all the surroundings and wondering what kind of impulse this whole endeavour was. “What the hell am I doing? Who am I begging to? There’s no god,” she asked herself, cupping the edge of the candles.

Ochako blew out the candles, one last blow for a particularly stubborn candle. She rested her cake to the side, and sat amongst the rain.

A sudden gust of wind blew in Bakugou’s ear, and his hands began to smoke as though they were alight just a moment ago, but he was softened by the wind. Looking down at himself, the smoke radiated from his hand, his confusion growing, but he felt he had no choice - he was pulled to the pleas. He rolled his eyes.

“Oh it can’t be raining on top of all of this! I don’t have an umbrella and it just keeps raining!” Ochako complained, sniffing as she felt like crying. God, her life was so pathetic, she actually prayed for someone to help her find things to help her life out. She should have listened to that old sensei...life was messy and hard. Hers more than others.

“Was it you?” an angry voice said nearby.

“Oh, my god,” Ochako jumped, turning to him. To her side, she saw a man she recognised. But this time...he had a bunch of flowers in his hands, as though he were giving them to someone. Yet, it looked so foreign in his grasp, a reluctant grip on them - as though he’d never held flowers before or never given them to someone.

“Are you the one that summoned me?” he asked.

“Me?” Ochako asked, pointing at herself. He nodded. Ochako stood up, “I didn’t.”

“You did!” he snapped and her brow furrowed. “How the fuck did you summon me?” he asked angrily and Ochako stepped back, wide eyed.

“Wow, you’re very intense,” she commented and his features sharpened, somehow getting even more frustrated with her. He was angry - the type of angry that it was written into his soul. “I don’t know what you’re talking about but I didn’t summon you, whatever that means,” she shrugged, putting her hands into her pockets and holding herself closely.

He groaned, stepping in towards her. “You did. Think about whatever shitty thing you were doing to summon me and how you did it.”

“Earnestly?” she replied with a nervous laugh. Bakugou wanted to be intimidating - never wanted a moment like this to happen again. But she just laughed, as though the scowl on his face wasn’t frightening. He scared armies with that look. Yet...this weird girl barely flinched. “I didn’t summon you. I just see you. Since we locked eyes on the street. You’re him right?”

He knew what she meant. It took him a few minutes, the hood covering her head made her a little unrecognisable. But when he tried to look at her again, he saw the same blurred and distorted future that he had the first time.

“What do you mean you can see me?” he asked.

“I can see ghosts. You’re a ghost,” she shrugged, her tone surprising him.

“I’m not a fucking ghost,” he raged and Ochako laughed again.

“Ghosts don’t normally think they’re ghosts.”

Bakugou scoffed. This girl was full of surprises. She wasn’t allowing him anything. “What the fuck are you?”

“What do you think I am?” she asked and Bakugou shook his head.“I don’t know what you were before you died, but you can go towards the light,” she said.

“W-what? What are you - I’m not dead!” he stuttered.

“What’s that flower?” Ochako pointed to the bunch in his hand. He looked down at it but didn’t reply.

“You told me to go, so why the fuck are you still talking to me?”

“Why are you talking to me?” she smiled, “You can go.”

“Buckwheat flower.”

Ochako giggled, nipping at her bottom lip before shaking her head. “That’s not what I’m asking. What do they mean?” He didn’t reply. Ochako extended her hand, palm resting out to him. “Let me have them, they don’t suit you.”

“I suit everything. I’m a fucking delight!” he roared back at her.

“You can give them to me. It’s my birthday today,” she said, and Bakugou sighed deeply, watching her eyes plead with him. “A very glum birthday.”

“Just take it,” he snarled, letting the bunch of flowers pass into her hands. Ochako felt the string around the flowers, how the straw felt harsh under her fingers compared to the softness of the stems. It was strange, as he looks at her, a furious look on his brow - there was still something soft in his eyes.

“I always seem to get plants for my birthday. When I was nine, I got a cabbage,” she recounted to him. “I asked before, but do you know what buckwheat flowers mean?”

“Lovers.” He cleared his throat, looking at her. Bakugou wasn’t embarrassed by the meaning - it was ridiculous anyway, it was supposed to entice the woman that was meant to kill him. But the look she gave him, surprise at his implication. Maybe it was everything that led beforehand that she was confused by the meaning of such a gift.

Ochako didn’t know what to make of the flowers, the sweet things they were - but the man that gave them to her was even more confusing. He intrigued her, something so strange that she couldn’t place him in any category that life had offered before. She liked the way he spoke - even though it was in harsh tones - he was honest and didn’t think she was as strange for seeing ghosts as she thought he might be. He was strange and mysterious - angry, but something suggested he was allowed to wallow in it.

“Why were you crying? The part time job, the aunt’s family, or the boyfriend. Which of those shitty things were you crying about?” he asked.

“How did you -”

“I told you, I heard you. Can your ears hear a damn thing or are you an idiot?” he seethed.

“I still don’t get it.”

“I sometimes make wishes come true. It’s not important, you either take it or leave it.” Bakugou crossed his arms, a willingness to help just to leave - or maybe something deeper - he wasn’t willing to find out what it was. Just to get off that damn pier and away from the strange girl with no future.

“Like a genie? Or guardian god?” she beamed.

“You’re losing time on this over, so make up your fucking mind,” he snapped.

“You swear a lot,” she commented and he huffed. A little nervous - unsure how to ask for his help, Ochako let her mouth wander. “I knew you were different. You didn’t seem like a ghost - different vibe and all!” she continued and the man clicked his tongue, hands going to his pockets as though he were ready to move on. “I mean, you could give me five hundred thousand yen,” she asked but he stared back at her with shock. “or just this week’s winning lottery numbers -”

“Just say goodbye to your shitty family, you won’t see them again!” he snapped, and he sighed as Ochako looked curiously at him. “Find a crappy job at a chicken eatery or whatever. You’ll get it.” There wasn’t another word before he started to move past her, only to disappear in a cloud of blue flame that turned to dust and the wind in a single breath.

“Mister?” she asked, turning. There was no one there. “Hey! What about my boyfriend!” she called out. “Hey!” Ochako huffed, looking down at the flowers in her hand. Buckwheat was a strange flower.

Bakugou returned home, a strange encounter clouding his mind and he was unable to clear it. Of all things, in his living room, stood the red haired reaper that he saw nearly two decades before. Bakugou walked down the steps, meeting the reaper half way as the pair came into contact. The reaper still had a shitty way of dressing - the three piece black suit, the stupid dragon pin on his lapel.

“We’ve met,” the reaper commented.

“We have,” Bakugou rolled his eyes. Kirishima crossed his arms, looking the goblin up and down. He looked intimidating enough, his aura something resembling that of a fire so hot  it could burn down all of Japan if he let it loose.

“I knew the rumours, I just never thought they were true,” Kirishima commented. The goblin rolled his eyes again and folded his arms.

“Whatever, what are you doing in my house?”

“Your house?”

“All the furniture is included, so you can just mov-” Kaminari started, noticing Bakugou and stopped in his tracks. The boy swallowed hard, walking tentatively over to the man and smiled as though he wasn’t a complete idiot. “Uncle, when did you get back?”

“Explain,” Bakugou said flatly. He would get angry later. Silent anger in Bakugou scared the little shity a little more than loud anger.

“This place is empty for like twenty years when you’re gone. Renting it out is the best option,” Kaminari beamed and Bakugou stared.

“You know what thing you���ve brought in here?”

“Thing?” Denki chastised, “Uncle, he runs a tea shop,” he said and Bakugou looked to the smirking reaper. He would kill that thing if he wasn’t as undying as Bakugou. “I’m just gonna -” Kaminari ran off before his punishment, and in all reality, Bakugou would forget what to do with his stupid fucking nephew later.

“You can leave now,” Bakugou said. Kirishima held up a piece of paper, his signature printed at the bottom.

“I’ve signed the contract already,” he said. Pointing his finger, Bakugou set the edge of the paper on fire, and the page started to burn up until the reaper’s fingers. He let it fall to the floor, crumpling until it was a charred mess on the tiles.

“Hope that wasn’t important,” Bakugou grinned, baring his teeth in his smile.

“It was a copy, don’t worry. I’ll be moving in within two days,” Kirishima smiled back and the goblin lost his grimace. “See you around, Goblin,” he said, pushing past his shoulder and leaving the house.

“Fuckin reaper,” Bakugou whispered to himself.

The grim reaper, annoying as ever with his shitty hair, moved in, disturbing Bakugou and his meals every time he could. The pair didn’t blend - moreover, they refused to blend. Bakugou ate loudly - mostly out of spite - and Kirishima hated the way he ground his teeth when he raged. Bakugou hated the neatness of the freak, hours in one space before he had to leave to kill someone.

When Kirishima threw a pepper shaker in Bakugou’s water with his own powers, Bakugou retaliated by throwing four seasoning bottles into Kirishima’s food. The battles started from there.

Their meals were a knife match, floating items to attack the metal instead of each other.

It was one of the only things they agreed on.

They stared each other down the table, a rivalry brewing. But Bakugou didn’t have friends, so enemies were easier to keep. At least these battles would be fun this time around. His victim was right in his fucking house.

Ochako sat in her room, it so late, Mio was snoring behind her, and her lamp the only thing that lit the room. She was so focused on her work that she barely recognised what time it was. All she knew was that she was tired but she wasn’t finished yet. Ochako was used to the long nights, the tiring days, but she wasn’t going to quit yet. She needed to get out of her house, she needed to go to university.

Ochako needed peace.

Sighing, she looked up to her wall - her plans all hanging from the wall in posters and notes. In the midst of it, taped to the wall, the buckwheat flowers stayed. It had dried, wilting and flowers dropping from the wheat stems. He had a softness in his face when he gave them - when he told her what they meant - and he didn’t seem scary. In a moment of his frustration and confusion, he looked at her with kindness. It was more than what she was used to.

But the moment was over, and her wishes were still in the air - not touching her life yet. “What lover?” she pouted, going back to her work and trying not to notice the sad flowers on her wall. Why did she even hang them up?

Throughout her week, Ochako searched for a job at all the chicken eateries in her area. One by one, she crossed them off, trying to make the best impression possible. They all said they would call her back. Yet, with the combination of their worried looks at her age, and their tone, Ochako knew what they meant; we don’t want you, we want someone better.

She’d been to at least five different stores in one day before she called off her search, sitting on a bench and drinking her water. She grimaced as the cool water exhilarated her body. All she could think, though, was that she wished he had that stupid guardian god’s phone number to yell at him for being full of shit.

“Lying son of a…” she whispered under her breath. She swirled the water at the bottom of her bottle. “Why did I even believe him? He’s probably a trickster or something,” she reasoned, still remembering the look on his face that resembled some form of kindness. “Ah! I hate this,” she groaned, resting back on the bench.

A man walked past her, throwing away his cigarette. And although it was would never bother Ochako, she watched as the cigarette let a cloth ablaze on the top of the trash can. Racing over, Ochako doused her bottle on top of it, for it to still to be on fire. Blowing on it as hard as she could, the fire finally dwindled to nothing but smoke.

“See. It is you,” the man’s voice said nearby. Ochako jumped, almost tripping over her own foot.

“Oh for the love of god,” she called out. She looked at the man from the pier, dressed as though he were going to the gym, tracksuit pants and a tank top just hidden by a hoodie. “Are you following me?” she asked.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not following you, you summoned me again.”

“I would have a job by now if I knew how to summon you!” she snapped and he seemed surprised by her sudden anger.

“You were weird before, now you’re just annoying,” he said, sticking his finger in his ear as though he were clearing it out. Ochako groaned, hand on her forehead.

“I still have no job, you lied to me,” she said. Bakugou bound his fist, getting into the girl’s space, hovering over her.

“I don’t lie. Keep fucking looking. It isn’t easy you know,” he said, looking at her. All the times he tried to intimidate her, she always seemed to fight against it, challenging him to say more with the raise of her chin and the furrow in her brow. It must have been such an unnatural expression on her but she wore it well. “Stop summoning me!” He backed away.

“I didn’t summon you!” she said, stepping forward, following him. She wanted to fight with him. “What am I if I do keep summoning you?” she asked, the shift from frustrated to confused.

“How am I -”

“Tell me everything you see about me,” she asked, and he wondered the same as she did. He looked down at her, trying to work out what to say.

“You’re in a uniform,” he said. “it’s pretty, the uniform,” he cleared his throat, feeling the sudden urge not to make eye contact with her.

“But you don’t see some wings or anything?” she asked. She watched his expression shift from embarrassed to confused and concerned.

“What?”

“I might be a fairy. Like tinkerbell,” she smiled, a finger in her cheek as she acted cute. Then, with a roll of his eyes, he was gone, the blue flames taking him quickly. Ochako huffed, “it was just a joke,” she shook her head and moved to her backpack. She thought about searching some more, but she just wanted to go home.

There were times where Ochako remembered what her mother said - that there was always a god listening. She wondered if that were true, especially after her mother’s passing. Mayumi believed with her full heart in a god, taking Ochako to church, but never forced the faith on her. Passing the old church they used to go to, Ochako walked inside, wondering if it had changed in the time since her last visit.

Inside the church, a procession was already underway. Ochako sat at the back, watching. She had forgotten the smell, the incense and the smoke, rows of candles all left for people to pray to. She watched the flickering flame, caught by the orange glow and wondering how the blue was any different. Then, she thought of something, pursing her lips and waiting for the church to be empty.

On her own, she went to a candle, lighting the match and watching the flame for a moment. As she blew, she stared around the expanse. Bakugou found himself behind a pillar in the church, stepping out from it to see the annoying high schooler who never knew when to quit.

“I figured it out! I found out how to summon you!” she beamed, and Bakugou’s jaw clenched.

“This is the worst place to ever fucking call me,” he snapped, looking to the statues scattered around, sneering at the marble creations.

“Are you scared?” she asked.

“No,” he cringed, before shaking it off, “it doesn’t matter.” He pushed his hands into his pocket, hunching his shoulders and began walking to the front doors of the church. Ochako watched curiously.

“Why aren’t you going in a flame and disappearing?” she asked, and started following after him, right on his heels.

“Think of this place as a demilitarised zone,” he explained, testing the theory out, his hand starting to smoke and turn to blue flames, but it faded, like it was being blown out. “Don’t follow me,” he warned her, and Ochako stopped.

“What about my wishes? None have come true,” she told him.

“Everything takes time, just wait,” he grumbled, and Ochako raced to him, getting in front of him.

“What about my boyfriend?” she challenged him and he groaned, shouting back at her.

“That takes time too! Fuck.” The man stormed off, exiting the church doors and Ochako saw the smoke filling the doorway as it shut without restraint. She huffed, following after and making her way home.

Curiosity took over Ochako. She liked doing experiments of her own, testing out her own abilities and seeing what would work in her favour. After studying all afternoon, Ochako got out her phone, finding the newly downloaded birthday cake app. In the centre of the screen was a birthday cake and candles on the top. “I wonder…”

Blowing on the screen, the flame went out. She waited a few moments before standing and turning around to see the mystery man. She grinned from ear to ear. “I didn’t think it would work!”

“Why the fuck do it then?” He scolded her, turning from her.

“Wait a minute!” she quipped, snatching at his arm with both hands and holding him back. His arm lit up in flames, radiating heat as she held onto him with all her might.

“Did you just grab me?” he asked and as she grinned, her brow began to furrow as the pain finally caught up with her.

“Ow! I couldn’t hold on much longer. It was so hot, I thought because it was blue it would be cool,” she said, blowing on her hands. Bakugou shook his head.

“Blue is the hottest flame.”

“I should know that, I’m a top student in my class,” she whispered underneath her breath, and as she thought about it, she did know that. But whenever she saw it, it looked far lighter than blue flames she’d seen in a lab.

“Study harder then, idiot,” he chastised her again and began walking.

“Can you just give me the five hundred thousand yen? I don’t need the other wishes,” she said, trying to get anything from the guy. She was curious about him, but his promises of wishes made her so angry, she didn’t feel so bad for bothering him.

“I have work to do, so leave me alone, idiot,” he grunted, hands in his pockets. But it was then that Ochako noticed that he looked far different than he had before. He was in a black three piece suit, a tie and all. He looked...uncomfortable, but in the sense that he wanted to avoid something. He didn’t want to go.

“You look pretty sad to be going to work,” Ochako observed and he nodded.

“A memorial for someone is tomorrow.”

“Then why are you -”

“Because over there it is tomorrow,” he interrupted, already knowing what she was getting at.

“When are you coming back? The day after, in two days? I need to ask you something,” Ochako rattled on.

“Then fucking do it!” he snapped, turning to her, allowing them to stop at the edge of a shelf in the library. It was quiet for this time of night, so his voice didn’t end up disturbing too many people. To which Ochako was thankful for.

“I know this question will sound weird, but please listen?”

“Fine, fine. Just talk already,” he groaned, resting his weight on one side of his hip.

Ochako knew she wouldn’t get a chance to space out her words - she’d need to ramble as much as possible before he got sick of her. “I thought you might be a grim reaper, but if you were, you would have taken me when we first met. Then I thought you were a ghost, but you have a shadow. So, I thought about it and -”

He groaned, hand running over his head before he interrupted. “And what? I don’t have time for -”

“Are you a goblin?” she asked, prompting him to stop. He looked at her with scepticism, the way a man looks when something shocks him to his very core that he can’t think of things to yell.

“What are you? What the fuck are you?” he said, voice soft, still trying to think of things.

“This is kind of weird to say but I’m the goblin bride,” Ochako said, and his eyes went a little wide. He staggered back, hesitation as he raised his hand to speak - but nothing came out. Ochako bent forward, hitching back her hoodie and revealing the spot on her back she had become accustomed to showing. “You know I can see ghosts, right? When I was born, I had this mark and all the ghosts say I’m the goblin bride. You see it, right?” she said, pointing to the spot on her back.

Bakugou bent, trying not to touch the girl as she was showing off the black patch on the nape of her neck. It was like a drop of ink, bleeding into the skin, as well as resembling…

A withered rose petal.

Her mother. Dying in the midst of snow. Bleeding and begging. He saved her.

Saved them both.

Bakugou grabbed onto her hoodie, yanking her back up so he could face her. He swallowed hard, trying to think of words that would work. In a deep breath, he found what he needed to say.

“Prove it,” he demanded and the girl started to fix up her scarf.

“You want me to prove I’m the goblin bride?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

“How? Should I fly? Or change into a broom?” she smiled and Bakugou clicked his tongue.

“Try it.”

“I’m very serious right now,” Ochako replied.

“So am I.” He was stern, watching her with intrigue. Every single thing she did, she thought he was analysing. “Tell me what you see,” he reiterated what she had said not a few days before.

“Is this your revenge?” she laughed.

“Tell me everything you see,” he repeated.

“You’re tall.”

“And?”

“Your clothes look expensive,” she pointed out. The sword. Say the sword.

“And?”

Ochako tilted her head, pursing her lips before she continued. “Maybe late twenties?”

“And?”

She laughed this time, her cheeks going pink. “You don’t actually hope to hear me say you’re handsome, right?”

Bakugou wanted to smile, the way she was embarrassed made her look like an adorable human - one he’s missed through his years of being alive. It was rare he found anything cute anymore. “You should’ve had the answer I wanted,” he replied, and her expression dropped. Disappointment. Shame.

“If that’s all you see from me, then you’re not the goblin bride. You have no effective value to a goblin,” he said, the words honest and unfiltered. She was just anyone now. He didn’t care. “I’m sorry you see ghosts or whatever, but just be thankful you’re still alive. You’d be dead right now, but I messed with life and death. You’re a mistake.” The choice of his words were spiteful but he didn’t need this girl to keep calling him. There were pools of tears at the sides of her eyes, but she contained them, as though crying was something she couldn’t have freely.

She sniffed, raising her chin as she kept back the emotions she was feeling. “I got that. But I’m going to repeat my question. Are you a goblin?”

“No.”

“Then what are you?” she asked, spiteful and hatred for him so clear. Bakugou would see it off of her. She, in a moment of pure self-indulgence of emotion, was filled with hate. “What are you to decide that I have value or not?” she spat and Bakugou clenched his hand in his pocket.

“I’m someone who cares about your sitty circumstance. I’ll help, that’s all.” He reminded her. He wasn’t going to lie about that. “Live your damn life, not in whatever people fucking tell you. You’re not the goblin bride,” he finished, walking off and buttoning up his suit jacket.

“Wait,” she called out, but Bakugou opened the door, his mode of transportation a door to another land. When he was through it, he’d never hear her arguing voice ever again.

The door opened onto the sunny skies of a country far from his own. He had been there several times, called the country home more than Japan at times. It was covered in colours, so deep and rich without overwhelming him. He liked the softness of it - he never needed to get angry here. He liked the peace of it all.

“I’m not done talking!” The girl shouted, barging through the door and knocking straight into Bakugou. He went wide eyed, watching her, the oddity of her appearance through the door.

“You just came through that door...you followed me?” he asked. “How did you get here?”

The girl shouldn’t have been able to do that. There was no plausible way she could walk through the door after him. She should have gone through the door to wherever it led within the library. Not with him. It wasn’t possible.

“I just...grabbed the handle and pushed,” she said, reenacting the moment before she looked around. “Where are we?” she asked, scratching at her head.

“How in the world did you follow me through that door?” he asked again.

Ochako looked around, everything far stranger than she thought it should be. An explanation was around her, but she couldn’t place anything. “This is all strange. It doesn’t look like Japan. Where are we?” She looked back at him, waiting. His eyes were still unsure, filled with bewilderment as he looked at her.

“Canada,” he replied.

“Canada? The country with the maple leaf?” she screamed, drawing a little attention to the pair. “We’re in another country!?” she asked again, and Bakugou nodded slowly, watching her in interest. “No way!” she beamed, racing off down the street.

“Hey! Fucking wait, round face!” he raged, following after her. She kept going, racing off and pointing at all the things she’d never seen before and all the things she said she wanted to see.

They made their way up stairs, stopping at the edge of a street and Ochako couldn’t get enough of the new world she was thrust into. She smiled, wondering how the hell any of this was possible. It was amazing. She could barely believe a moment of it.

“Wow, you’ve had this power?” she beamed again, amazement and wonder filling her words as she stared off at the foreign scene.  

“You do too, what are you?” he said. Ochako turned to him. Bakugou swallowed hard, her expression serious and tone following her intention.

“If this is really Canada and if you can do this with your power, then I’ve decided,” she nodded.

“On what?”

“I’ve made up my mind,” she said again, confidence in her words more than she ever had before

“A-about what?” he stuttered.

“I’ll marry you. I think you are the goblin and I’m your bride,” Bakugou was about to argue when she grinned, a giggle in her words as she said, “I love you.”

Bakugou couldn’t think. She was insane. But she made him feel something.

Ochako was probably crazy, but who was she to pass up on this. She was the goblin bride, and she was going to love this man.

#kacchako #kacchako fic #bakugou x uraraka #my fics #a warrior's bride

[lilacmoon83]

A Darker Curse

Summary: Mr. Gold serves Kathryn with David’s divorce papers, August thinks about his ill feelings toward Geppetto, and Regina makes a very bold move in her quest to take Cora down and save her family.

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 7: Just Desserts

Mr. Gold entered the bank that afternoon with a pleased expression on his face. Though a pleased look on his face to everyone else usually looked to them like he was ready to eat someone alive. His expression today was similar as it was when he collected rent from the various residents in town and it was no secret that he enjoyed being feared. If one didn't know Mr. Gold's reputation, they might question why the people fear this man that walked with a limp and used a cane to get around. But the fear he invoked was not a physical fear, no it was far worse. Mr. Gold seemingly had endless financial resources and could hire any muscle he needed. He was a man that could make anything happen and if you wanted something, you only needed to go to him. Of course, that required making a deal with him and that usually came at some kind of great personal cost.

But once in a while, in his considerable years, he had the opportunity to make a deal where what he got out of it would be nothing more than smug satisfaction.

David Nolan had come into his shop and made a deal with him. The man had no money, not a shred of self confidence left, and was as desperate as he had seen anyone in a long time. Almost as desperate as his aging wife that he did not remember. If he wanted to, he could have made them both owe him a great deal and it was tempting. He would be lying if he said he wasn't curious as to how far this Snow White would go to get her husband back. This was a woman that had pined and suffered without the man she loved for twenty years, only to find out that her one comfort that he was at least safe was false.

And then there was David. Some would say he was damaged beyond repair; a shadow of his former self. But he knew better. He had been a victim of abuse and knew that despite that, a person could come back from that. He himself had turned to the darkness to do so. But David was stronger than he was. He would be repressed if he did not admit that they were once not so different. Both born into poverty, though David at least had the grace of a loving mother, it had left them both with a darker impression of the world around them. But unlike him, David had not turned to darkness, though he knew that meeting Snow and being thrust into the role of a Prince had helped that. He was definitely a man that believed in true love; he had banked on this particular true love, after all. But he had never put much belief in its staying power. Love was fleeting, but somehow this love had endured more hardship than any love should be required to. He knew many would think that there was no way to even repair this relationship. Even if David remembered, surely too much had happened to them for them to actually find their way back to each other. But Mr. Gold not only knew this pair would, he was also banking on it again. So that's why, as he delivered these papers, he was already collecting in the form of satisfaction. And it would be a satisfaction that would keep on giving. The look on Kathryn Nolan's face would be a start, but the real satisfaction would come when Cora realized that her perfect curse was going to crumble and there was nary a thing she could do about it. Sure, he knew she'd employ dastardly tactics and stop at nothing to keep Snow and David apart. But it wouldn't work. She had screwed up there and he couldn't wait to see the look on her face when she realized it.

She could have cursed David into a happy marriage and possibly managed to succeed in keeping them apart for a time in that way. But all she had done was created an abused, desperate man that was finally ready to fight, because he had the right person in his corner now. And it was about to blow up in her face. He felt mild sympathy for Kathryn Nolan though. The person that Cora had cursed her to be was going to have lasting psychological effects on her as well when she remembered. Princess Abigail would be horrified by all that she had done to David over the years and the fall out from Cora's curse was going to be something akin to ruin. He couldn't wait. When the curse broke, he would find Bae and if the town wanted to burn Cora at the stake, he'd gladly provide the fireball to light her up at no charge.

"Mr. Gold...can I help you with something today?" Kathryn Nolan questioned, as she came out of her corner office, upon spotting him come into the bank.

"No...I'm just here to deliver this to you," he said, as he handed her the folded document. He watched gleefully, as she unfolded the parchment and her face went red with anger.

"Is this a joke?" she spat.

"Oh, I assure you it is quite valid and quite real," he replied pleasantly.

"You've been served, Mrs. Nolan," he added, as she looked up at him sharply.

"David has no money. Do you really expect me to believe that he hired you as his attorney?" she growled.

"Believe what you want, Mrs. Nolan, for David is my client. Let's just say I'm doing this one pro-bono and with a great amount of satisfaction, might I add," he replied.

"I'll fight this...if David thinks I'm letting him take half of everything, then he really is an idiot," she spat. He smirked.

"You can try to fight it, but David isn't asking for anything except to not be married to you any longer. You can have the house and everything else. He just wants to be divorced from you as fast as possible and the law will grant him what he wants, despite any protest on your part," Gold replied.

"Oh, but I would caution you in fighting this too hard...unless you'd like all those skeletons in your closet to be aired to the entire town, Mrs. Nolan, for if you choose to play dirty...then so will I," he warned threateningly and she shrank back a bit and watched him go in disbelief. Everyone around her stared at her, for Mr. Gold had made it a point to make sure he served her the papers in the most embarrassing and public place he could pick. Furiously, she grabbed her coat and stormed out of the bank.

~*~

August reluctantly arrived at Marco's shop to pick up the Bug for his sister. He had argued with her on why he had to be the one to pick up her car and she made an excuse. But he knew what she was really trying to do. She was trying to push him to talk to Marco, even if the man didn't remember that he was that right now. Emma and his mother had good intentions, but August didn't want to reconcile with this man. It was too painful, especially with all that he knew now. When they had arrived to find out that Emma's father and the man that his mother would eternally love had been trapped in such an abusive situation, it had been the final straw for him.

Snow had raised him and he knew she loved him, just as much as she loved Emma. But it still didn't change the fact that it was Geppetto that had indirectly caused David's predicament and exacerbated the pain his mother was feeling. He hated when she was in pain. His mother was the strongest woman he knew, but he was still really protective of her. And this man's lies had hurt her deeply. Blue let it happen, so he had a lot of anger for her as well. Over the years, he had a lot of time to examine things. At first, he thought he should have been grateful to her for giving him life as a human. But then, the older he got, the more he realized that Blue had placed unfair conditions on her spell. He had to be selfless, brave, and true. And the more life threw at him, the more he realized how truly fucked up that was. No person was selfless, brave, and true all the time. It was an impossible feat. It was setting him up for instant failure.

Thankfully, Snow had come through the wardrobe behind him, her belly still round with child, her face broken from having to say goodbye to the man she loved. And still, even in her anger at Blue and Geppetto, she had taken him in her arms and loved him as her own. Without her, he didn't want to think about how he might have turned out. He had a good life and grew up to be kind, caring, and a good person. But it was because of Snow, a woman wronged by Geppetto and a fairy that lied to her. They implored him to never lie and yet they had no qualms about doing so themselves. He was angry and it wasn't going away, but he could compose himself long enough to pick up Emma's car from this man's shop. But that was it. He wanted nothing to do with him, even when he did get his memories back. His mother, Emma, and little David were his family. And soon, the man that his nephew was named after would be a part of their family. As far as he was concerned, there was no room for Geppetto, as harsh as it sounded, but that was how he felt.

"Mr. Swan...here for the bug?" Marco called, as he spotted him approaching.

"Yeah...just picking it up for my sister," he answered stiffly.

"You are a good big brother," Marco commented, as he handed him the keys and August paid him for the repairs.

"Your mother...she is very lucky to blessed with such loving children," the old man mentioned. August could sense the wistfulness and envy in his voice, but he didn't care. His anger had long overwhelmed any empathy for this man.

"We're the lucky ones. My Mom is amazing...and she gave up everything for us. But it's my turn to take care of her and make sure no one can ever hurt her again," August said. His cryptic response was a bit confusing to the old man right now, but August hoped his words would instantly resonate with him once his memories returned.

"Have a good night," Marco offered awkwardly, as the young man took the keys and left wordlessly. He felt no remorse in walking away from this man. He wasn't family anymore and he doubted he ever would be again. None of that mattered though, he had a family and now he was off to help them. He had spoken with Regina earlier and done what she had asked of him. She had a surprise to drop on her mother and Kathryn, which would be essential in fighting them, for he was sure by now that they were both learning that David had filed for divorce. And they would be on the warpath, which meant his next destination was the diner so he could be there to support his family in the strife that was to come.

~*~

David was absorbed by watching Mary with her grandson, as they sat in the diner and ate dinner together. It had been the most wonderful evening that David could remember having. And something in his heart tugged at him, somehow telling him that this was how things were supposed to be.

"You're Nana's sweet boy, aren't you…" Mary cooed to little David, as she spooned another bite of his baby food into his open mouth. Little David cooed and grinned at her in response. David had always wanted kids, as long as he could remember. But that had never come up as a topic of discussion with him and Kathryn. But then their courtship had not been an ordinary one. It all seemed like a blur in his mind. Essentially, from what he remembered, his mother died when he was still a teenager and he had then been adopted by her boyfriend, the District Attorney, Albert Spencer. But that had not been a blessing and rather a curse, so to speak. David had wanted to go to Veterinary school, but those dreams were quickly squashed by Spencer when he learned that Lewis Dior, owner of the bank and any real estate in town that wasn't owned by Mr. Gold, was looking for a suitable husband for his daughter, David had been offered up. Lewis wasn't fond of David's humble beginnings as the son of farmers, but Albert Spencer's adoption of him garnered him definite consideration. After all, the owner of the bank allied with the town's district attorney was a union that had benefits to both sides. David was against it from the beginning, as he had always dreamed of finding true love. But George had threatened him that if he blew this opportunity that he'd pay for it with his life.

Kathryn had been drawn in by his good looks and how sweet and genuinely nice he was. At first, he thought that maybe it wouldn't be so bad, but now he knew that his naivete was one reason she had seen him as her perfect victim. He was kind, sweet, and naive, so she knew keeping him under thumb would be easy. He was a good person, which made her manipulation of him easier and he was handsome, which made him the perfect arm candy to show off to her social circle.

Looking back, he realized now that Albert Spencer had offered him up to Kathryn's family like a piece of property and the district attorney had been paid handsomely for him. It had made David feel dirty from day one and he had never entertained the possibility that he could ever be free, until he met Mary. She had made him realize that he had courage he thought that had been stripped from him long ago. But he proved that to be wrong when he filed for divorce earlier that day. Of course, he knew this was just the beginning and so when Kathryn stormed into the diner and slammed the door behind her, he felt a shiver course down his spine. The look she was giving him was the same one she had a few nights ago, when she had made marks on his body...when she had belittled and controlled him...when she had raped him. He felt Mary reach for his hand under the table and squeeze it gently, somehow willing courage to him in a way he was was sure he had never known.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Kathryn growled, as she approached the table. Little David whimpered from his high chair and Emma plucked him up, holding him.

"It seems you know if you were served the papers," David managed to say boldly. Kathryn looked stunned, as if she couldn't understand where he was getting the courage to defy her.

"This is ridiculous, David! Get your coat and get in the car. We're going home," she demanded of him. He fought the urge to shrink away from her and Mary squeezed his hand again.

"No," he said in defiance.

"Excuse me?" she questioned dangerously.

"You heard me. I said no and that's not my home anymore. I'm divorcing you," he replied, loudly enough so that everyone in the diner heard. And it caused instant gossip to ripple through the masses.

"If you go down this path...I'll make sure you regret it," Kathryn warned.

"No...you won't," Snow snapped, as the blonde looked at the raven haired beauty and smirked.

"What? You have Grandma protecting you?" she hissed.

"She's my friend," David snapped. Kathryn rolled her eyes.

"Please...I know a cougar when I see one," she accused, but it didn't phase Snow at all.

"Better to be a cougar than a leach, because I think everyone knows that all you've ever done is suck the life out of him," she retorted, which really riled up everyone that was enthralled by the spectacle.

"I'm not someone you want to cross, Ms. Swan. You have a beautiful family...I'd hate for something to happen to them," Kathryn warned, making David's eyes widened.

"Oh, if you do anything to my family, I'll grind you to dust," Snow warned back.

"And if she doesn't...I will," Regina interjected, as she arrived with August.

"Deputy Mayor," Kathryn greeted, seemingly un-threatened by the Mayor's daughter. Regina smirked.

"For now...but soon I'll be the Mayor," she retorted. Kathryn laughed.

"You really think you can beat your mother out for her seat?" she asked incredulously, but Regina kept smirking.

"Oh, I think the people of this town are more than ready for a real leader and not the tyrant that is my mother. Things are changing in Storybrooke and I'm here to give you a very direct warning, Mrs. Nolan," she explained. .

"I encourage you not to fight this divorce or make any kind of move on David or the Swan family," she continued. Kathryn snorted derisively.

"And if I don't heed your warning?" she challenged. Regina's smirk widened.

"Then I publish this article I wrote this afternoon," August stated, as he held up a document.

"It airs all your dirty laundry...and your family's. All your father's dealings in this town, including certain deals he made with people like the Mayor and District Attorney Spencer. I assure you that it will ruin your entire world," he warned. She huffed.

"Sidney Glass is a friend. He would never agree to publish your trash," she contested. But Regina kept smirking.

"Except that I just bought the Storybrooke Mirror today and fired Sidney Glass," Regina informed, shocking them all. Kathryn frowned deeply.

"August is going to run it for me and will be head writer and editor now," she added, as Kathryn finally looked truly worried.

"Now run along and lick your wounds or go cry to my mother," Regina added, as the blonde stormed out in a frenzy. There were claps and cheers, as she did and Snow saw the people looking to her sister as if they had just found a new leader. What she had said was true. Things were changing in Storybrooke and as she felt David squeeze her hand in return, looking like the weight of the entire world had been lifted from his shoulders, she knew these changes were going to be for the better...

#Snowing #SnowxCharming #Emma Swan #August W Booth #Regina Mills #Cora cast the curse #AU #feat rumplestiltskin #Mr. Gold #warning #mentions of abuse #and eluding to male rape #nothing graphic #a darker curse

[lady-needless-litany]

Weddings; or, A Precise Agony

Summary:  Ever since she could remember, Raven's parents had dragged her to their never-ending carousel of social events. Things hadn't changed, even when she'd gone to college. And she expected that the wedding - not hers, thankfully - would be no different. Rating: general (+ no major warnings) Word Count: 2.8k A/N: written for the @multifandomwritingchallenge for February 2019, with the prompts of ‘envious’ and ‘jubilant’.

AO3 Link

“At least try to look excited, honey,” Sloane said as the car pulled up to the hotel. “I know you don’t want to be here, but it’s only today and tomorrow. We’re leaving the day after the wedding, by lunchtime. It won’t be that bad.”

“Sure,” Raven murmured to herself, quiet enough that her parents couldn’t hear her. “It’s only a whole day of my life wasted.”

In all fairness, it wasn’t quite a full day. More like forty-six hours, if you were being optimistic. Unable to help herself, she sighed. Forty-six hours of boredom, discomfort, and dealing her parents’ drunk friends. All because of a wedding.

As her father instructed their driver to deal with their luggage, Raven hauled herself out of the car, gravel crunching beneath her feet.

The hotel was really quite spectacular, in an old and stately way. It was a converted manor house, all light sandstone and sash windows, Georgian in style. For miles in either direction, it was surrounded by greeness.

It had a sense of tranquility that was destroyed by Raven stomping up the stairs to the entrance. The lobby alone was palatial and, as her mother remarked to her as they walked towards the concierge, it must have cost a fortune for the bride and groom and their families to rent the whole place out–they were even paying for the accomodation and food for all two hundred guests for both nights. Two hundred guests was, by the standards of her parents’ social circle, a small and intimate number; that didn’t change the fact that the cost of the whole event must have been astronomical.

Her father, controlling as ever, checked them in. In the meantime, Raven scanned the room, thankful that it was currently devoid of anyone that she knew. She realised that her luck wouldn’t hold in that respect–it was likely that she’d know a large percentage of the guests.

Once everything was squared away, her father handed her a key–a proper, honest-to-goodness key, not an electronic swipe card. She took it without question, desperately wanting to get some space to herself; an hour and a half with her parents in a confined space was enough to drive anyone insane. Hanging on the wall, behind the concierge’s counter, was a large analogue clock; as she excused herself, it was just hitting two o’clock.

She climbed the hotel’s central staircase to the first floor, checking room numbers until she found hers. Predictably, it was opposite her parents’ room. No need for her to stray far, in their eyes. Or something like that.

The room itself was more than alright. It was spacious and comfortable, with a good view across the front lawn and into the countryside beyond. Flopping onto the bed, she squeezed her eyes shut and huffed. This is such a waste of time, she complained to herself. I should be studying and trying to prepare for next semester.

Instead, she was at a hotel that was an hour’s drive from meaningful civilisation, at a wedding that she didn’t care about. Both of the couple were the children of her parents’ friends; her father’s company had invested in several joint ventures with the firm that the groom worked for. Given the type of people involved, the wedding was going to be gaudy and over-the-top, the kind of event that her parents had forced her to attend throughout her childhood. She’d hoped that she might be able to escape that once she was at college, technically an adult; alas, that was not the case. Her parents were still acting like she was a child, bound to their every whim.

The ceremony itself was the next day, but she didn’t even have that evening to herself. Before long, her mother was hammering on the door, insisting on a change of clothes and late afternoon drinks. Reluctantly, she obliged, not wanting to argue with her family so early on in proceedings.

She made it through the evening without major incident, took a long shower, then collapsed into bed and slept deeply.

She awoke to her phone’s obnoxiously loud ringing. It was a fumbling, bleary effort to get the device pressed to her ear. “What?” she mumbled.

“You need to get ready,” her mother’s voice, insistent and head-splitting at that time in the morning, instructed her.

“What? The ceremony doesn’t start until three o’clock.” Raven checked the time. “It’s only seven-thirty.”

“We arranged to have breakfast with the Fabians, remember? At eight o’clock.”

Vaguely, she did. It was a plan that her father and his friend had concocted sometime during the previous night. The Fabian family were old family friends; if her father could have had his way, Raven would have been married to their son, who was only a year younger than her. She had made it quite clear that she wasn’t interested, though her father still dropped heavy hints about it.

“Fine,” she replied, hanging up.

Against every desire in her body, she crawled out of bed and into the bathroom, dressing and dragging a brush through her hair. It was a haphazard process, but she was somewhat presentable by the end of it. She even made it downstairs and onto the veranda in time.

Breakfast was a passable affair, primarily consisting of Mr. and Mrs. Fabian quizzing her about college, especially given that their son would be enrolling later that year. The son in question wasn’t present; he’d been left at home. Raven would admit to her jealousy.

Their meal was cut short by Mrs. Fabian’s sudden panic about getting dressed and ready for the ceremony, which sent them all back to their hotel rooms, ostensibly to prepare.

Somehow, even with excessive amounts of time on her hands, Raven ended up behind schedule. She made it through the doors with only a few minutes to spare, still discreetly adjusting the bodice of her dress as she took a seat next to her parents.

The room itself was stunning–it was an orangery, all glass and wrought iron, decked from floor to ceiling with flowers. The flora lent a light perfume to the warm air. Rows of wooden chairs had been installed for the guests, divided by a velvet aisle.

It was beautiful. Truly, it was a shame that Raven wasn’t in the right state of mind to fully appreciate it all. In the true spirit of society weddings, everything had been exquisitely coordinated. The coloured belt on the bride’s dress matched the carpet that she walked on, as was the groom’s pocket square. The music was precisely timed with the bride’s arrival at the altar.

After that, Raven, quite unintentionally, stopped paying attention. They recited their vows, they signed on the dotted line, they kissed. Beyond that, she couldn’t recall much about the ceremony; her mind had always been active and she found it easy to slip into a daydream.

She was brought back to herself by a thunderous round of applause. By that point, the formalities had concluded.

The happy couple and the rest of the wedding party processed out, leaving the rest of them stretching and chatting, relieved that the ceremony was over. Now the reception, Raven told herself. The bit that’s marginally worse. Almost as if they’d read her mind, a small flock of hotel staff appeared, ushering them out of the orangery. “The reception will be in the ballroom,” one man politely informed her. “Still on the ground floor. Just past the lobby.”

By some miracle, all two hundred of them successfully moved from one space to the other. The ballroom, like the orangery, was stunning, all parquet flooring and wooden panelling and candelabra, lined with French doors. There was a dance floor at the centre of the room, surrounded by twenty or so round tables for dinner.

The three of them had been honoured, placed on Table Three, alongside more distant aunts and uncles, as if they were members of the family. When they sat down, Raven was seated to her parents’ left-hand side. On her other side was an empty chair. It didn’t worry her, but she mused on it for a while. To be fair, it wasn’t like she had anything more productive to do–the rest of the table was making polite conversation, one that implicitly excluded her.

Waitstaff flitted around the room, pouring drinks. She was restricted to water, thanks to her father’s hawk-like gaze and the fact that he still treated her like she was a child.

A member of staff, positioned in front of the double-doors that lead to the hotel’s foyer, rang a bell. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she announced. “The bride and groom.”

There was a round of applause, more polite than enthusiastic, as the couple crossed the threshold and took their seats. Once they had sat, Raven was hopeful that she’d be granted a reprieve from the pomp and ceremony, preferably in the form of food.

No such luck.

This, the best man decided, was the most opportune moment for his speech. And once he’d finished, it seemed that every other member of the wedding party had also written something to say.

The speeches seemed endless. They were boring, of course, despite their over-exuberance, but they also grated in a different way. They were telling, of their speakers and their audience; it was a jarring reminder of the opulent world of her parents, a world that she spurned now that she was older. Her parents paid her tuition fees and rent–which she was eternally glad for, seeing how others struggled with it–but beyond that, her life was identical to any other student’s. She studied, she worked, she socialised. She’d yet to find ‘her people’, as her mother termed it, but she wasn’t unhappy.

These people, though? On the one hand, she loathed them and their pettiness, their hypocrisy; on the other hand, she envied their absolute self-confidence and the way that they all seemed to belong. She’d never had that luxury, though it might have been the only one she’d ever lacked as a child.

The arrival of a plate of food halted her spiralling thoughts. She hadn’t even noticed that the speeches had ended.

A second shock came in the form of a man, pulling out the chair next to her and settling down. He didn’t introduce himself to anyone and wasted no time in attacking the plate of food that had just been placed in front of him, which raised several raised eyebrows from their table companions, though none seemed overly surprised. If he was related to the couple, Raven supposed, then the rest of the table would be his family–perhaps he always acted strangely. On her part, she followed his example, tucking into her first course without further delay.

When her plate was empty, she sat back in her chair and threw a glance at the man next to her. Having finished his food as well, he was solely concentrated on fiddling with his napkin ring.

“Hi,” she tried, tentative.

His eyes flicked up to meet hers. “Hey,” he replied, sounding equally as unsure.

She found herself instantly drawn to the intensity of his expression. “I’m Raven. These are my parents.” A quick gesture towards them, which neither of them noticed, as engrossed in conversation as they were.

“My name’s Strat. These are my… relations.” At her quizzical, slightly perplexed, furrowed brow, he went on to elaborate. “Oh, I’m the bride’s cousin,” Strat drawled, by way of explanation. “I’m the black sheep of the family.”

Oh. I know who you are. While Raven would never have managed to match the face to the name, she’d heard of him before. He was a favourite gossip topic. Apparently he’d been quite the troublemaker when he was living at home, and not much had really changed when he’d moved out. “Right.”

“Life without risk is like thunder without lightning,” he continued, as if to explain, eyes flaring. “It’s just that most people don’t see that.”

“That was practically poetry.” Raven’s words were almost sarcastic, but something about the genuineness in his eyes took the meanness out of her voice. His words were odd. Yet, in a peculiar way, she thought she understood them.

At any rate, there was a flurry of action as their plates were cleared and their main course was delivered. They resorted to the routine of the first course–eating, not talking, not paying any attention to each other or anybody else.

It wasn’t until the mains were cleared and they were waiting for dessert that they spoke again. In the meantime, twilight fell beyond the French doors and the guests, helped along by large quantities of wine, grew steadily rowdier. Being sober made the situation all the more painful.

“You don’t seem very happy, Raven,” Strat said abruptly.

She pressed her lips together. “In all honesty,” she said, dropping her voice and casting a wary look at their tablemates. “I don’t want to be here. At all.”

He matched her volume, murmuring, “Why are you here, then?”

“I mean, my parents are paying for me to go to college, so I don’t have a lot of choice.”

He made a noise of acknowledgement, one that was neither positive nor negative. Somehow, it spurred her into explaining. “I hate this kind of thing. They’re so much effort and no-one ever really enjoys themselves. I can’t even have a drink when my Dad’s around, because he goes ballistic and tells me I’m being irresponsible,” she complained, still in a near-whisper. “So… I guess I’m just here for the cake.”

“Anyway,” she continued, now daring to raise her voice back to its usual volume. “This doesn’t seem like your kind of place, either.”

He threw his head back and laughed, almost manically. “It’s not. I’m just here to cause trouble. Stir up a few family feuds.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“It can be.”

Ching, ching, ching.

Strat’s words were harpooned by the insistent chink of a knife rapping smartly against a crystal champagne flute. The best man, again, this time announcing the cake. “Ladies and gentleman, family and friends…”

The cake-cutting was a cue for the guests to stand, mingle, chat. Everyone began to drift about the room with no apparent purpose. For Raven, it was a chance to escape her table, to make a beeline for the opposite side of the room. Strat stuck to her side like a thistle. She was both astonished and completely unsurprised.

They didn’t pass unnoticed. How could they? Strat was related to, and hated by, half of them, after all. They got an odd stare here, a whispered comment here: what’s Falco’s daughter doing with that good-for-nothing louse? She’d only take a few steps before she realised that it wasn’t worth wasting energy on listening.

Nonetheless, they made it to the wall, turned, and faced the room. Strat waved down a waiter and got them two glasses of champagne; they raised them in an unspoken toast. Raven drank her first half of a glass in a single gulp. It was uncouth, for sure, but she felt that the situation called for it. For his part, Strat simply quirked an eyebrow and ordered her another glass.

As she was finishing her second, which she consumed at a much more civilised pace, Strat made a particularly witty comment about a man that was doing his best to drink the hotel’s wine cellar dry. She couldn’t help but burst into a fit of giggles. Clearly, she was loud; it made a few heads turn and she quickly stifled her laugher.

Across the room, she made eye contact with her father, who glowered at her behaviour; where she’d usually turn contrite, she instead shot back a jubilant grin. On the other hand, her mother, dare she say it, looked almost proud.

It was childish, she knew that. But there was something so thrilling about him, something so delicious about publically defying her parents, something so satisfying about scandalising everyone in the room.

See, Falco would usually love to see Raven interested in someone of Strat’s family, of their status and wealth. But Strat himself? Not a chance.

Just then, there was a commotion as a group of middle-aged musicians clattered into the room, equipment in tow. They’d probably call themselves a band, but Raven was doubtful; they looked like they were the kind of people who tortured their instruments, rather than played them. As they exchanged a sceptical look, Strat seemed to share her reservations.

Then she was struck by a thought. “I think I’ve seen these guys before,” Raven said in a tone of realisation. “They played at some event that we went to at the Fabian’s place. An anniversary, I guess.”

“And?”

“They were awful. They didn’t play anything under thirty years old. And they’ve got no stage presence.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father, finally unable to bear her behaviour, wending his way through the crowd towards them. She made a sound of disgust. “I hate weddings.”

Strat shot her a glance. “Let’s get out of here.”

In all her life, Raven had never heard a sentence that had made her so happy. Her heart, which had abruptly sunk, began to rise once more. “Definitely.”

#multifandomwc #bat out of hell #fanfic

[queenpersephonesgarden]

The Story So Far #1

Here it is! All of the written chunks for the story so far, edited at least enough so that I don’t completely hate them! I’d love to hear what you think of it! word count: 2,067

The distinct, almost artificially filtered light of the singular, distant sun known only as Coruscant Prime shone down on its titular satellite, centuries upon centuries of pollution diluting the glow from a pure white to a muted golden yellow. The star painted a dazzling sunset across Coruscant’s upper levels, but the slanting rays of sunlight glinting off the eternal stream of traffic zigzagging its way through the atmosphere made absolutely no difference at all down here, in the deeper levels of the city planet where the shadows of the great towering monoliths reigning above never faded.

Only a select few of the very lucky and extremely rich of Coruscant’s population had lived their entire lives without having to enter the darkest center of the planet, where smog and garbage prevented even the faintest hint of natural light or freshly recycled air to reach.

It was a hive of dark dealings, a place where the nastiest lowlifes in the entire galaxy, both hardened criminals and corrupt politicians alike, could meet and trade and gamble illegal goods, both of the technologically advanced weaponry kind and the living, breathing, not-supposed-to-be-legal-in-the-Republic kind.

It was a cold, menacing place to be, the ominous, permanent overcast, dim glow of artificial lights and endless crowds of suspicious people doing nothing to endear the area to anyone unlucky enough to find themselves this deep down below the light of the sun.

It was, without a doubt, not a place any sane, trustworthy person of good standing would want anything to do with.

It was certainly not a place any normal, self-respecting Jedi Padawan would ever be caught traversing alone without a very, very good reason. The seedy depths of Coruscant were not to be entered lightly.

But Anakin Skywalker most certainly did have a reason to be all the way down here, and a pretty good one too, even if Master Obi-Wan would most certainly insist otherwise.

Besides, self-respecting Jedi Padawan though he was, normal he most certainly was not, as the other Padawans so loved to remind him. He’d been trying, so, so hard to blend in at the Temple since arriving there a little less than four years ago, but his efforts were still proving fruitless on that front.

But his confounding nonconformity to traditional Jedi teaching and lack of friends wasn’t the reason why he was down here again.

No, no, today he was down here for a mission of utmost importance, and he wasn’t leaving until he’d carried it through to the end. Though it was rather irritating that he was being forced to do this in the first place.

“It’s a funny thing, how something so small can make such a difference.” His mother had said once, inspecting a too-small screw that hadn’t been properly placed in a customer’s custom built R3 unit and had promptly made the motivator overheat and blow up in the middle of the street. Anakin had felt a chill go down his spine at the blank tone of her voice and the distant look on her face, but once she noticed him looking she’d only smiled and encouraged him to do a better job than the amateur had.

She was right, as she so often was. The smallest things, from loose screws to subdermal detonators no larger than a fingernail, could change a lot about your life. But Anakin didn’t find this very funny at all.

In fact, it was so, so stupid how one loose credit chit could set back all his plans by so much.

It had been one of the hundreds of cleaning droids that everyone in the Temple liked to forget about or ignore that had found it, turning his robe pockets inside out to make sure there was nothing inside before it was cleaned; the same robe Master Obi-Wan always insisted he wore because ‘uniformity prevents petty feelings like envy over a fellow’s clothing, Anakin.’ The same robe Master Obi-Wan always scolded him about staining with grease whenever his twitchy fingers apart speeder components without cleaning it thoroughly first.

The same robe he had removed without much thought in his excited haste to enter his lightsaber training session on time.

There had only been a small handful of credits in the left pocket, a small prize left over from their latest mission to Corellia, where an old Drall woman in a marketplace had caught sight of the two Jedi walking by. She’d looked the Padawan up and down, clucked her tongue in disapproval, and stepped right into Master Obi-Wan’s way to lecture him, “You should remember to feed the boy before you let him out of the house next time!”

Once his Master had managed to duck away from her berating, she’d turned straight to Anakin and pressed the credits into his unsuspecting hands. “You go and get yourself something good and filling to eat, dear. A hard-working young man like you needs to keep his strength up,” she’d said, all warm smiles and work-worn, wrinkled hands like his mothers, and Anakin had been so gratefully stunned and unexpectedly homesick that he’d nearly reached over and hugged her like she was a Grandma of the Slave Quarters rather than a stranger; only Master Obi-Wan’s attention refocusing on him had stopped him.

But he’d managed a stunned little smile and a quick thank you, which he remembered just in time to give in Basic, and from the satisfaction on the woman’s face that was exactly the reaction she’d been looking for.

That small handful of leftover credits had led to the first through search of his room in over a year, and they’d.

Found.

So much.

Not everything, thank the suns for small mercies, but they’d still found so much of his secret funds; nearly half of the credits he’d been carefully stockpiling since he’d first entered the Order as a Padawan was lost in the span of five hours, all while he was blissfully unaware of the intrusion, chasing Master Obi-Wan across the training deck with his training saber.

(They hadn’t been scheduled for lightsaber training earlier this week.

And their training sessions didn’t usually last so long, seeing as Anakin often needed more work on his meditating than his saber technique.

He didn’t want to believe Master Obi-Wan had purposefully been distracting him, letting the droids search his room on the Council’s orders without any interference, but the awful churning in his gut at just the thought was enough to make him queasy.)

But that was why he was here, in the dangerous depths of Coruscant once again, because where else would a highly gifted pilot without access to a ship go to win grand amounts of money? He needed to make back what he lost somehow. And he didn’t have time to find or think of more legal ways to do it.

After all, auction season was fast approaching, and there was no telling how well Watto’s shop had held up since its main mechanic had been gambled away and its proprietor was an incurable drunk. If that sleemo decided he needed a slave woman too old to bear children less than he needed the money necessary to feed his disgusting habit, mom would be in serious trouble.

Mom would need him, very soon. Anakin could feel it, in his mind, in his heart, in his blood and breath, all the way down to his bones.

He couldn’t leave her on that karking dust-ball another season, another day, another minute longer, and his window of opportunity was closing.

If Anakin couldn’t acquire sufficient funds to get off planet, reach somewhere that would exchange standard Republic credits for wupiupi or another currency that would be accepted in Hutt space, and still have enough leftover to both purchase his mother’s freedom and secure a way for them to return to the Core once he reached Tatooine (if he ever reached Tatooine), then all of his work over the past four years will have been for nothing.

And he refused to accept that, plain and simple.

Anakin ducked into another skeevy alleyway, one of the shortcuts the Chancellor had shown him during their last excursion looking for corrupt senators making shady deals, refusing to be cowed by the smell of vomit and skin-crawling sensation of too many eyes following him. This wasn’t his first time entering into the dubiously legal swoop bike races this place was known for. Any discomfort he felt was inconsequential when compared to the money he’d win from just one.

Suddenly the comm on his wrist lit up and chirped innocently with an incoming call. Anakin squawked in surprise and slapped a hand over it, fighting down the instinctive flush climbing up his cheeks when a few more degenerates looked over at the interruption.

Sidestepping quickly to avoid the prying eyes and ears throughout the alley, Anakin felt the embarrassed blush fade from his cheeks, face going pale as he stared down at the comm and cringed.

It would seem that a certain someone had actually noticed his disappearance from the Temple a lot sooner than he’d anticipated.

‘He must have been expecting this since the search happened,’ Anakin reflected sourly. Master Obi-Wan was nothing if not familiar with Anakin’s schemes by now. He was getting too predictable. Maybe he should start changing his style a bit.

The comm beeped again, and he stopped walking forward, torn.

He could ignore the call and put his comm on silent until the race was won, but thinking so heavily of his mother recently had stirred up rather unpleasant memories of what happened when you disobeyed your Master so deliberately.

Master Obi-Wan had never punished him the way Watto would have, but…

No point in provoking a sleeping krayt dragon.

Anakin attempted one of those calming breathing techniques he was supposed to learn, counted to ten. “Here we go,” he murmured, accepting the call and trying for a calm tone that, he noticed too late, sounded more sheepish than anything. “Hello, Master!”

“Padawan,” Master Obi-Wan said blandly. Anakin felt his entire body wince and immediately had to fight the urge to look at the ground rather than straight ahead. Jedi weren’t supposed to have nervous habits that obvious, but Master Obi-Wan only ever used that tone and forewent using his name when he was really mad. Jedi weren’t supposed to be mad, and Master Obi-Wan’s voice was still perfectly even, but his Coruscanti accent had a way of clipping his words when he wasn’t pleased and was doing his level best to hide it.

But Anakin could tell. Anakin could always tell.

Well. Too late to turn back now. If he was already in trouble, he might as well keep pushing forward.

Anakin resumed his trek, stubbornly forcing himself to breathe evenly before asking, “What’s happening? Is there something wrong, Master?” It came out far more feebly than he’d have liked, and he couldn’t quite help biting his lip when Master Obi-Wan snorted.

“Yes, actually, there is. I was just wondering where it is my troublesome student has gotten himself to this late in the day, especially considering he promised me he’d be in the Archives studying his lessons on galactic history with Madame Nu like he was supposed to, while I was preoccupied with the Lothal-Pantoran negotiations. And yet, oddly enough, when I returned to the Temple – a bit earlier than scheduled because I can be quite persuasive when I need to be – I found that Madame Nu hasn’t seen hide nor hair of said apprentice since they broke for lunch almost three hours ago,” Master Obi-Wan said, bitterly amused.

Yep. His Master was going to kill him later.

Anakin resolutely did not let himself think about it. “You don’t say?”

Any reluctant humor in his Master’s tone disappeared in an annoyed huff. “Anakin, where are you?”

A drunk Trandoshan keeled over and vomited a few steps to the right.

A pair of Twi-leks, who’d been progressively getting more than a little handsy with each other had finally resorted to shamelessly making out in the mouth of the alley.

A Rodian, smelling strongly of spice and death sticks, wandered past in a haze, muttering words that didn’t sound like any language a sentient species had ever heard before.

Anakin’s eyes traced the edge of the alcoholic puddle of bile and took several long, measured steps around it. “Nowhere special.”

#Anakin Skywalker #Obi-Wan Kenobi #fanfiction #Star Wars #my writing #ASTHNGVBF #the story so far

[drsteinmanofsgly]

Vlad:

Mortals had always fetishized the idea of eternal youth, it fanaticizes them, it infatuates them, and it haunts them.  However, as the expedition went on, no one really questioned whether we were looking for god’s blessing or demon’s curse. Vlad was never one with a concern of longevity nor was he one that ever longed for immortality. He had always spited the idea of pursuing immortality and he saw it as a delusion entertaining the rich and the nobles.

Despite how little he remembered about his past, or even his original last name, he could not get over the memories of being born into the wrong family at the wrong time. Life was about starvation, being treated like dirt, and used like livestock when you were not born a noble’s man in the 13th century Europe. Vlad was sold as an apprentice to an alchemist. For one moment, naïve Vlad thought maybe this was going to be his escape from the low life of a peasant.

Apprenticeship as the history may call it, but in Vlad’s actuality, it was slavery, or even worse: he was the lab rat of his master. Mercury, lead, arsenic were common ingredients of the concoctions fed to Vlad along with sometimes ashes from bizarre animals or even human corpses. Vlad was never given an option: it was either that or being starved to death. Sometimes Vlad even prayed that maybe this time the master would put in enough poison to end his suffering once and for all.

As Vlad’s misery continued, he lost all his senses, he started to hear voices, his skin is covered in lesion and blisters, his hair fell off in chunks, his muscles were constantly in the states of either full paralysis or in an incontrollable spasm. With his last bit of wandering sanity and consciousness, he thought to himself that finally it is all coming to an end. Vlad did not beg for a better afterlife or next life, he only wished to vanish, and be forever released from his insufferable life state and if anything, to never reborn into this world full of pain, ignorance, and endless darkness.

Whether there was ever a god to hear Vlad’s prayer, one may never know. But Vlad’s torment took a turn of irony: days after Vlad had lost all his senses and had all his vitals putting in the last fight against death, he started to recover rapidly from all his affliction. Vlad started to regain his consciousness, his senses, and the lesions formed scabs and rapidly fell off his skin. It was like a rebirth, a reincarnation.

Vlad did not know how to take this sudden turn of events after he was able to stand up. Vlad’s hair and skin started to lose all pigments and all his vessels and veins began to exhibit a strikingly blue color, his muscles toughened to be almost as stiff as marble. Vlad’s master however was exhilarated at Vlad’s change in physical and vitals, as Vlad’s master once wrote in his journal: I have done it, I have created the immortal, I have created god in his image, or demon in its shadow.

Vlad was locked in the basement, or you may even call it dungeon of his master’s workshop. Chained up to endure even more inhumane experiments from his master. Feeding on more of his master’s bizarre cocktails of poison and the rats that occasionally stumbles into his cell, Vlad still never imagined an escape. He had been enslaved for too long, he had long forgotten the concept of freedom, his will had been broken before his rebirth, and he was no different from a living corpse. But he started to have a burning thirst in his throat that no nectar was able to quench, and a ravenous hunger that no feast was able to satisfy, and all of those feelings were starting to awaken something primal and savage in Vlad, beyond the survival instinct. Until the day of his awakening.

For years, Vlad accepted his torment as the way the world should be, until the day his master came into his cell grabbing onto his neck, stared into Vlad’s eye with twisted zealousness, envy and disbelief. His master screamed on top of his lung that had been destroyed with pneumonia. The broken up old man was hanging onto one thing and one thing only: his morbid obsession of Vlad’s immortality. He was so close yet so far from what he wanted: the eternal youth. He screeched at Vlad, coughing up spit combined with blood from his lung “Why are you alive, why are you still alive? WHY ARE YOU NOT DEAD?” That was the moment Vlad realized, he was fed the amount of arsenic that could have killed the entire village of people.

Vlad’s master grabbed Vlad’s face and his fingers dug deeply into Vlad’s skin, the master maniacal cried “What is it, what made you so special, what made you the last one and the only one? Does it run in your blood? Is it the marrow in your bones? Is it going to be your ash?”

The master started trying to cut through Vlad’s skin with his rusty and thick fingernails and licked on Vlad’s face fanatically, like he was going to squeeze the youth and immortality out of his creation. Vlad, terrified and disgusted, instinctually struggled and broke out of the corroded chains holding his hands. Vlad pushed his master off him, and that was the first time Vlad noticed his inhuman strength.

The master flew across the room from the force Vlad pushed him with and hit solidly on the jail bars. The bone shattering sound was so loud it echoed in the alley of the basement. Vlad watched his master’s body fell lifelessly off to the flow, the master’s broken sharp ribs poked through his chest and ripped him half open from the impact when he was thrown onto the jail bar by Vlad. Vlad stared at the blood flowing out of his master’s body. The blood on the floor awakened Vlad’s instinct, he finally knew what was he looking for, waiting for, longing for in those sleepless nights struggling with his unquenchable thirst: it was living human flesh and flowing human blood that he was desiring deep down.

Vlad did not even have a moment of hesitation before giving up completely on his humanity and tore his master’s body into pieces before devouring his organs and chewed on his bones. In Vlad’s eyes, the world had always been about feeding on others or being eaten alive, just this time not so metaphorically. The shadow of Vlad feasting on the dead body of his master looked like gargoyle from a nightmare. Vlad finally realized his misery and torment was not simply from destiny, but his submission to the fate designed for him, and him, from this point, would no longer conform and be refrained to what was designed to him by the human world.

He is no longer Vlad the slave, the shackled, the test subject,

He is now Vlad, the origin of the age of the undead.

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