#my cats will be staring at a very particular spot which is an instant red flag that theres something horrible there

[miraculous786]

Buried Six Feet Under

Basis

First Ending

First Ending - Part Two

First Ending Art

Second Ending

Second Ending - Part Two

One hour.

One hour was all it took for the memories to resurface. The memories of the past few months containing a broken doll and a shattered heart.

There had been an uproar.

The police were called.

The news were alerted.

The world began to wake up.

And there had been tears that day. Many.

From the same people who were crying now, in a spacious hall with hundreds of seats. They were all full.

The rain pattered down onto the roof above, and lightning was heard to strike every so often. One would think that the gods were angry this day.

They had every right to be - and they were.

The gates surrounding the building were locked tight, leaving out a group of students that were huddled near the entrance. Most of them wept, their tears mingling with the water pouring down. Their black outfits became drenched.

A bespectacled girl at the front held onto the barriers blocking her from getting in. She screamed and yelled until her voice was sore, yet no one cared. All were too busy staring at an enormous screen indoors, that flickered to life to reveal something painfully familiar.

Someone painfully familiar.

Jagged Stone - a man with purple locks who was gripping tight to a pair of Eiffel Tower-inspired glasses - pressed a key on the computer at the stage.

The video began to play.

"Okay, umm...hi!" the person recording greeted, nervous smile gracing her features. "I'm Marinette Dupain-Cheng, also known as the superhero 'Ladybug'. You may know me through Tom and Sabine's Boulangerie Patisserie, since, well, they're my parents."

She let out an awkward chuckle, scratching the back of her neck.

There was a sob from the front of the crowd.

"I'm making this video because...uh, I want this to be seen if something happens to me in battle. An akuma battle, that this. You see...some villains have been extremely tough, and, well..."

The bluenette let out a sigh. Her expression became grim in an instant, and her tone serious. It reminded those watching of the heroine that they had come to love.

"Hawk Moth has found out a way to translate the Guardian's book, which, long story short, allows him and Mayura to become even stronger. That's why I wanted to make this video."

She glanced to the side, and unmistakable tears were seen to be forming at the rims of her glossy eyes. "I...I've seen Chat Noir get hurt before. I've seen him get- get killed too many times. It's entirely possible that I'll end up with the same fate."

A sniffle escaped her, but she chose to wipe at her eyes and let out a dry chuckle. Her tone was wobbly as she dryly stated, "Chat, he...he isn't as serious as I am about this whole thing. About this whole job. And I hope that after he sees this, he learns that Hawk Moth needs to be taken down. If I have to sacrifice my own life for that..."

She shrugged. "...so be it."

Marinette's eyes wandered over to something off-screen, and she beamed at whatever it was.

"Tikki's asleep right now, so I have to make this quick. I...I wanted to ask those who are watching a favour. If, if you get this then could you- could you pass on my earrings to someone else? Well- someone in particular, actually. Paris needs two heroes to take care of it, after all."

She leaned forward and out of frame for a few seconds. Then she returned with a coloured picture, that had two girls grinning at the camera. She pointed to one of them.

"This is Alya Cesaire - my best friend and one that I sincerely trust to take on the mantle of Ladybug. She, she's amazing. I have so much faith in her, and I know that she'll be perfect for the role."

A blond in the audience clenched his fists.

The designer grinned. "I actually wanted to hand over my earrings to her when I first got them but decided not to - it was a close call, though. Please show this video to her, by the way. I want to say something."

Marinette gained a smirk, as she started, "Hey, bestie! How's it going? I'm, I'm sorry about not telling you who I am, but...a secret is a secret, right? I know you would've loved the scoop. You have all of my support to defeat Hawk Moth, Alya. I'm sure that Tikki will guide you though everything. That is, if she's able to. Oh! That reminds me - I have a request that I wanted to ask of you. I...can you show this to Chat?"

He took in a raspy breath.

"Hey, Kitty. I just wanted to tell you that, well...I'm afraid that the mantle of the Guardian will have to go to you, since you're the only one alive that can take it - barring Hawk Moth, of course."

She pursed her lips. "You're my partner, Chat. The best one that I could have ever asked for. I hope that you'll be able to keep your head up and stay strong alongside Alya, and protect the Miracle Box."

And let the tears flow.

"Oh, and if it isn't too much to ask...can, can I stay with Tikki, even if I'm gone? You don't have to bury me with the earrings or anything, but...just visit my grave, please? With Tikki. She's been with me through thick and thin and is quite emotional when it comes to her holders from what I've heard. I wouldn't want her to live with the guilt of my death."

Adrien found himself nodding with a whimper.

That was when Marinette suddenly jumped up. She whipped her head to something invisible to her right and yelped. "What? Me? Recording something? Of course not, Tikki! I'm just-"

The screen turned blank again.

Allowing all to hear the choked sob from Chat Noir.

He covered his mouth to muffle his cries, and yet his pathos was clear to everyone around.

And even those outside.

It seemed as if everyone had broken out of their silent stupor, as murmurs began to break out and fill the hero's ears. Murmurs of what would happen to Hawk Moth. What would happen to Paris. What would happen to them all without Ladybug.

Something inside him snapped.

And a growl tore through his throat.

"Stop it!"

Everyone turned to him in surprise. Most edged back at the anger he clearly had restrained.

His cat ears thrashed. His sharp claws flexed. His green eyes dilated.

"That is enough! You're all horrible!" he hissed lowly. "Why can't you see that it isn't Ladybug gone? It's Marinette!"

Sabine and Tom flinched at the mention of their daughter.

"Whether or not she has the mask, she's the same person! And I bet that if she were here she would have agreed with me!"

A man with slicked grey hair and a striped sash rushed forward. "Chat Noir, I'm sure that there's no need for thi-"

"Shut. Up. Before I make you."

The Mayor gulped.

"I'm going, and none of you are going to stop me," he snarled, as he faced the exit of the place. Beneath his breath, he muttered, "You didn't deserve her. None of us did."

Only a few seconds later did thunder strike loud from outside, but Adrien was already somewhere else by that time.

Already gone.

And with the remains of his very partner.

Rain dripped down from his locks to his face, to the point where none could point out what were his tears and what weren't. There was a hush as all stared with baited breath, observing Chat as he knelt in front of a headstone.

A headstone in memory of the one he loved. Still loved.

"I'm sorry, Princess," he choked. "I-I'm so sorry...You didn't deserve any of this."

The crack in his voice made hearts shatter.

"You'll always be my Lady - my Princess. And I'm sorry that I couldn't do more."

His lower lip wobbled. His eyes drifted to the ring at his finger.

And he reached to pull it off.

"I'm the new Ladybug..."

Until he caught the whisper that made his blood run cold.

His now twitching head slowly rotated up to who had spoken. It was none other than Alya Cesaire.

She was stood at the gates to the graveyard, pipe wrench in hand. Behind her were other students from her class, that had tears - or rain, he couldn't tell - pouring down their cheeks.

So did she.

Yet her lips were still poised into some sort of a smile.

"What?"

There were many flinches from the Parisians nearby.

In a more confident tone, the reporter stated, "She named me the new Ladybug."

Silence.

A harsh flare from Chat Noir's heart made him bare his teeth. "So what?"

None were prepared for the shout that soon escaped his mouth.

"You're the reason we need a new Ladybug!"

Adrien stood up, back arched and irises slit. "You're the reason that Paris will be left in shambles! That people will die! That the Guardian is gone!"

His booming bellows quieted to a mumble. "That Marinette is dead."

A fire flared in his eyes.

"You did this..." he growled menacingly, claws out. "It's all your fault!"

As the police force standing guard grabbed at the lunging cat aiming to avenge, none noticed the creature settled on top of Marinette's grave.

The butterfly.

That glowed a faint purple from its droopy wings.

As if it was mourning like the rest of the population for the death of the heroine buried six feet under.

~*~*~

It had been a day since then.

Since the funeral of one Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

And there was a figure approaching the graveyard where those had previously mourned for her.

They stepped over soaked grass and muddy ground. Scattered petals and jagged rocks. Yet they didn't stop.

Their suit became damp from the rain. Their shoes became soggy from the puddles. Yet they still didn't stop.

Not until they reached the grave at the centre of the yard, that stood tall in colours of black and red. Bouquets of daffodils and roses lay around it, along with plush toys of a girl in spotted fabric.

The figure, the man, bent down to inspect the rectangle of dirt in front of the memorial of stone, that had fancy scripture engraved into its surface. There was nothing on the patch. No flowers. No cards. Nothing.

Except for two hexagonal boxes.

Etched onto their lids were markings in blood-red, that depicted messages in a language that none could decipher - apart from the owner of the porcelain shards buried six feet under.

Despite the grime starting to gather on his clothing, the man continued to stare impassively at the items. His icy blue eyes studied the sight in front of him for a few seconds more, until his lips soon pursed tight.

Fingers gripped at cold objects, and brought them into the open in a stiff movement. They hesitated for a moment, as if worried of what they were about to do, then gently deposited their contents onto the dirt.

The figure let out a weary sigh. He stood back up treacherously slow. Then, he snapped his back straight up, and walked past the gates leading out of the graveyard.

He didn't look back.

He only left two items sitting in the mud. Left two items to waste away until the foreseeable future.

Left two miraculous.

And whilst he made his way down the dark and gloomy streets of Paris, dozens of eyes watched from the shadows.

They only had one goal in mind.

To protect their Guardian. The remains of their Guardian.

Until the end of time.

~*~*~

@soupfilledboots​

@ladybug-182​

@mochegato​

@anjuschiffer​

@gangstaluigi613​

@itskarmalone

@moonystars14​

@amayakans​

@mewwitch​

@agentofscifi​

@pale-lady-dreamer​

@lntimancy​  

@raisuke06​

@thyladyanput​ <3

@doriebell​

@2sunchild2​

@zebrabaker​

@freshbark​

@saphiraazure2708​

@animalgirl05​

@queen-in-a-flower-crown​

@g-arya​

@persephonescat​  

@sapphirewilliams5095​

@colorfulmongerpsychicranch​

@dontbenddontbreak​

@nights-of-fire​

@achefisachef​

@cinnamonrollorder​

@adhd-coyote​

@7-sage-7​

@vanillacoffee-bean​

@heldtogetherbysafetypins​

@dorkus-minimus​

@sassakitty​

@shippernaturalsanderspjoandscifi

@corabeth11​

@echpr​  

@jewishdumbass

@olynix​ 

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #ml #mlb #marinette dupain cheng #Marinette deserves better #akumatized ladybug #akumatized marinette #akumanette #ml ladybug #chat noir #adrien agreste #sadrien #alya cesaire #alya salt #ml salt #lila salt

[bcbdrums]

Silent Roar

Answering @drakgoprompts #6, Thunder.  Sorry, this isn’t my best work...

FFn --> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13673584/1/Silent-Roar

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

Shego pushed through the tall grass with a scowl on her face as she scanned with the metal detector Drakken had provided her. He was several yards away, operating his own.

The sun was high over the tropical island, but it was temperate weather so Shego didn't mind so much that Drakken had dragged her out to push through knee-high grass on the outskirts of a jungle, searching for some sort of mythical object of power. Something about their quest was putting her off, though she couldn't quite pinpoint why...

"I still can't believe we're teaming up with this guy after you met him one time online," Shego called out.

Drakken paused in his own searching and turned back to face her.

"We were instant messaging for ten hours, Shego!" Drakken said with a grin. "Dr. Sinister has very innovative ideas."

Shego paused in her task and looked up. She let go the sudden realization that he had been exhausted during their date due to spending the day online as even worse revelations began to hit her. "'Dr. Sinister'? Are you serious?"

"Yes, I helped him choose the name. It was between that and 'Dr. Evil,' but 'Dr. Evil' sounds a bit tacky don't you think?"

"Wait, helped him choose? He's a new villain?" Shego said, dropping her metal detector and setting her hands on her hips as she glared in annoyance.

"Oh he's committed crimes before. But he's trying to break into large-scale villainy. Rather difficult when you live in a rural area as Lester does."

"'Lester'?" Shego asked, blinking in shock.

"Eh...don't tell him I told you. He's trying to build his villain cred, and with a name like Lester, well..."

Drakken's metal detector began beeping and Shego watched as he spun around with an excited grin.

"Shego! This must be it! It's the—"

A powerful explosion shook the ground beneath Shego's feet, and her hands flew to her ears as she stumbled and fell hard on her side. The sound was more painful than the fall, and she pressed her palms hard against her ears as she shifted up to her knees and then stumbled to her feet.

'Drakken!'

She shielded her eyes as smoke wafted over her and flames rose up from the spot near where Drakken had been standing. But he wasn't there.

A red and yellow flash suddenly passed in front of her, and Shego squinted in confusion as a man wearing a bodysuit that looked like it had fake muscles inside ran past her, his cape flowing behind him.

"Suckers!" a nasally drawl called out above the sound of flames.

Shego watched in numb shock as the comical man high-stepped through the tall grass all the way to their hover-car and jumped in. That was what snapped her out of her stupor, and she bolted in the stranger's direction and fired her glow, but it was too late to stop him from taking off, laughing all the while.

Shego growled as she realized that this person...Dr. Sinister...Lester...had double-crossed them. Why? As she turned and ran back toward where she had last seen Drakken she wondered if it was all just for the hover-car. Because if so...

Her thoughts ended abruptly as she saw Drakken sitting up in the grass. Relief washed over her at the same time a new fear went through her like a knife. She could see blood dripping down the side of his face.

"Drakken!" she called. He didn't turn, but simply stared straight ahead as if in a daze. "Drakken!"

She slowed her approach as she saw him begin slowly turning his head and peering around at the flames. He...seemed all right. But something was off.

"Drakken?"

She finally stepped into his line of sight and he jumped upon seeing her, his eyes wild as he blinked in fear.

"Drakken? Are you all right?"

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

Drakken watched the smoke billowing behind Shego and the flames licking at the tall grass. He watched her lips moving as her eyes stared, wide and almost frantic. It reminded him of the look on her face when the Lorwardians had taken him...

Shego set her hands on her hips. She lifted an eyebrow in confusion, or perhaps annoyance? He wasn't sure. Her expression was beginning to calm.

He couldn't hear a word she was saying. Or the fire. Or his own heartbeat, which was usually pounding in his ears after an explosion. He could feel it... But...he couldn't...

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

"Dr. D.? Dr. D. are you all right?

He blinked up at her repeatedly and kept looking around. He brought his hands up to his ears, almost cautiously. He tugged on his left ear and his eyes widened further. He hit his right ear gently with his open palm.

"Drakken?" she said louder, a nagging thought suddenly arresting her attention as she watched him. She raised her voice even louder. "Drakken?"

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

Drakken was suddenly and acutely aware of all the things he couldn't hear. His fingers rubbing the skin of his ear lobe; the watery echo he would normally feel when banging on his ear. Gone.

He startled slightly when Shego leaned close to his face, hands on her hips, and seemed to be yelling something at him.

But all there was...was silence.

Silence.

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

"Shego?" Drakken said, and then clapped a hand over his mouth. His other hand moved to his throat.

"Dr. D.... Are you...okay?" she asked, feeling a deep, unsettling dread.

He stared at her. Not at her eyes, but at her mouth, she realized. The fear filling his eyes didn't help the nervous knotting in her stomach.

"Shego?" he said again quickly. And then his eyes closed tightly, his chin sank to his chest, and his whole frame tensed.

Shego quickly knelt down in front of him as his gloved hands dug into the grass at his sides. The rips in the front of his coat and the blood from the cut on his forehead were the least of her concerns as she set her hand on his shoulder and he startled again, grabbing her hand so hard that she winced.

"Dr. D.?" she said. He loosened his grip on her hand but didn't let go as his shoulders heaved and his breaths started coming in gasps.

"I can't hear."

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

Shego blinked as she scrolled down an article on the computer in the lab. She had read that one before...twice. She leaned back from the computer and yawned once, adjusting her bathrobe over her lap afterward. She set her elbows on the keyboard and leaned her forehead on her fists. She had read dozens of articles and medical websites, all of which told her...absolutely nothing.

It had only been one full day after the explosion. Other than Drakken's total hearing loss, neither of them appeared to have any injuries. The potential embarrassment and anger they should have felt at being double-crossed was entirely absent, due to the new circumstances. Shego had barely slept since they returned. And Drakken...was afraid.

The moment they had returned to the lair, he had stopped talking altogether. He had located what was left of his three by five note cards from the failed train scam and was writing on those to communicate, despite her repeated attempts to convince him he still sounded like himself. She had also tried talking to him at first, hoping he would read her lips and realize he could still function. But the fear and worry in his eyes when she did that quickly made her stop. Not to mention how he'd forced the note cards and a pen into her face the last time she'd opened her mouth.

Yes... Drakken was very, very afraid. And Shego was beginning to fear there was nothing at all they could do except...wait. They could go to a specialist and see if any real damage was done. But everything she had read simply claimed 'time' as the determining factor. Either his hearing would come back...or it wouldn't. And to what degree it may return, they couldn't know either.

Part of Shego wanted to find the little pipsqueak who had taken advantage of Drakken's kindness and desperation for a villain friend. Ever since Monkey Fist's petrification and the falling out with Duff Killigan after "saving the world," Drakken had been antsy for more companionship. He whined about it to her enough...and then didn't want her companionship.

In fact, Drakken had been distancing himself from her ever since they saved the world. Where usually he would be nagging her for something or rambling about a plan, he'd been spending most days in the lab grumbling to himself, and not working on any one thing in particular. His medal from the UN was nowhere to be seen, and when she tried to talk to him, he would always say he was busy and ask her to leave.

Now that he couldn't hear...she had barely seen him. He had spent most of the past twenty-four hours hiding in his bedroom, after the various communication attempts had left both of them frustrated. The one time he'd come out for food, he had peered around like a frightened cat, assessing the rooms and halls for any danger, and then looked back over his shoulder constantly. He'd jumped when she'd entered the kitchen in plain view and left in a hurry with his bag of chips, not even waiting for her to finish writing on the three by five card.

Shego wanted to help. But if he wouldn't let her near him or even communicate in the way he'd demanded...what could she do?

She realized that Drakken was probably as aware as she was, that it would all be a matter of time. And as it had been a full day with presumably no change, he was likely assuming the worst.

Shego pushed the chair back from the computer desk and with a quick spin she rose and strode out of the lab, heading towards his bedroom. She knew he was probably just wallowing in self-pity, and possibly more since it was his own fault for trusting a shifty villain he had met on the Internet. And she wanted him to stop.

She needed him to stop and take a more realistic perspective. They had to wait...that was all there was to it. And he really did need to go see a specialist. Since he had saved the world, he would probably be able to get the best treatment too, if that's what it took.

She also selfishly wanted to know why he had been distancing himself from her, even before the explosion. But that wasn't really what was motivating her steps as she approached his room.

When she reached the door she lifted her hand to knock, and then paused. She scowled at herself and then hesitated before putting in the code to open the door. She didn't want to scare him...

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

Drakken paced the narrow circle of stone between his bed and the moat. Concentrating on his footing was a minor distraction, but it was better than nothing. One wrong step would put him in the moat, and he didn't want to ruin another pair of pajamas...again.

He stared at the water that should have been making sound. He remembered what it was supposed to sound like. He could imagine it. He looked at his footsteps that should be causing a slight shuffling scrape in his slippers. He looked up at the air vent in the ceiling that should be humming with the air conditioning that he felt blowing his hair each time he rounded the back of the bed.

But there was nothing.

He paused and closed his eyes, as he had many times as he focused and tried to hear...anything. But it was all the same with his eyes closed. When he set his hand on his chest he could feel his heartbeat, but...he could no longer hear it. He ran his fingertips gently around his ears until bringing them right in front, where the sound should be loudest. But there was nothing.

He opened his mouth, and he knew that something between a sigh and a sob emerged. But he couldn't hear it. He opened his eyes.

He screamed and fell backward onto the bed. Shego was standing across the moat, staring at him. He grabbed his throat instinctively at not hearing his voice but feeling it. He wondered if he would ever get used to that...and immediately banished the thought for the dread it brought.

He couldn't lose his hearing forever... He couldn't. He needed to hear! How could he take over the world if he couldn't hear? Many of his inventions were tested by listening to whether or not the moving parts sounded right. Not to mention, how could he protect himself from sneak attacks if he couldn't—

His thoughts were arrested as Shego was suddenly in front of him again, having hopped over the moat. He startled at her sudden appearance, because...of course, he couldn't hear her.

The silence was maddening. But he didn't dare try to sleep... He couldn't close his eyes to that emptiness for more than a moment.

Shego was saying something, her brow raised in question. He looked from her eyes to her lips and back again. And then she rolled her eyes and walked briskly over to his vanity, where he had some three by five cards and a pen.

Drakken was curious about why she had come in, but...he didn't want to get into a conversation. He couldn't have a conversation anymore. Writing on cards wasn't a conversation.

And he didn't want her to see him so...so...

Shego returned to his side, sat on the corner of the bed, and scribbled onto a card. She thrust it forward when finished, and he looked at her face before taking it. She looked stern and yet...somehow there was a gentleness behind her eyes.

He didn't want her pity.

He quickly took the card and looked down at her boldly penned script, clear, but hasty.

"Have you slept at all?"

Drakken swallowed nervously. Shego was lifting an eyebrow at him in judgment. He shook his head no, and she rolled her eyes and grabbed the card back from him.

"You've been awake for almost thirty-six hours. Go to bed!"

When he read it he could hear her yelling in his head, right down to the inflections.

His eyes widened. He could...hear her in his head... Due to the memory of her voice.

What if he never heard her voice again? Or his own voice?

He didn't know how long he sat lost in despair, replaying favorite conversations between the two of them as he struggled not to cry, but his thoughts were broken by Shego waving her hand in front of his face.

As he startled and looked over at her, her expression had softened and she looked worried. He suddenly noticed the dark circles under her eyes and peripherally became more aware of her pajamas and robe. He wondered how much or little she had slept.

Why would she lose sleep over him losing his...losing...

Shego wrote on a card again. Drakken tensed as he waited for her to finish. She was filling it up with printing, which he found odd since she usually spoke in short sentences. When the card was covered in the thick blue ballpoint writing he watched her sigh and hold the card out to him. He took it.

"You need to sleep. Most healing happens during sleep. Tomorrow we can crash some specialists and get you checked out. I know you're going to say no, but if you get answers sooner then it's more likely something can be done. And I know you're probably going to say you can't sleep, but I'll stand guard so you don't have to be afraid. And I know you're going to say you're not afraid, but Drakken...it's okay. I'm afraid too. So go to sleep."

Drakken stared at the card and re-read it over and over again. He was frustrated that Shego was right. He was frustrated that she knew him so well that she had shut down his arguments before he had the chance to make them. And he was very, very frustrated with the way her hand on his shoulder was suddenly bringing tears to his eyes.

The card was crumpled in his fist while his other hand grabbed hers. And then suddenly, inexplicably, she was hugging him. His breath caught and he took in the feeling of her soft hair on his cheek as she held him tightly.

An image of her arms stretched towards him on Warmonga's ship suddenly flashed through his mind, followed by his fearful and embarrassed turn away from her. He slowly moved his arms around her, dropping the card.

And then...he felt her heartbeat. Strong and steady, where her chest was pressed against his. How had she gotten so close? When had he turned to face her? When had she put her fingers in his hair? Why was he mirroring her and running his fingers through her long tresses—

She pulled back suddenly, blinking and looking shocked. He thought he could see moisture in her eyes. He glanced down guiltily as his hands quickly left her and returned to his lap, clenching nervously. He was taking advantage of her atypical kindness in his grave situation.

"Sorry..." he said nervously, hoping it came out soft. He wondered if he would ever get used to not hearing his voice. Or...anything at all.

Moisture reached his own eyes and he closed them tightly. He felt the mattress shift and looked up to see Shego scooting over on his bed and laying on the far side, atop the blankets. Drakken blinked in confusion.

Shego said something, but he didn't have the first idea what it was. He bit his lip and shrugged nervously. Shego grimaced and reached her hand out, palm open and upward facing. Drakken picked up one of the cards and the pen and leaned across the large bed to pass them to her.

She scribbled something out quickly and passed the card back, then flopped down on the bed, dragging one of his pillows over to tuck under her head. Drakken watched in stunned fascination as she tossed her hair behind her and then loosened the belt of her robe. He looked down at the card.

"I haven't slept either. But I sleep light, everything will be fine. Go to sleep!"

He swallowed nervously as he heard her voice in his head again. When he looked up she was staring at him, seeming to hold her breath. He found he was holding his own as he slipped his feet out of his slippers and then pushed them beneath the blankets, scooting back until he could feel the edge of the mattress.

Shego leaned up on her elbow and said something. Her face was urgent, but he had no idea what she'd said. He was about to point to the cards when she suddenly lunged forward, grabbed his shirtfront, and dragged him into the middle of the bed.

His heart pounded as he stared at her lips moving in speech again, suddenly less than two feet away. He narrowed his eyes as he stared at her, and she rolled hers and grabbed a note card and the pen again.

"You were going to fall off the bed!"

Drakken bit his lip as he stared at the words. He wanted to tell her he wasn't exactly comfortable with her sleeping in his bed with him. Well, on his bed... That was what she would argue. Or else just roll her eyes and ignore him, or tell him to grow up.

He looked up at her. She made eye contact briefly, but then her gaze darted away. She settled her head on the pillow and closed her eyes, curling up a bit and pulling her robe over her knees. He looked at the green collar of her pajama shirt peeking out of the top of her robe, and the cuffs of the shirt sleeves...and then at her matching green pajama pants, and fuzzy slippers. Had she always had fuzzy slippers?

He felt hot at the moment...but he knew it was probably his nerves, as opposed to the actual temperature in the lair. He reached out and tapped the back of Shego's hand where it lay on the bedspread. Her eyes opened.

"You can get under the blankets," he said. Or, that's what he hoped he said. It's what he had said in his mind.

Shego blinked at him for a few seconds, but then she sat up and kicked off her slippers and pulled her robe off, tossing it to the foot of the bed. Drakken kept his eyes fixed on her hair, as there was something different and somehow...not okay, about seeing her in her pajamas.

Shego's lips moved and said a single word as she crawled under the blankets. He blinked at her, his throat tightening in fear that he couldn't even read a single word from the person he knew best. If he couldn't read lips, how was he ever going to communicate with people? Learning sign language would take a long time... And then Shego would have to learn too, and she surely wouldn't want that...

Would she even want to stay with him?

Her hand on his wrist startled him, and he met her eyes again. She spoke again.

"Thanks," is what he thought she'd said. He bit his lip.

"Did you say 'thanks'?" he asked.

Shego nodded as she settled her head on the pillow again. Drakken mirrored her action and tried to relax, his eyes not leaving hers. Her expression was attentive... Something he wasn't used to seeing. But he could also tell she was thinking hard.

He took a breath and then plunged forward before he lost his courage. "Shego? Do I sound normal when I talk?"

Something else filled her eyes suddenly. He couldn't read it. But it was almost sad... Pity? He probably sounded horrible...

Shego nodded and said another word.

"Yes," he thought she said. He bit his lip and decided to trust her. He continued staring at her as she looked at him with that strange look.

Her hand reached toward him on the bed, stopping palm-up halfway between them. He stared at her face again and realized the look wasn't pity...but compassion.

Why...why would she care so much?

He hesitantly set his hand atop hers, and moments later his eyes fell closed from exhaustion. He gripped her hand as emotions rushed through him one after another and tears filled his eyes. He couldn't begin to process all of the feelings that were stealing his control, but for one thing—he was grateful for her hand tightly gripping his, anchoring him to the world that had been stolen from him.

He soon fell asleep in the black silence.

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

Drakken's first sensation upon waking was a warm hand tightly gripping his. He opened his eyes to see Shego's closed ones, her face still and calm in exactly the position he last recalled seeing her in.

He didn't want to let go of her hand, but he was suddenly nervous as he looked at the way her hair fell over her face and the way her form slowly rose and fell with her breaths. What had he been thinking, letting her sleep in his bed with him?

He let go of her hand, and a second later her eyes opened. He held his breath, expecting some sort of response of fury, but instead her eyes focused on his and her expression became calculating.

She seemed to settle on something and closed her eyes again as she sighed and stretched.

"'Morning, Dr. D."

Drakken gasped. He gasped again and grabbed his throat as he sat up in a hurry.

"Drakken?"

"I—"

His throat tightened as he was overwhelmed. Her voice... It was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. And he could hear his own voice too.

"I..."

Shego sat up, her eyes growing worried as she sat up and set a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and met her eyes as tears filled his own.

"I can hear."

Her lips parted. A second later he nearly fell back as she grabbed him in a fierce hug. He felt the pounding of her heart against his chest as he had the night before. But he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears as he hugged her back, holding her tightly against him.

He listened to everything: the water flowing through the moat; Shego's hurried breaths mixing with his own; his heart pounding like thunder as its beating matched hers.

"Say something," he said, marveling at the sound of his own voice as he clung to her. He was too relieved to wonder why she was holding him so tightly, or why he was okay with it.

"I..."

Her tight grip on him loosened. And her voice, so familiar and beautiful, sounded hesitant. He wondered what was wrong.

"Shego?" he said, reluctantly pulling out of the hug to look at her. "I..." He paused again, amazed at the sound of his own voice. He lifted a hand and brushed his fingers past his ear. He heard the soft sound of skin against skin. "I want to hear you. Please talk," he continued.

When she leaned back and looked at him there were tears in his eyes, the same as his. She looked nervous.

"I'm so happy for you," she finally said, smiling. She looked more than nervous... She looked shy. He didn't understand.

One of her hands was playing with the hair of his ponytail. He realized suddenly that his fingers were in her hair as well.

"I missed your voice," he blurted out, blushing as he wondered why she hadn't let him go. He didn't wonder why he hadn't let her go... If she hadn't let go, there was no reason he shouldn't, really...

He was stunned suddenly to see Shego blushing too. She glanced away, seeming suddenly concerned by something. He started to pull his hands away, but...

"I...missed your voice, too."

Drakken's blush deepened.

"The cards were annoying," she continued.

Drakken looked down anxiously. He hadn't wanted to sound like an idiot, if his words were slurring or something and he had no way of knowing...

"But I get it," she said. He looked up. She was still playing with his hair, and suddenly looked uncertain. "How...how much can you hear?"

He considered. Everything...seemed perfectly fine.

"I think...I can hear everything normally. The way I could before."

Shego smiled. It was a warm, genuine smile. Like the one she had given him at the UN ceremony before the moment was ruined by his presumptuous vine and flower.

"Shego..."

She let go of him and turned away, raking her fingers through her hair as she continued to smile.

"We should still take you to see a specialist. Make sure there's no lasting damage."

"Yes..." Drakken said, dumbly agreeing as his mind raced over everything that had just happened and backwards all the way to the UN ceremony. Was Shego... Did Shego have...feelings...?

No. He shut the thoughts down. He was imagining it, as always whenever the idea came up. It was just the emotion of hearing again... Although it didn't explain her hug, or her playing with his hair...

He watched her curiously as she donned her robe—even the sound of rustling fabric music to his ears—and couldn't help the thoughts surfacing, despite his practiced efforts at shutting them down.

What if... What if she...

She looked at him and smiled. "Come on, get up Dr. D." she said, holding out her hand.

He smiled broadly and took it.

#drakgo #dragko #drakken #shego #drakken x shego #drakken and shego #shego and drakken #drakkenandshego #shegoanddrakken #shegoxdrakken #shego x drakken #drakkenxshego #kim possible #fanfiction #fanfic #fic

[ocsxinxpurgatory]

First Meeting (Introductory Drabble)

Series: Wynonna Earp

Disclaimer: Mordecai is mine as is the plot and everything else is borrowed in this work of fan-made fiction off of which no money is made. 

Setting: Season 1 Compliant

Pairing: None

Rating: PG for elements

Mordecai Silvers wants justice for the murder of his mother. Unfortunately, he knows that it is very tricky to actually kill a Djinn so he needs to find someone with a particular skill-set...

Which leads him to Purgatory and a certain Revenant who manipulates metal...

*~*~*~*

First Meeting

The sign was large and garish; something he was sure some PR person thought would make for a “welcome” one wouldn’t forget. He’s just not sure that anything would make a town called Purgatory palatable in any sort of direction but what did he know these days? He pulls the car over on the side of the road a moment needing to get a handle on the weariness that seemed to make everything like sloughing through molasses.

He would have some peace of mind, he hoped, at least in a little while. If things went his way. And to be honest, things had been far less willing to do that than he’d like these days. Mordecai is just sure somewhere, at some point, one had to break at least even or there wasn’t a point to things.

There is a dark, wounded part of him that wondered if that wasn’t part of the problem: that there wasn’t a point and trying did absolutely nothing for anyone…Or it was just the grief and exhaustion making him see only the worst outcomes in literally everything. He wasn’t sure but what he was sure of was that what he needed, who he needed, was here in Purgatory. Somewhere. 

He just had to find him. 

Having the presence of mind to know that he needed to be at his best to have a chance of things going his way, his first choice is finding a place to stay and settling himself in for the night. He was too tired to be able to do much other than be highly emotional and easily agitated. “Make your pleas when you're level-headed or else you risk worsening the situation.” His mother’s advice comes to mind making things somehow worse in ways and a hand reaches to curl around the chain adorning his neck. 

“I will finish this,” he says to the empty room, “I promise that no matter what I have to do; I will bring him to justice for you.” 

“Do not make promises lightly, sweetling. They have a way of being a double-edged sword.” 

“I’m aware,” he says quietly in response to old warnings, “I know what I’m doing. He cannot be allowed to roam free. He can’t be allowed to get away with this.” No matter what it meant; including finding this particular individual to aid him. The creature who had sired him was going to pay for ending his mother’s life. Indirectly or not, his Djinn father was going to die for this and for all the atrocities he’d committed. 

But first, rest.

*~*~*~*

Somehow, he’s not surprised at the time it takes to get into the male’s presence. Finding him wasn’t exactly the problem; everyone seemed to know of him but he tended to be very slippery when someone wanted to be where he was exactly. But Mordecai was not the run-of-the-mill and was willing to play cat-and-mouse until he finally steps into the male’s path. “Bobo Del Rey,” he says, “I have need of your assistance.”

There is an instant wariness to the other; blue eyes go glacial as he stares him down and Mordecai knows if he’s not careful red will surface. Demons were notoriously bad at emotional control, cursed ones moreso. And these days, this particular Revenant seemed to be a walking powder-keg. “I’m not sure you know exactly what it is you’ve been told but…” 

“I need you to help me kill a Djinn.”

The words have the other going still a moment as he seems to reconsider the situation. “A Djinn?” he queries, “That’s a bit of a hefty request from a stranger.” 

“I’m aware,” he returns, “but you seem to be the best case considering your particular talents when it comes to metal-use so to speak.”

“You’ve done your homework, I see. So what’s got you needing this done? Make a wish you regret?” 

“Nothing quite that simple. This Djinn had someone I love dearly killed. It’s beyond time for him to be dealt with.” 

“Perhaps that would have been simpler to stay out of it’s path.” 

“Unavoidable since the woman he had murdered was my mother and the one who bore me thanks to him.” 

And something shifts; a shrewdness appears. “So, it’s a family issue? Those are fantastically messy, as I am sure you know. You kill him and there’s no telling what the clan will do.” 

“I will take responsibility for that. There are rules and laws in place and he forfeited a fair chance at protection when he went after my mother to force my hand.” 

“Didn’t want to join the family business then?” 

Mordecai’s eyes narrow sure the same glacial quality is shown to the other. “You know better than that. You know if I had that desire I would not be here talking to you.” 

“I suppose not. Though there are enough suckers here in Purgatory that you could certainly be quite busy.” 

“Not interested in watching humans ruin their lives for petty desires,” comes his flat response, “You and I both know nothing good comes from magic. Ever.” 

Something chilly falls and he’s sure there is a spot hit; something raw and open that he needed to steer clear of but the demon reigns in his emotions; a show of strength Mordecai had been told and in the same vein warned of. This was not someone to take lightly. “I suppose that I could lend you assistance in this matter. I don’t really have a reason not to. But you do understand that if I do this then you’re obligated to help me in return, correct?” 

“Of course,” Mordecai responds easily, “I am not about to ask you to do something without an equal exchange in your favor. One would be stupid to even think to approach you in that case.” 

There’s something sharp in the smile flashed before would come, “Something tells me you wouldn’t be surprised to hear how often folks are that stupid.” 

“I suppose not,” he replies before slowly extending his hand, “Mordecai Silvers. If you are willing to help me kill the male who sired me; whatever I can bring to the table to aid you is yours, Bobo Del Rey.”

There is a moment where he watches the male consider his words with the knowledge of how powerful a promise this was from a bloodline like his and takes his hand. “Very well, Mordecai, I will help you with your Djinn problem in exchange for what help you can give me in return.”

#Wearp OC: Mordecai Silvers #Mordecai Silvers Drabble

[sylnyexne]

Blood in Roses 『KTH』

❁ Genre ➢ Supernatural au, romance

❁ Pairing ➢ Taehyung x Reader (feat. Jimin)

❁ Count ➢ 2.2K

❁ Warnings ➢ None

❁ Chapter ➢ Prologue | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

The moment I see him, I remember what I was trying to forget. As soon as that scene replays in my mind, I am no longer able to look at straight.

“I’m coming in”

I nod, keeping my eyes away from him. In the corner of my eyes, I see Spade leave the room. “So here he was…” 

“Oh…you know him?” 

“He’s the cat that lives here” he turns his look towards me “What’s this distance between us?” he wondered “Distance?” I say as if I didn’t know that he is saying, but I do know what he means. I had move to the corner of the room while he was seeing off Spade.

I mean, I have no clue when that kiss is going to happen so I’d better not get near him.

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No, I’m not”

“Then why do you try to get away from me?” step by step, he closes in on me. And I move back, step by step. There’s nowhere left to go…I’ve reached the end of the room.

“Oh, that’s it?” my back hits the wall, and I’m unable to move anymore. Taehyung says, bored, and inches away from me. His hands slowly rest on my cheeks. They’re so cold… while I’m surprised at how cold his hands are, Taehyung’s face come nearer and nearer and I reflexively close my eyes tightly.

But then I feel something hard touching my forehead.

As I open my eyes, I find his face in front of mine. His forehead was touching mine. What is this feeling? His skin against mine is cool and yet…

“…You spoiled it”

I was almost about to feel cozy and heart-warmed, but in an instant, Taehyung steps away and leaves the room.

“What was that all about…?” I say to myself as I sit on my bed. I realize how much this day has made me tired. “I’ll be working from tomorrow on I should get some rest” sleepiness carries me away as soon as I crawl into the bed.

I’ve begun working as a maid in the hotel.

“Ah… I feel a little tired already…” though the cleaning weren’t any harder than I had imagined. Even though there are guests that look just like humans, some of them have ears and tails like animals. Every room I went in as full of surprise. There are some of them who become transparent and disappear right in front of me like ghost…

“I guess half of the guests here aren’t human huh” I stop for a while to take a break. “I guess that’s what you’d expect from a hotel bridging the humans and non-humans”

*creek*

“Huh?” as I look at the armors lined up in the hallway. One of the armors suddenly bows to me and starts walking away. That gave me heart attack for a second… with that in mind, I stand in front of the next room. “I should finish my chores right away and get back to my room”

“That room needs no cleaning”

I turn around to see Namjoon standing there. “Oh, Namjoon...”

“The guest in that room will not be up for another 50 years. Just leave him be”

“50 years…?”                                                                                                        

“Understood? Now move on to the next room”

“Y-yes understood, Sir” Namjoon doesn’t look like he’ll accept any questions, so I do as he says.

On the way to my room after I finished all the chores for the day, I spot Taehyung.

“Taehyung…?” what is he doing there? He’s getting little packets out of his pocket. When I get closer to him, I see that he’s lining up the little packets of candy by the window. Right by the candy lies Spade, sleeping.

“Taehyung, what are you doing?”

“Uh w-what? That’s my question!” Taehyung looks embarrassed for some reason.

“I’m on my way to my room. I’m done with my chores.”

“Then go to your room already”

“You’re not going to tell me what you’re doing?”

“…Now that I think about it, this guy is usually in your room” is it my imagination or are his cheeks a little red? Is he blushing? After mumbling that, he looks at me. “…I just thought that I should feed the cat”

“You’re feeding the cat?” I look at those candy as I ask. “With…these?”

“Is anything wrong with that?”

“Well, nothing is wrong with that intention… but Taehyung, these aren’t what cats eat”

“What do you mean?”

This guy really…

“These are what humans eat. As snacks” I take one packet by the window. It looks like nothing but a piece of candy. “Sweet for humans? That cook…” 

“Cats have food that they prefer to eat. No matter how much of those sweets you offer, Spade won’t be interested”

“…So you know a lot about him?”

“Yes. I think I know much more about him than you do” I stare at him with a confident smug.

Hearing this, Taehyung looks into my eyes. I guess he wanted to know more? “For instance, cats have a habit of chasing after small things that move”

“Small things that move…? Does it include this?” saying that, Taehyung holds out his golden pocket watch that he usually carries on his waist to Spade. “Try swinging it”

“Like this…?”

Spade opens his eyes slowly at first. The next moment, his eyes lighten up.

“Meow!” Spade plays with the golden watch swinging about from Taehyung’s hand.

“I’d never have thought about trying this…” seeing his smile makes me happy. I never thought seeing his smile makes my heart this warm. Maybe because all he had shown me is his unpleasant look and frowny face, it’s quite nice to see this side of him. Maybe he isn’t that mean after all...

Suddenly Spade cat-punches the madly swinging watch.

“Hey!” in shock, Taehyung drops his watch on the floor. The lid of the watch opens and I see a mysterious emblem.

“What’s that…?”

“This is proof that I’m descendant of Harold” whilst picking the watch up, he tells me. “I’d rather talk about this cat. That was a cat-punch right there, wasn’t it? I’d never thought I could experience it…” he looked back at Spade “…But it looks like he won’t play with me anymore.” Spade has curled up again in his sleep.

“Cats are moody animals. But Taehyung…” I chuckled as I can’t hide my emotion.

“What are you laughing at?”

“I’m sorry, but I just thought you have a cute side to yourself”

“M-me? Cute?”

“Yeah, I mean, you were so desperate to have Spade’s attention”

“Don’t say such nonsense...” he glared.

“Glaring at me won’t work anymore” I smiled as he seem to be annoyed. Still glaring, Taehyung closes in.

“…I’ll shut your mouth for you then” his cheek are a little, but obviously, red.

“Tae—“

“Listen up. All you have to do is shut up and be mine. If you don’t get it, then I’ll make you understand” Taehyung’s face comes closer to mine. He got my arm and the other one holding my jaw. “No!” I cover his mouth with my other hand. Taken off guard, Taehyung lets me slip away.

“Hm!?”

“That’s why Spade runs from you, because you’re so pushy!” i smiled, feeling i’m at victory after fleeing myself from him.

“Hey wait!”

As I recall it, I find myself having good time, and I run up the stairs in a hum.

Halfway up the stairs, my sight becomes foggy. “What just happened?” it’s the vision again…

I see a door. The door I see is unlike any other door I had opened today. Which room is that? I feel so…strange. I wait for the dizziness to go away, I then regain my consciousness and start walking again. A few steps ahead… I see the door that I’ve seen.

“This room is…” I’ll try going in.

“A…storeroom?” it’s a room with tables, chairs, and small things scattered everywhere. Seems like no one is using it.

As I reach for the tool chest, I open my eyes blinded by a bright light, and I find myself in a different room.

“…Tatiana” Taehyung calls to me.

Tatiana…? But that’s… well I know her name, though. It’s the name of my distant ancestor, whose story of dying young and violently has been passed down in my family for generations.

“Tatiana…” the man next to Taehyung calls to me too. That’s…the man on the portrait. I was told that he was the father of vampires.

“Aelfric, So you were with Taehyung” did I just say that…? It’s a very strange experience. It’s like my consciousness is taken over by her. “You still get nervous around me, don’t you?”

“I have no intention of it” said Taehyung.

“Liar…” I slowly go near Taehyung and reach for his cheeks.

“What are you—” then I stick my forehead to his. “This, makes you relaxed, doesn’t it?”

“...Whatever” he rolled his eyes.

“It’s okay, don’t be afraid” it’s me, but at the same time it’s not me. It’s a really gentle voice telling him that. Her action reminded me of something. So that’s why he leaned his forehead to mine… To make me feel relaxed. This must be a vision of what Taehyung experienced. But, why did he try to make me feel relax?

Taehyung and my ancestor knew each other? He didn’t look at all like he was minding how I felt at that time. He was so forcible. How is Tatiana related to this castle? As I ponder this thoughts, a bright light envelops me again.

I’m finally back in the storeroom. I touch the tool chest again, expecting it to happen again, but nothing happens. Puzzled, I go back to my room.

I reached my room and look around to find the cat. “Looks like Spade is not here…” I wanted to tell him about Tatiana though, he might know something.

*knock* *knock* *knock*

That particular way of knocking comes from only one person. “Come in…” Taehyung then comes in and look at me.

“Oh, you’re not going to stand in the corner again?” perfect timing. I needed to ask him a few things.

“Taehyung…do you know Tatiana by any chance?”

“What’s that out of the blue?” he looks a little taken aback. Not minding it, I continue.

“I saw you, the man in the portrait, and a woman called Tatiana in a mysterious room”

“…Room 333” he paused a bit then continuing with a serious tone “That’s the room where you can see the past” I was right. That was what actually happened in the past.

“Is that woman my ancestor Tatiana? How are you and she related? If you know something please tell me...”

“That’s a lot of question…”

“The only thing I know about Tatiana is that she is my ancestor from a long, long time ago and Tatiana was a witch who was Aelfric’s lover and…that she met a tragic end” I wonder what happened to her

“…You’re right. You are Tatiana’s descendant” he then pulled a flower, rose flower. “There is a rose blooming in this castle called Rosapast. The one who made it was Tatiana”

“You have ten days left. Find the Rose Garden somewhere in this castle within those ten days. Roses blooming in this castle have a mystical power. The evening dew will purify you from the vampire curse” Spade’s words suddenly popped in my mind. I really need to hurry and find this garden. I hope Taehyung would tell me.

“Where is the Rose Garden? I’d like to see Rosapast”

“The Rose Garden has its own will. It will only show itself to who it wants to. You won’t be able to see it so easily” he sighed.

“I see… Say, Taehyung. Will you tell me more about Tatiana and others? Do I look like her?” Taehyung looks quietly at me.

“I would say yes. Your beauty resembles Tatiana’s”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“N-no, never mind!”  Taehyung looks everywhere but me and i couldn’t help laughing.

“Thanks!”

“I-I didn’t say anything to be thanked for!”

“Hmm Taehyung…”

“What”

“Thanks for talking to me, and…” Taehyung awaits my reply as i got my words stuck in between my throat. After breathing for a bit i continue.

“When you lean your forehead to mine… You did it to make me relax, right?” Though I thought he was a scary, arrogant person at first, after some time together, I’m sure he’s not like that deep inside.

“D-don’t get me wrong, alright?” and he tries hard to make friends with Spade. Though he’s not good at it, he at least tries to make me relax…

“It’s not like I want you to relax, it’s just…” and though he’s got sharp tongue and he’s not so gentle.

“Well then, what is it? Why did you do that to me?”

“I want to…”

“You want to…?” Taehyung come near me, little by little. He’s so close to me, and yet I don’t feel that I want to back away. And although we are so close to each other to the point that our lips might meet, I can’t take my eyes off him.

As our distance becomes closer and closer, just when our lips are about to meet.

“I want to…”

#taehyung #taehyung vampire au #bts #bts vampire au #sylnyexne

[codyfernaesthetic]

Patreon preview

Hi everyone! You’ve probably seen my patreon page linked on here before, and I wanted to give you guys a taste of my work outside of fanfic. This is part one of my short story entitled “Don’t Feed the Strays”. I’ll be posting the next part on my patreon today. Hopefully this will convince you to pledge a $1 and see where the story goes?☺️ You can find and pledge at Lovely Little Writings on Patreon.

(P.S. I think you Millory stans in particular will like this story)

October, 2018

The coffee shop quietly buzzed around Rachel as she sat at the small corner table clicking away at a ten page research paper she had neglected to start on for her English class until three days before the deadline. She had Beethoven and Mozart pumping through her earbuds for the sole reason that she heard they helped you concentrate better. She found it relentlessly boring but did find that being unable to find pleasure in the music forced her to focus on her task. Some employees of the shop had taken to teasing her when she walked in that she should grab an apron and work overtime, one of the main ones being a creepy 16 year old barely out of braces who apparently thought she was just as interested in him as he was her; so perhaps there were two reasons why she had earbuds blasting loud dead guy music. Her furious typing was interrupted by a notification at the bottom bar of her laptop screen. She hovered and clicked over red “1” on her mailbox to bring up a new tab to add to the other 7 she had open. It was one of those automated emails from a website. Someone had replied to her roommate ad.

Kelly her previous roommate had moved out a month before she got married. She’d invited her to the wedding but Rachel didn’t go. Kelly was nice and a good roommate for the most part, but not her friend. There’d only been a night or two when she and her girlfriend had woken her up with drunken sex, it wouldn’t have bothered her if one of those nights didn’t end with a leftovers left on the kitchen counter and an unidentifiable liquid spilled on the floor; much to her clean-freak dismay. She skimmed through the reply and saved it for a later time.

She jumped and gasped as something tapped her shoulder. She plucked the earbuds from her ears and looked in the direction of the disturbance. She met the artificially white smile of a stocky young woman around her own age wearing a bright blue tracksuit; her blonde hair was tightly pulled into a ponytail, perfectly plucked eyebrows framing smiling hazel eyes.

“Hey, Rachel!”

Her voice wasn’t unpleasant, but it was an annoying spotlight of sunshine in a perfectly quiet rainy sky. Rachel smiled half-heartedly, rubbing the earbud cord between her fingers, “Hi, Macy. How are you?”

Macy fluidly pulled out the other chair and sat across from her, “I’m good, how are you?”

“Fine,” she lied.

“Homework?” She playfully indicated toward the laptop.

“Yep...I have to finish an English paper. It’s due Monday and I didn’t start on it til yesterday.”

Macy nodded knowingly, “I get it. I have a Chemistry project due next week and I haven’t even taken one look at it—“

Macy continued for another two or three sentences; Rachel kept eye contact while wondering why we spill details about our mundane failures, but then felt entirely pretentious and pushed the thought away.

“But anyway,” Macy finally said, “I’m sorry to bother you-“

“Oh, you didn’t,” she lied again.

“But I really wanted to ask what you were doing for Halloween?”

Rachel blinked slowly with a blank expression, her mind whirring to life to comprehend her question, “Halloween?”

“Yeah!” She chipperly exclaimed, “There’s a carnival coming into town that’s gonna set up in Washika Park for that weekend and me and a couple others were gonna go! You wanna come with us?”

She scratched the side of her nose and shifted the laptop, stuttering, “I, well, I...I mean I don’t know.”

“Ok, well if you want to just let me know! I’ve got one spot open in my car, we’d be leaving at seven, we’d love to have you!”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll let you get back to your paper. Have a good day!”

“You too.”

Macy left the table with a cheery little wave and went off to order from the counter. Macy was a very sweet girl who had decided that Rachel was her project lonely shy-girl that she assumed had a either a bad home life or depression and needed someone to save her. Rachel could already envision the graduation speech where Macy would name drop her as a testament to her heavenly kindness. And the worst part about it was that her assumptions weren’t necessarily wrong.

She returned to her paper, wondering how she could come up with an excuse to not go to the carnival.

Unfortunately, no valid excuse came up. She didn’t have the heart to tell Macy no; and besides, she told herself, it’s no fun to stay at home alone. She kept telling herself to get out with people more, to try and make friends. This was her attempt.

She didn’t have much in the way of costume ideas, especially not in her own closet; which was composed of neutral sweaters, t shirts, and leggings. She decided to keep it simple and bought a modest black dress and a witch’s hat splashed with purple designs. She watched a few tutorials online to figure out how to do a smokey eye and concluded that makeup was far too messy for her to use in any consistent capacity. She felt like a raccoon with all the black powder smudged around her eyes, but now she had committed to the look. She sent Macy a message that she was walking out the door. At least she had convinced her to let her drive herself there. There was no way she’d be out in public without an escape plan.

The group that Macy invited consisted of a couple of her friends, tall and buff athletes who gave off an air of superiority along with their boyfriends of the same type; all of them dressed in matching Superman/Supergirl and Batman/Batgirl outfits, Macy’s boyfriend Lance, a lanky English major dressed as Edgar Allan Poe, and a friend of his who Rachel had never met. She was told he was Lance’s next door neighbor and childhood friend Carson, who was a Doctor, apparently; which one Rachel couldn’t say. Macy herself was a raven, complete with homemade wings and beak. Which Rachel found adorable. The night went by at an agonizingly slow pace. She tried to find interest their conversation, but found herself drifting off more often than she wanted to. Playing games was pretty fun, she didn’t win anything, but she enjoyed not being forced to talk. She hated heights, so she told them she would stay on the ground while they went up on the Ferris Wheel. She was grateful for the chance to be alone. Macy and her friends were fine, they weren’t rude or mean, she just didn’t connect with them. She wanted to go find someplace quiet.

She spotted a beacon in the crowd. An instant photo booth. She noticed the other patrons passing it without a glance and watched it for a moment to see that no one entered or exited from the red curtain. It would maybe provide a moment to gather her thoughts alone. She fast-walked as naturally as possible to her salvation and pulled the curtain back with a quick step forward to step inside.

“Oh, I’m sorry!”

She froze at the wide-eyed stare of the young man sitting in the booth. He was dressed in all black with a pair of fuzzy cat ears on his head. He scratched his arm with a light chuckle, “You trying to hide too?”

She blinked wordlessly for a moment before returning his awkward mirth, “Yeah, is this the escape pod?”

He smiled, “Unfortunately it’s not mobile,” he paused then scooted over with an awkward glance, “But there’s room for two.”

Rachel would have normally refused and found somewhere else, but nothing about his body language suggested that he was hitting on her; in fact he looked just as people shy as she was, almost curling up into himself. She sat down silently and kept to the other edge of the booth, more so for his comfort than hers.

After a beat of quiet and listening to the ruckus outside their sanctuary, he asked knowingly, “Who’re you escaping?”

She looked at him and bit her lower lip with a suppressed smile, “Acquaintances. You?”

He sighed heavily, looking at the bottom of the booth, “Everything.”

Her heart clenched slightly at his tone of voice.

“You not having fun with these acquaintances?” He continued.

“Not really.”

He finally looked at her, “Not your usual crowd?”

“I don’t do crowds usually.”

“Me neither,” he smiled knowingly.

A beat of silence passed. They returned to their respective staring at the ground or the wall of the enclosed box. The silence was sprinkled with nervous throat clearing or sniffling.

“Are you here with anyone?”

“Nope.”

She opened her mouth then bit down on her lip, as if to stop herself, but let out a breathy chuckle,

“So, I guess that makes you a stray?”

His brows furrowed and he scrunched up his nose as he glanced her way. She awkwardly indicated to his cat ears, earning her a small, but genuine laugh as his confusion melted away.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good word for me.”

She shrugged, words tumbling out of her mouth faster than her mind could keep up with, “Well, maybe it’s fate then. Witches are supposed to...like, come in contact with spirit guides that take the form of animals. The most popular is cats. They’re called familiars. I read an article once.”

He paused, and she mentally scolded herself. But he smiled and looked her in the eyes, “So, I’m not a stray, I just hadn’t met you yet.”

This was her first chance to get a good look at him. Though his shoulders were slumped, they appeared toned through the black shirt, his smile was charming, through his slightly parted lips she could see a single sharp canine close to scraping his lower lip, his button nose slightly red from the cold, a shaggy mess of dark brunette hair swished over blue eyes that held a sort of pained kindness.

“I guess so.”

She kept staring at him. She couldn’t help it, though she knew how creepy it must’ve been. She was usually loathe to maintain long eye contact, it made her far too uncomfortable. However, she found herself captivated, never wanting to look away from those eyes. He wasn’t a chiseled jock like Macy’s friend’s two boyfriends, but there was an odd beauty to him; his jawline was sharp, but his cheeks were round, his lips were full and soft, but his hands looked slightly calloused and strong, he was blooming with feminine grace, and bursting with male ferocity. Or perhaps Rachel was sleep deprived; which was not unlikely.

The curtain of the booth slid back, and they stared at a guy dressed as a video game character that Rachel only recognized from a few conversations she’d had at school. The guy apologized and quickly closed it again.

She stood, straightening her dress, “We probably shouldn’t be staying in here.”

“Do you wanna take a picture?” He asked suddenly. He met her surprised gaze, “I mean, just so you’ll have something from your not so fun night? Then you can tell your great grandchildren about the weird cat guy you met on Halloween.”

She answered, barely thinking of what she said, “Sure.”

She sat down closer to him and leaned on him as the pictures were taken. Two of them were normal, and he suggested two silly ones, which she obliged. He radiated heat. Their clothes shoulders were the only thing really touching, but their fingers were mere centimeters apart; a fact that Rachel desperately wanted to find uncomfortable, but only felt an excited thumping in her chest.

They exited the booth, allowing the couple outside to finally enter. They took a short, silent journey a few feet away. He lifted the strip of photos,

“You wanna split them?”

She nodded as he looked the photos over, a little smirk creeping onto his features, “Ok, just from knowing myself, I think I’m sillier of the two of us. I’ll keep these.”

She chuckled softly as he tore the photo strip and handed her, her half.

“You gonna reunite with your acquaintances or find another hiding spot?”

She gave an awkward laugh, “I think I’ll text their leader and tell them I’m not feeling well.”

He nodded, “Classic.”

She pocketed the photos, “What about you? Are you gonna face everything or hide from it some more?”

He flourished his right hand over his chest, “I am a hide and seek champion, it’ll never find me.”

The tug at her heart returned and kept her feet firmly planted. She pursed her lips and looked away from him at nothing in particular.

“I don’t wanna be presumptuous or anything,” he offered quietly, “but you seem like you could use a place to hide for a while.”

She turned her head, a bit wide-eyed.

“And I am your spirit guide after all.”

A shy smile pushed its way onto her lips. They looked at each other for a quiet moment, ignoring the noise around them. She took a breath, paused, and asked, “Where were you thinking?”

She saw his chest heave out as if he just released his breath. He rubbed the back of his head, “Are you new in town at all?”

She’d only been at the university for 6 months, and hadn’t taken the time to explore.

“A little.”

His smile lit up, “You ever been to the beach a little north from here? It’s honestly the most peaceful place at night.”

She shook her head, “I’ve never been.”

He drew into himself slightly, his voice quiet, yet inviting, “You���re welcome to join me.”

She spoke again, before her mind could catch up, a pattern seeming to emerge with this stranger, “Ok.”

#patreonwriter #patreon #my writing #millory #short story

[izukillme-moved]

*cracks knuckles before typing* Here we go: Fic/Drabble anything that you are comfortable with. 1. First of all, Jelray (because Jelray): “It doesn't matter if we can't describe it–we both feel this way.” (taken from a Tumblr prompt) 2. Gratsu: “And that is why I come to you over everyone else. That is why you are my boyfriend.” I can and WILL give more since I am bubbling up with ideas and at the same time can't save myself by writing them since I'll probably ruin it.

Okay, so here it is! I’ll edit and post the Gratsu later because I really wanna post this aah!!

The first time Gray sees Jellal Fernandes, he knows he isdone for.

He meets Jellal through Lyon. Jellal works at the library Lyonfrequents every so often when he feels he’s thumbed through his book collectiontoo many to pick up one from it. When Gray’s local library closes down, as atired college student (read tired corpse), he is obligated to go to this‘amazing library’ that Lyon describes as having a really good selection ofnovels, research books, magazines and whatnot.

The instant Gray lays eyes upon Jellal, he knows exactlywhat that evil glint in Lyon’s eyes was.

Damn it all! hecurses the silver-haired devil that is his older sibling.

For once, for once,he thought his brother would be nice and kind and show him to a library wherethere are no stunningly hot boys to distract Gray, he thought he could ignorethe look on Lyon’s face, passing it off as his usual smug smirk, but no. Lyon’s not that nice, and Grayshould know that by now.

Jellal is tall, half an inch taller than even Gray himself. He’sgot natural blue hair – now Gray wouldbe sceptical, but one of his ex-boyfriends and current best friend has naturalbright pink hair, so yeah - and a strange red tattoo working its way down theright side of his face. Oh, and did Gray mention that Jellal has the mostbeautiful, kindest brown eyes that seem to hold the entire universe in them,constellations, asteroids and all? His smile is like the sun, and it lights up Gray’sworld every time Jellal so much as looks at him.

In short, this boy is perfect, and Gray does not knowwhether to kill or thank Lyon for this gift from the heavens.

He decides to hold off on both, preferring to maintain thathe is in no way interested in how pretty Jellal is, or how his brown eyessparkle just so when the light hits them.

–

“Ugh!” Gray grunts as he searches through the racks for a book;he knows he saw it here yesterday. itcan’t have gone, there aren’t many people who even know who Stephen Hawking or RichardFeynman or Michael Faraday are, let alone like their –

“Are you looking for TheDreams That Stuff Is Made Of?” a kind voice comes from behind him.

Gray turns around, almost losing his balance, and issurprised to see Jellal, a small blush on his cheeks, holding in his hands the verybook Gray has been wanting for so, so long.

“Yes, oh my god,” he says in surprise, reaching out to takeit. “How did you-”

“Not many people like this book, it’s been checked out exactlythree times,” says Jellal, hand scratching his neck. He gives a small chuckle,and Gray knows that he would pay good money to just listen to that one sound forthe rest of his life. “I love physics, and I thought I would try it,”

Gray’s jaw drops. “Me too,” he says. “It’s so interesting!”

“You really think so?” Jellal’s pretty eyes widen, and hesmiles. “That’s awesome. We should talk sometime. I guess you know my namebecause it’s on my card,” here he laughs a little, and it sounds like the pealof bells in heaven, “but I never caught yours,”

“Gray,” Gray says, breathless. “I’m Gray Fullbuster.”

Jellal smiles in amazement. “no way. Ultear’s littlebrother?”

“You know Ul?” Gray questions in surprise.

“Yeah. She’s my best friend’s girlfriend,” grins Jellal.

“Wait, what?!” Gray leaps up. “You’re Erza Scarlet’s best friend? You’re that Jellal? The one she just won’t shut up about, the guy who tookcare of her till her real family located her? I should have known, Jellal isn’ta common name,”

“Yup,” Jellal says with a proud smile. “Erza’s mentioned youa couple of times to me. There was a lot of winking and suggestive smilinginvolved,” he says thoughtfully. “She has a tendency to act really weird attimes.”

Gray blushes to the tips of his ears and looks away. Heknows exactly what Erza means whenshe looks like that.

“Anyway, I should be getting back to work.” Jellal says witha little smile, handing the book out to Gray. “It was nice meeting you, GrayFullbuster!” And he runs off.

Gray stares after Jellal’s retreating back, the spot wherehis fingers brushed against Jellal’s burning oddly.

Damn it all, he curseshimself. Damn you, Jellal Fernandes.

–

It has been exactly three months, sixteen days, ten hoursand forty-five seconds since Gray met Jellal.

Not like he’s counting, of course. Certainly not.

Not like he wheedled out Jellal’s birthday (Jellal did thesame, he might add) and wrote it into his phone calendar – it’s the fourteenthof November – so he can wish the guy a happy birthday.

Not like he likes him.No, not at all.

Jellal now regularly makes it a point to say a hello to Grayand ask him how he’s doing every time he drops by.

(Which is becoming more and more frequent. Of course, Grayrefuses to admit that it’s for Jellal – he stubbornly maintains that it’s becausethe books at his own local library aren’t enough for him anymore, but even he struggles to believe that nowadays.)

Gray makes it a point to blush a little and stammer out, “Thanks.I’m doing okay, how about you?”

And then Jellal will inevitably launch into a story aboutErza’s friend Millianna and her cats – “terrible, nasty creatures,”, Jellal rants– a story Gray would have heard from Erza not an hour before, but he findshimself listening avidly, hanging off of every word that comes out of Jellal’s mouth.

“And then – and then the stupid thing nearly ripped apart asweater I’d been working on for almost a month,”Jellal yells exasperatedly, clutching fistfuls of his pretty blue hair. “I’m makingit for someone really special, see, and I can’t afford any more expensive yarn!”

“I didn’t know you knitted,” says Gray. He really didn’t –but it isn’t that surprising. Jellal is the kind of guy who seems like he likesknitting, and baking cookies, and all that sort of grandmotherly thing.

What is surprising is that Jellal is poor. His polite, cultureddemeanour and excellent grooming wouldn’t tell you that. But, well, it shouldn’tbe so surprising – Gray himself comes from a large business family, and is currentlystudying to be its next head, but you can’t tell by looking at the scruffy messhe is. Gray almost offers to buy Jellal some more yarn just in case, but biteshis tongue. It might come across as very rude.

“Not many people do,” Jellal says with a little smile. “Ifeel like I can tell you anything, though.”

Gray’s breath hitches.

“Y – yeah,” he says nervously. “Yeah, sure.”

–

It’s ten am on the fourteenth of November, and Gray standsoutside the library, chewing his lip, holding the little wrapped gift in hishand.

Should he be doing this?

Probably not.

Is it a thing that friends do for each other?

Are he and Jellal even friends?

Shut up, me.

Gray takes a breath in and pushes the doors open. It’s toolate now – he can’t turn back, and he won’t.

I’m going to do this.

He walks in and sees none other than Jellal, lifting a cupcaketo his mouth to take a bite. Gray can tell it’s strawberry on instinct, knowingwhat kind of cake Erza likes to give her friends on their birthdays. It has alittle number twenty on it, and Gray smiles a bit – that’s cute of her. He knowsshe baked it herself.

“Hey,” Gray greets.

“Gray?” Jellal sets his cake down. “Hi! How are you doingtoday?”

Gray shoves the gift at him and attempts to smile. “Happybirthday.”

Jellal gasps. “You remembered?”

Gray shifts in place. “Well, yeah? Is that a question?”

“No, but-” he pulls the wrapper open, long fingers carefulnot to tear it. It’s cute how he is so meticulous about it.

Friends can be thought of as cute. They can, Gray insists to himself.

He is brought out of his thoughts as Jellal gasps, eyes flyingwide open. He stares disbelievingly at the brand-new (second-generation, butGray feared buying the new fourth-generation one would be going overboard) iPodTouch in his palm.

“Gray – I can’t accept this-” he begins, pushing it backtowards him. “It must have cost you a fortune, how even-”

Gray cuts him off with a slight blush. “It’s not a problem. Youmentioned you like Linkin Park. It has all their albums except The Hunting Partybecause you don’t like that one. What are friends for, stupid? Just accept thegift.”

Jellal looks in awe at the iPod. “Thank you, Gray, but-” Heputs it back in Gray’s hands.

“Jellal, take it. It’s really not a problem. Trust me.” Graysays firmly, closing Jellal’s fingers around the touchscreen device. “Theearphones are in the case, too,” he adds, pointing at the neat little pile ofwrapper on the desk. “Try it out – I hear the sound quality is amazing.”

Jellal stares at him unsurely. “Gray-”

Gray grabs the box with a roll of his eyes, pulls out theearphones, plugs them into the iPod and shoves one into Jellal’s ear.

“Pick a song,” he whispers, putting the other one into hisown ear.

Jellal hesitates, but turns the iPod on, shuffling throughthe song list. He stops and smiles at one name, then presses the ‘start’ button.

Gray’s eyes widen as the first bars of his favourite songbegin to play in his ears.

“Castle of Glass,” he realises.

“’Cause I’m only a crackin this castle of glass,” Jellal sings along. He has the voice of an angelas well.

They spend some time listening to all Jellal’s favouritesongs – which happen to be Gray’s as well. Iridescentis a particular hit with the both of them.

“So let it go, let it go,” hums Jellal.

(If he’s being completely honest, Gray is more listening to Jellalsing along in bliss than anything.)

And they stay like that for a long while, until Gray realiseshe has to meet Lucy for their English project. They’re assigned partners, andshe’ll kill him if he’s late.

“Jellal, I have to go. I’m meeting a friend for a project, I’mreally sorry!” he says with a bow of apology.

Jellal’s eyes widen. “Don’t you dare apologise, you’ve givenme the best gift you could,” he says vehemently. “I – I can’t thank you enough.”

Gray smiles a little awkwardly and runs out of the librarywith a “You’re welcome!”.

Jellal Fernandes has himso screwed.

–

Fast forward to the twenty-fifth of December, Christmas.

And also, Gray’s nineteenth birthday.

Gray grins as his cousin Juvia whirls him around one last timebefore going off to dance with her girlfriends, Levy and Mirajane. “See you!”he calls after her, and she turns back to shoot him a smirk.

“Waiting on someone?” Erza asks, sidling up next to him witha suggestive smile. “Someone by the name of Jellal Fernandes?”

“No,” Gray says. “And that wasn’t subtle at all, Erza.”

“Mm, I know.” Erza grins. “But dense idiots like the two ofyou don’t get subtlety, so…”

“I invited him, but he said he might be a bit busy.” Graysays hastily. “Said not to wait on him. So that’s exactly what I’m not doing.”

“Would be a shame,” says a familiar voice from behind him.

Gray turns in shock to see Jellal, holding a lumpy wrappedpresent in his arms. The wrapping has flying reindeer and a little Santa on it –it must be old Christmas paper, but it’s the effort that counts, and Gray can’tstop a small smile from painting itself onto his face. He’s excited, he realises, something he hasn’tbeen all night – happy, yes, for his closest family is here, but not excited.

“You came,” Gray breathes. Erza has slipped off to god knowswhere, but Gray is glad she isn’t here, to be honest.

Jellal laughs. “Took me a while. Nice place you got here. I seenow why the iPod wasn’t a problem.”

And the way he says it, so light-hearted and friendly unlikea lot of others, warms Gray’s heart.

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

Jellal looks a little ashamed of himself, handing the giftto Gray. “It’s not cool, like anything you’re probably used to,” he says uncomfortably.“But, well, this is the most I could do. Sorry.”

Gray rolls his eyes and takes the gift. “It’s fine – it’sreally nice of you to even get me a gift, Jellal,” he says.

Gray holds the lumpy package tentatively. It is soft and pillow-like,and he can almost guess what’s inside. He takes his time to unwrap it,unwinding each piece of cheap Sellotape slowly and carefully.

Once he is done, a beautiful cream sweater spills into hisarms. Gray kneels and puts the wrapper on the floor, holding up the lovelyknitted article of clothing. It has an exquisitely detailed snowflake, in varyingshades of blue – is that silk – in thecentre, and two simple bands of the same blue silk near the wrists andneckline. It’s knitted even better than most of the luxury brands you’d see instores, and Gray clutches the fabric to his chest. It must be custom-made – it’s absolutely beautiful, and Gray wants toput it on immediately.

“This must have cost you so much-” he says in shock. “It’sgot to be custom-made, you wouldn’t see anything so amazing in a store-”

Jellal shakes his head with a smile. “I knit, remember?”

Gray’s jaw drops, and he recalls a certain conversationbetween himself and Jellal.

“And then – and then the stupid thing nearly ripped apart asweater I’d been working on for almost a month,”he’d ranted, and then explained why it was so important.

“I’m making it for someone really special, see,”

That special someone…

Was him.

Gray shakes his head.

“You went to all that trouble, spent money on real, actualsilk – for me?!” he says in utterdisbelief.

Jellal rubs his head. “It wasn’t that much trouble,” he answers.“Really, Gray, it’s not much at all,”

“Shut up,” Graysays, staring at the masterpiece in his hands. “I’m wearing this right now.”

And to prove his point, he shucks off the suit jacket he’sbeen wearing all night and slips into the cosy comfort of the sweater instead. Itfeels even more amazing than it looks, and Gray lets out a sigh of pleasure.

Jellal stares at him, and Gray cannot fathom why until –

“God, I can’t take this anymore,” he breathes, and suddenlyhis hands are on Gray’s hips, pulling him closer, and then he smashes his mouthinto Gray’s.

Gray makes an ‘Mmph!’noise at first, startled by the sudden kiss, but soon melts into it, kissingback with equal vigour. Jellal’s hands trace Gray’s hips, coming up to rest inhis hair, and Gray’s hands draw patterns on his back, pulling him closer,closer, closer till there is no room between them anymore.

The kiss is soft and sweet and loving and fiery andpassionate all at the same time. Gray’s insides are on fire, and his heart isburning with something he cannot place.Sure, he’s been kissed, has kissed others before, but not like this. Never likethis.

“Shit,” he gasps when they finally break apart for air.

Jellal’s cheeks are red. His eyes are wide. His tattoo isalmost invisible with how much he’s blushing.

“I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have done that. I crossed a line. Ihave to go. I better go.” he gabbles and runs off.

“Jellal – wait!” Gray shouts, trying to chase after him,hand outstretched. But Jellal has melted into the huge crowds, and Gray cannot spothim anymore.

He sinks onto the floor, clutching fistfuls of his newsweater.

–

The next day, Gray marches into the library to see Jellal lookingsadly into a book – the same physics book, TheDreams That Stuff Is Made Of.

He walks straight up to the older boy and grabs his collar.

Jellal looks up in surprise. “Gray-” he begins.

“No,” Gray half-shouts. “I’m not letting you run away. It doesn’tmatter if you can’t describe it – we both feel this way. I’ve liked you fromthe minute I saw you. Your cuteness and your personality didn’t help matters.”

“I – what?” Jellal looks absolutely furious. “There is noway someone like you deserves someone like me. I’m not good enough. I bet youhated that kiss.”

“I don’t know how it felt – it was too short for me to tell.”Gray says. “Kiss me again and I’ll tell you exactly what I think.”

And he doesn’t wait for an answer, pulling Jellal’s body towardshis. Melding their lips.

The kiss is eternity itself to Gray, and when they finally resurfaceto breathe, he says in a daze, “That was the best kiss I’ve ever had.”

“What-”

“Go out with me, Jellal.” Gray’s daze is gone now. He leanshis elbows on the desk and stares into Jellal’s eyes. “Go out with me.”

“Okay.” Jellal mutters.

–

“And that is the story of how Gray and Jellal ended up gettingmarried like the idiots they are,” Erza announces proudly, lifting her glass. “Tothe grooms!”

They all drink, and the newlyweds share a shy glance.

Jellal places his palm over Gray’s.

He smiles, and Gray smiles back.

Meeting you was thebest thing that ever happened to me.

--

Hope you liked it!! I will be editing and adding the Gratsu soon enough, hopefully that doesn’t turn into a 3k thing like this did xD@tardisthroughthefandoms, you’d asked me to @you, so I did haha

[adargo]

Aurum

Written for the Fractured Fairy Tales zine. (Still available until the end of March!)

Please take a look at the beautiful accompanying art by ryethe as well <3

Northern wind swipes across the land. It ripples the surface,  moves pebbles both ice and stone,  water waving oh so gently, as if the lake before him longs to be a sea. 

To be moon-bound. It stings against the white of his skin, it guides away the warmth of his breath. Yet, he cannot retract his hands from the salt of the air, from the sight of the water. Hands, laid bare for hours upon his lap.  Hands, brittle-nailed fingertips bitten blue.  Hands, gifted by the Gods. 

Blessed. Cursed. Forlorn, he smiles, no longer knowing which one to pick. Northern wind swipes across the land, ripples the water and moves both ice and stone- 

Until he can’t feel its cold sting no more. “I…”

...

..

.

Sorrow finds him when he’s young.  It catches him for but an instant, through a woman’s longing stare at a lonely daffodil, surrounded by nothing but the birth of spring. Its remnants in her eyes wilt away underneath a hopeful smile, soft, like the blossom-pink of her hair. “Life is so very fragile, my child.” Violet only blinks. Contemplates. Watches her walk away. 

Stills- 

The daffodil droops on its stalk.

As he grows, it encounters him more and more often. 

In the lonely frown of a classmate, In the tears of a chaffed-open knee, In the words, spit like venom between adult’s mouths, In pain, disappointment, fury. He shrugs it off as easily as he drinks it in, the crippling feeling not as arduous before him as it feeds within others, finds that, in his youthful stubbornness, the light of a mere smile sometimes radiates stronger than any word, than any false promise.  “Tomorrow, things will be the same as always,” he simply says, the curl on his lips tugging on those of his little brother’s, the shake in those big eyes dying down even as words coated in spit and fire continue to seep through the floor beneath. 

It’s enough.

There comes a day when it isn’t. A day where the sun fails to blink through the carpet of clouds and not a single songbird’s melody reaches him.  The coffin sinks into the earth before his feet. Small fingers wrapped around his own. Priest’s lips parting and speaking holy words of deliverance, salvation, of light… It’s an entirely different kind of sorrow, Fyodor thinks.

Soon enough, green turns to gold, once water-filled veins crumpling underneath the soles of his feet as autumn arrives to claim its toll.  And he swears, with every new visit it brings, with every passing, every rip of a dying leaf from its shrivelled stem- the wind thugs at him, at something within him that bit more easily.  At something, wanting to wrench loose.  More and more and more-  “How do people end up like that?” a voice besides him starts, followed by a curious hum birthed from yet another’s throat.  The question isn’t meant for him in particular, but his eyes stray upon the figure across the street anyway, a sore image, huddled up in nothing but tattered cloth. “Who knows…”  “Just be very unlucky, I guess?”  Empty replies. Not that he expected much else from his classmates whom disengage from the topic as soon as the bus arrives, all racing straight to the back lest the best spots be taken… It drives off, leaving him rattled with all the possible answers he could come up with, the question still lingering in his mind as he wonders… 

One day, will it be different? 

One day, will it change? Fyodor stares into a city sorrow-built. 

It stares right back into him.

And yet, one day, as time continues to tick forwards and seasons pass him by… One day, it makes way for something else. “Come here you little shit!” A sharp sound reverberates throughout the dense network of alleyways, metallic and far heavier than the voices mixed in with its echoes.  “You’re just going to scare it off like this…” “Shut up.” Three kids, not much older than himself, stand near an old garbage container, one of them holding up something akin to an old walking stick that he’s sure doesn’t belong to them. A hiss comes from above their heads, a clawed paw reaching out to flick at the stick before a distressed cry follows.  A warning. A plea. They don’t notice him until he speaks, until he’s there almost right next to them. “Preying upon those weaker than you…” They turn to him in surprise, almost staggering- as if they’d just seen a ghost.  “How typical.” “The hell did you just say?” comes the stick-wielder’s dented response, a different kind of fury settling in his eyes than the one contained in his own. He doesn’t back off when the other, confident and broad, steps forwards, invades far too close, grabs him roughly by the hem of his coat. 

Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t speak a single word. Doesn’t need to.  “Dude…his pin…” another speaks up and the eyes before him consequentially flicker to the gleaming gold and silver on his chest, a token of his descendance.  Ever so slightly, the grip on his coat falters. 

“Let’s just leave it man, it’s not worth it,” yet another calls. Fear, a spider that crawls over his voice. And despite his better judgment, the smirk edges unto his lips, high purely on control, for he knows the other has no choice but to let him go and leave things be.  The price for messing with a noble is one nobody wants to pay, after all. So all he receives is a flinch, a somewhat coarse release of his coat bordering on a push, and a positively fuming glare pointed his way before the other turns and leaves, even dropping the stick in the process.  He stands there as he watches them go, lips smoothing back into a thin line, adrenaline falling away in his veins… When he glances up at where the cat was before, his eyes find nothing but a wisp of stray furs. So he smiles, at nothing in particular, only to turn and leave. “Why did you help me, human?” It hits him out of thin air, rising, resonating around him, blowing wide his eyes, near-stumbling his feet- He stills. 

There, the cat sits, black and fire-patched fur dancing upon brilliant white. “Why, like all the others, did you not just ignore it?” Once again, it speaks, yet its mouth does not move as the words wisp around him, swerving into him from all sides. Still, he dares to calm his jittered breath as those big eyes search his own. 

Curious. Analysing. “Because it was wrong,” comes his answer, doubtless like falling rain.

A simple truth. The cat only blinks at him slowly, crescent moons thinning. “To show you my gratitude, I will grant you a gift.” Wielding a thousand voices, the words shatter through him and reality alike, every echo sucking away every colour, every shape, until there’s nothing left but him and the big, brilliant brown eyes peering up from below. “A gift?” It nods, slit pupils disappearing again for but a moment. “Upon the touch of your finger, you shall deliver this gift upon the Earth.” Dark eyes stare into him like he is a story, an open book. As if they can see his past, his present, everything that’s yet to come. “It can be anything you wish for.”

Anything… He breaks loose from the gaze before him, only to stare at the depth of the mists.  In it, he sees the loving smiles of his family, the cheery grins of his classmates, the helplessness of an old man stumbling in the middle of the street, the starving gaze of the homeless, the layers of greed exchanged through blackened fingers… It all traces out to the same end.  Unsmiling, he understands, lays his eyes to rest at the palms of his open hands as a voice whispers to him in the solitary of his mind. 

One day, will it change?  He knows what he needs to do. The violet in his eyes hardens as it meets the warm timbers before him once more, his words laced with certainty on his lips, right before the world fades to black. “I wish for-

…

..

.

Just for a moment, as he stirs from deep sleep, his brother’s wake-up call coming from beyond the door like any other morning as quick feet jumble down the stairs and into the kitchen for breakfast, Fyodor thinks it was all just a dream.  It almost makes him want to laugh out loud, almost, right until the doves on his windowsill flutter off by the smallest twitch of his fingers.  

They never do. And so, that very same evening, he awakens,

stretched-out fingertip hovering over the stilled body beneath, over nothing but a heap of flesh and bones that had simply ceased to function...  Shuddering, his breath evaporates into the frost of stale air. His eyes, stuck to the sight before him, ever-quivering.  There’s no mistaking that the man was a thief, he had witnessed it so first-hand, being quite the dusk-lurker himself. If only to observe, to validate humanity’s cruel nature.  The man before him had no mercy, no regard for life as long as he could take whatever he wanted. 

So why should he treat him any differently?  The quiver in his eyes steadies, all doubt and remorse hardening into pure, rebirthed resolve. “I wish for the touch of death.” He smiles as he stares into the city before him, equally tied. 

This is only the beginning.

He starts out small, 

merely scavenging the maze of the underground like the inner walls of a house, mapping, observing, sniffing out sinner’s blood from the shadows. It doesn't take him that long however, to actually unravel his claws and strike- making no distinction between those renowned for their crimes and those pulling the puppet strings, hands coated just as red.  He will paint them white. With every new moon, another target hits the floor.  Yet by the time he’s made a name for himself his family is none the wiser of his nightly escapades.  The dream-like effect sticks to him every morning, right until white-speckled wings flutter up and away from his windowsill and the housecat’s hiss reaches him from across the kitchen table as he calmly eats his breakfast. “So cranky lately,” his mother comments though doesn’t think anything more of it. She turns to him again about seeing a doctor for his hands. He only nods, knowing she won’t continue on the subject anyway as she prepares for another long day of work. His brother is not that easily sated, the lie Fyodor had coaxed up about accidentally burning his hands against the hot hearthstone of their fireplace all the more festering the worry in his voice. “Do they still hurt?” he asks, eyes bleeding with that innocence Fyodor himself can never attain again. He only nods, bandaged fingers curling into the cloth on his lap. “It’s going to for a long while...” It’s not exactly a lie, but that doesn’t lessen the sourness of its taste. 

A necessary evil.

Soon enough, rumours are circling through the halls of his school, the mysterious deaths striking the city a subject on nearly every tongue he passes, newspapers and magazines marked with his actions plied open to dozens of curious eyes. NO CRIMINAL IS SAFE- is what he catches by a glance and it almost makes him chuckle, if not for the truth of the media’s statement. The vile fear him while the virtuous praise him. But Fyodor knows that even with the support of the common folk, the law will not turn a blind eye to his methods… Gloved hands dig further into the warm confinement of wool as he feels something unfurl in in his bones, biding, like rosebuds awaiting spring. Another smirk edges itself upon his lips.  It’s time to step up the game.

And as summer and ice rake through the land, inevitable and merciless, year after year after year- he is never far behind. Every step, calculated, careful, but not entirely absent of flaw. Sometimes, he still catches glimpses- Of horses’ wails, heavy hooves rampaging through both wood, steel and flesh as a carriage runs rampant throughout the streets, only because he was on the outer end of it. 

Of the detective’s gun staring him down, long hair fluttering behind an idealistic mind reflecting his own, spouting at him how wrong, how disturbed his sense of justice is. 

Of innocent blood spilled by his hands, as well as those he owns, of snapped puppet strings, of unforeseen slip-ups.

Of life, death and everything in between. “Brother, look!” The familiar call sucks him back into the present, effectively cutting still all thoughts. He looks up to see his little brother run excitedly to the fence bordering the forest road, to the pack of deer staring back at them from the center of the meadow.

Yet, they’ll never come closer. It’s almost as if with every layer of youth that melts away from his skin, the toxicity of what lies underneath festers, spreading death like it’s a disease instead of deliverance. “Come on,” he coaxes gently, smile slipping over his lips as smaller feet run up behind him again, passing him by just as quickly. He watches the other scavenge, bright grin stretched across his face as he points out whatever new he spies around the snow-carpeted path. It seems so unreal. Like he’s walking inside of a dream he’s not supposed to have. Eyes untracking, he thinks back to the city he had changed- the lives he had changed. Crime-rates dropped to the bottom, corruption signalised and dealt with, the right pawns shifted into the right places… 

An example to the world. He takes a breath, the snow crunching underneath his feet a sound far too nostalgic. It hadn’t been easy at moments, to find the right pieces to play with, to buy, be it with simple greed or cold-blooded manipulation, just so he could focus on the big guns whilst they took care of the fodder. Adding log after log upon the funeral pyre, lighting up his path, that long black and white-tiled lane ahead of him.  Yet…  There’s so much more to come.  Suddenly, feet are circling around him, impatient and curious. On pure instinct, his hands delve deeper into the thick pockets of his coat as he regards the mischievous smile on his brother’s face. “So…what did you get me for Christmas?” Inwardly, he gives a laugh, eyebrows raising up to the heavens. “Not much of a surprise if I tell you, is it?” The other scoffs, hopping off to the side of the road to stare at nothing in particular. “You never even drop a hint,” comes the complaint and he can’t do anything but chuckle this time, knowing it’s true, almost fails to catch himself from stopping to pet the other on the head, a habit so drilled into his bones from when they were younger- it catches him off guard. That feeling- that yearn for warmth. Instantly, he pushes it away, again, again, and again. 

For thinking about it will earn him nothing... He simply walks on and soon, small feet follow again, never noticing the worried frown on the other’s face. Peering upward to a sky, grey and stacked to the brim, he tries to distract himself from his previous thoughts- turns back to the flutter of pages in his head, all the steps he still has to undertake, the obstacles he still has to overcome. A list, never-ending. A murder flutters through the white peaks of pine and violet wanders back to the small form up ahead, jumping up and down in the thick, unblemished snow, the grin now aimed at him just as bright but so, so much more warm. 

Golden. And it’s a terrible ache- to think about the times when they would huddle up on the couch by the fire for sleep to take them, where thumb-fights and forehead-poked goodbyes were all just a normality, of touch. I cannot stay here, he thinks, the repeated thought coated in worry, in sorrow, in fear- There’s a sound, birthed from his next step, far from the simple crunch of snow and the gentle jitter of laughter up ahead. He never even noticed they strayed off the path. Eyes wide and heart stilled, he stares at the crackle of ice underneath his foot. And then, everything is but a blur. First comes a shout, a name drifting over the stretch of a frozen lake, echo overcome by the deafening shift, the break that follows. Hands, shooting out of their illusionary restraints, reaching, grasping, feeling. 

A thousand knives shoving into his skin. 

Relief is a wave, far different from the bitter sting of ice, yet it rips through flesh and bone all the same, for he’s got him, he’s got him, he’s got him, he’s got him, he’s- The feeling is strange, overbearing, right there between the crease of a glove and thick, woollen cloth. -gone. Small fingers, clasped around his naked wrist. “Life is so very fragile, my child.” That day, the light dims in his heart. 

That day, the reaper disappears from the city.

Never to return.

…

..

.

Northern wind swipes across the land, ripples the surface, moves pebbles both ice and stone, water waving oh so gently-

But his hands, his hands are all he sees. “Would you like me to take it away?” Its words whisper into him, whiskers like shards of pure white. Divine. Merciful. “Without reason, without a light, how will you move forwards?”

Light, his mind mimics, a concept too far too grasp. Right until the moment he’d lost it. Right until he had sniffed it out with his own two hands. “I…” “It’s interesting, isn’t it?” The voice comes unbidden and for once, Fyodor leaves the shock on his face unveiled in its wake. “How it spreads death so easily, denying any form of life…” He only stares at the man. At the loose, black sleeves dangling in the wind. At the white cloth wrapped thinly around skin. At an empty eye, peering into an equally empty lake. 

At salt and water. “Death…” his lips repeat thoughtlessly, gaze once more turning to the waves before him. Maybe… “Is that not why you’re here?” The man is staring at him now too, the words flowing from his mouth holding more certainty than actual wonder. Like he’s an open book. 

And then, silence. 

The slither of wind over salt-dried stone. 

Darkness staring into darkness. It holds him down as the question repeats itself in his mind, beats back and forth against glass walls. His head an empty cathedral. His hands open heavens. “Maybe…” Fyodor’s lips part, violet breaks away from pitch black. “It is because I’m not that different from this place.” Because just like the salt quenches the life from the lake, his hands suck away any and all they dare to touch… He thinks back to the day he wished for this, to the day he moulded his future in a mere second, the path he’s walking down framed at all edges, like a painting not yet ready, but soon to be. What colour would the ridges be… “Hm,” the man hums, stepping closer before gingerly sitting down next to him, the large, salt-stricken rock no doubt going to stain the black of his coat. “Perhaps, we are alike then.” It was the strangest thing, for he doesn’t know this man at all, and yet, within those dark pools drinking him in, he meets something he never expected to find in his entire life. 

Understanding.

Still… 

“No.” Fyodor just says, nothing but sorrow in his voice. 

“You are nothing like me.” 

You cannot be. A scoff then, and Fyodor can’t really hide his surprise at the smile the other shoots him like there’s no truth to it at all. 

Disarming. “Maybe not,” the other speaks, all carefree, unconvinced- It sends him dizzy, makes him fail to notice that curious gaze stray downwards. Unyielding, the words of a God invade his mind once more, echoing in his head like mixed prayers. A wire waiting to snap. Jittering on and on and on like a symphony composed of a thousand songbirds that fly to and fro, to and fro, to and fro- 

And then his lungs forget how to draw in air, 

his eyes darting down to the hand covering his own. 

Touching him.

No, the thought is instant, a knife at both his mind and throat. 

No, no, no, no- “But you can’t hurt me.” The words shatter him, gently, like the gaze pointed down at his hands. Warm. Breathing. Alive.

“For I am…”

The man looks at him and Fyodor drinks in his sorrow like gold in the flame of fire.

“No longer human.”

Light.

Northern wind swipes across the land, ripples the water, moves both ice and stone…

But Fyodor only smiles as it sears passed his cheeks.

I think I’ve found it.

#bungou stray dogs #fyodor dostoevsky #bsd fairy tale zine #a'dargo writes

[sevensity]

RFA * V* Saeran overhearing their female s/o on the phone telling another boy she loves them but it's actually just one of the s/o's family members ?

hey it’s been like five years but I finally wrote it and I’m sorryI had no idea what to do for Baehee >.

I love how they get progressively long as you go have fun reading

YOOᔕᑌᑎG:

·        You’re playing LOLOL together when suddenly you get a phone call,and pause the game while you answer

·        Yoosung’s doing some quick character customization while yourconversation goes on, but he’s getting the feeling that you’re talking toanother man

·        And someone close to your age, at that

·        He’s been working hard at controlling his jealousy, but it’s sodifficult, especially now that you’re speaking such gentle words, your pretty eyessoft and twinkling

·        Who is it you’re talking to that would warrant such anexpression? Such words that spoke of warmth and tender love?

·        Yeah so it was impossible for Yoosung to keep his switch off

·        Can you stabsomeone through the phone? How can I perform simple voodoo? became hisnewest google searches

·        “Take care of yourself, I’ll come see you soon, I love you!” you hang up with a wistful sigh.

·        “The old geezer went and fell down the stairs…again…honestly heneeds to be more careful.”

·        “Old…geezer?” Yoosung asks tentatively, slowly putting his phonedown

·        “Yeah, my grandfather went and broke up hip by tripping on astep. Luckily he didn’t fall a whole flight, but still, at his age….”

·        Yoosung discreetly closes his ‘Voodoo for Beginners’ tab andcoughs lightly

·        “Right well, let’s continue our match, shall we? I’ll crush you!Ha-ha, I’m kidding?”

·        The battle begins once more, you having already forgotten aboutthe phone call, but somewhere in Yoosung’s mind, he’s thinking about the webpage he’d closed

·        Maybe it wouldbe useful to look through

·        For futurereferences…

ᘔEᑎ:

·        Y’all are rehearsing some lines

·        or taking selfies

·        or working out

·        or trying to summon Satan idk but your phone rings and youexcuse yourself from your current activity  to answer it

·        lmao though imagine you actually summon Satan and he’s trying totake your soul or smthing but then you’re like ok hold up my dude I got a phonecall the delivery guy might have gotten lost and Satan is just left standingthere like ??? do I get food too or

·        anyways hi hello it’s your /actual/ father calling about thefamily reunion on Saturday

·        Zen’s sneaking glances your way because what’s with this sweettone of yours

·        is i T A mE m Be R of Th eOpPOSi t E SE x????????

·        basically he’s trying to listen to the voice on the other end ofthe line but being sneaky about it

·        we all know that ‘subtlety’ is not part of Hyun Ryu’svocabulary, let alone life skills

·        so he’s basally draped himself over you  like some sort offallen tree trunk

·        im good at analogies alright

·        you’re trying to focus on the call but at the same time Zen whatthe flippity fuck are you doing you’re making me have to pee

·        he’s already suspicious but when you hang up with acheery “love ya daddy!” Zen malfunctions and doesn’t know whether to cryor yell

·        “Who was that why do you love that person was it a guy wh-”

·        “Zen, chill that was my dad.”

·        :0

·        :000000

·        you can see him dying a bit inside because  oh no I got jealous over her F A THER??????

·        but then Zen is Suddenly Inspired 

·        “Hey,” he whispers in a sultry voice, his lips pressed againstyour ear, “how about you call me daddy too?”

ᒍᑌᗰIᑎ:

·        contrary to popular belief, Jumin is actually cool with youtalking to other dudes

·        as long as it’s strictly professional, that is

·        he’s never heard you talk to your family before, so heisn’t aware just how close you allare

·        the both of you are attending a meeting, and during the coffeebreak you receive a call

·        ‘Jongin’ is the caller’s name, which Jumin manages to catch aglimpse of flashing across your phone’s screen before you deftly answer thecall

·        “Yeah? Hello!” you say,  before excusing yourself from theroom

·        Jumin is left wondering whether he should follow you or justignore it

·        but there’s just something about the delicate shift in your tone that puts him ill at ease

·        because you should only be speaking to him that way

·        side note I reallllllly want to see some yandere Jumin but notlike weird prison guard Jumin but actual Yoosung level yandere

·        alas, the meeting starts again, yet you don’t return to the room

·        he hears you giggle occasionally from the hallway, but tries notto focus on it too much because the meeting is about the future of C&R’scat projects and therefore of uttermost importance

·        needless to say, his mind is quite preoccupied

·        one of the chairmen asks him “What do you believe would bethe total production cost for this particular plan?” 

·        Jumin answers with a distracted “Oh, no I rather do like red wine with my pasta.”

·         basically he’s really not himself what’s gotten into himhe’s usually an unstoppable force in meetings but now???

-         the meeting is adjourned, and he rushes out the door

·        as soon as he spots you in he hallway, he’s marching straighttowards you, reaching for your arm right when you say “Okay bye! I’llsee you tomorrow, love you!”

·        “What’s this about loving who now?” Jumin hisses, his hand closing lightly, but firmly, around your wrist

·        “It’s me telling a family member that I care about them?” yousay, confused as to why he’s reacting in such a way

·        “You - what? family member?”

·        Yeah, that was my uncle. We usually go shopping together everyfew weeks, and we’re due to go again tomorrow.”

·        Jumin’s emotions quiet down in an instant, however his heart isstill running rampant like a wild beast in his chest

·        he slides his fingers down to envelop your hand, and gentlyrests his forehead atop yours

·        “Please, my love, don’t scare my like that again, you are myone, my everything…”

·        you’re getting ready to whisper your own cheesy loving sentence, but hecontinues

·        “Also you should bring your uncle shopping in this building. Wehave over 200 different stores, and maybe he would be willing to lead our catcampaign-”

·        you poke his stomach

·        “You are not bringing myuncle into this cat thing…but if you want, you can tag along and comeshopping with us.”

·        he agrees, which is a bad idea

·        cuz you and your uncle tag team him

·        and he ends up wearing some sort of cat/maid outfit that showsskin in just the right places

·        yeah but it’s a good buy

·        Jumin actually wears it around the penthouse

·        Driver Kim once saw him in it 

·        “The young master has rather particular interests….”

·        lowkey approves and wants one himself

ᔕᗩEYOᑌᑎG:

·        mmmmmmkay well honestly he’s heard you say “I love you” toseveral people already, but he doesn’t get jealous because you’re always showering him with your affection

·        but he’s had one of his bad days, old emotions and thoughts andinsecurities are already chasing each other in his mind

·        so it isn’t helping him much when he can just tell you’re talking to another boy

·        terrible thoughts swarm his head, and he cannot stop fretting about all the bad things that could possibly be happening

·        What if he hadn’t been looking enough into things?  What ifhe’s being played? Are you going around behind his back? Betraying him?

·        but for every one of these thoughts, he  lashes out athimself, thinking things along the lines of don’t I trust her? Do I reallythink she’s that bad a person? She’s given me all this love, would she reallyjust abandom me like that?

·        Or maybe now I’m reading too much into things?

·        “Alright, bye Kyungsoo, I love you!”

·        He winces, not wanting to face you, afraid that the bile in histhroat will lead him to say harsh things

·        “What’s wrong, Saeyoung?”

·        “Who…” he croaks, a faint pain etched across his face, “Whowere you talking to?”

·        “Oh that? It was my brother!”

·        “You…your…ah.”

·        “Is something the matter?”

·        “No, I’m just a huge idiotis all.”

·        “Now tell me something I don’t know,” you say with a sly smile,wrapping your arms around his waist, “you might be the world’s biggest idiot,but at the very least, you’re myidiot.”

·        Saeyoung instinctively returns the embrace, holding you tightagainst his chest. “Likewise.”

ᐯ:

·        oh my hea RT lmao what heart haha I just roasted myself

·        y’all are just chillin’, looking through his pictures when youget a phone call

·        V is fine with you talking on the phone right beside him, so youanswer right there

·        Heck, you could even be riding the shit out of him and he’d stillbe chill with you calling your friend

·        MC orders pizza while getting laid lolololol

·        He gets momentarily nervous, though, when he hears a deepervoice on the other end of the line

·        But V, he tells himself, don’t discriminate maybeit’s a girl with a deeper voice you never know

·        “Who is that?” V mouths, just to be safe

·        “Oh, he’s just –” you start to say before you getcut off by the person you’re talking to

·        a b OY?!

·        “Okay! I love you!” you say before hanging up

·        V’s all ༼ ºل͟º ༼ ºل͟º ༼ ºل͟º ༽ ºل͟º ༽ ºل͟º ༽

·        it takes him a moment to calm down, at which point he’sconvinced himself that you’re moving on, which is fine, because he’s not goodenough for you he wasn’t good enough for Rika you’ll be happier without himyou–

·        “V you’re turning blue I don’t think you’re breathing.”

·        He inhales sharply and looks at you with tears in his eyes

·        it makes sense, he concludes, trying to hold backthe waterworks

·        “You should have told me sooner,” he says softly

·        “Told you what?”

·        “That you’ve…found someone else.”

·        seriously V I thought I jumped to conclusions toofast but you really take the cake

·        you just stare at him, then look at the phone in your hand, thenback at V

·        whoops

·        “Sweetheart no that was my cousin!”

·        V just blanches

·        I am horrible how dare I get jealous so easily and I thought shewas in love with another family member what am I –

·        “V if you stop breathing like that you’ll actually die.”

·        without a word, V reaches over to you and pulls you into hischest

·        there’s a strange elation sensation inside his body, and herealizes that he had unconsciously been so stressed, a knot of worry had formedin the pit of his stomach

·        his worry is replaced by a realization

·        the realization that

·        he’s not okay with you leaving him after all

ᔕᗩEᖇᗩᑎ:

·        He ain’t taking none of that shit

·        the moment he hears you say “Hi!” in such a sweetvoice because MC you’re only supposed to talk like that with me h o w dare you, he practically launches himself at your phone and does awicked somersault landing

·        Where did he go?

·        Surely not inside the kitchen cabinets

·        oh

·        but there he is

·        crouching between cereal boxes and jars of tomato sauce,just emanating dark waves of furious doom

·        They’re so tangible for a second you worry they might stain thewalls

·        “She’s mine,” he hisses into the receiver, “and I’m notgonna let you lay a single hand on her.”

·        “Well…” the voice answers, “that’s fine and all but I’m herbrother so we do occasionally hug sometimes.”

·        Saeran had already prepared a nasty comeback, but he wasn’texpecting the call to be from your family

·        “Ah uh, okay bye,” he grunts instead  in an awkward manner,before promptly hanging up

·        “Um…Saeran…I kinda really needed to talk to him though…”

·        He whips his gaze towards you

·        “The….” he chokes, his eyes wide 

·        “Huh???”

·        “The what???? Hug?????” hefinally whispers, seeming if not a bit panicked by the thought such a thing existing

·        you stare at each other blankly for a brief minute before youdouble up in laughter because

·        a) he looks like a startled, edgy cat b) he’s in your fucking kitchen cabinets and c) the what??? hug??? wassomething you never thought would come out of his mouth

·        but he gets so sour about you laughing at him that he refuses toleave his perch for the next two hours

·        #spends the whole time thinking about you hugging him

·        *cue the blushies*

·        wants to try this ‘hugging’ ordeal

#see I can write requests normally sometimes #does this count as 'normal' though uhhh *shrugs* #but jeez it always takes me so long to write a requestt #hold up I'm talking about when I'm actually writing not #from the time I get a request to the time I answer it lolololol #mystic messenger #mystic messenger imagines #mystic messenger scanarios #mystic messenger writing #mystic messenger 707 #mm 707 #mysme 707 #mystic messenger seven #mysme seven #mm seven #mystic messenger luciel #luciel choi #mm luciel #mysme luciel #saeyoung choi #mm saeyoung #mysme saeyoung #mystic messenger saeyoung #yoosung kim #mm yoosung #mysme yoosung #mystic messenger yoosung #hyun ryu #mm zen #mysme zen

[vsullivan]

hey ya’ll im psycho so yesterday at work i wrote this eulogy about my minecraft dog i lost in minecraft

sry that it isnt lucky 7 lol but i think it helps that im getting inspiration to write again

Neuget: A Eulogy

My dumbass ventured very far out into the marshes of minecraft. I was on boat, fighting off multiple drowned as I trekked on to a place for which I ain’t even had no idea. I was just being adventurous, not truly searching for a particular thing - only something new. And I found it. I had gotten nauseous from the boat controls, as I was not smart enough to initially think of going into 3rd person mode to diminish the dizziness that claimed me in 1st person. So, I eventually set foot on land. There were many trees that I had to brace through. Skeletons stood in my way, but I took them hoes down with my trident. It wasn’t long then before I came upon a forest of bamboo, it was cramped as greenery invaded the senses at all angles. I saw a cat in the brush, but the little bitch dashed away as soon as I drew near. Sick of the bamboo jungle, I slashed my way through the vines with my trust iron sword. Collecting an abundant amount of bamboo in my wake. When I was finally free of that cursed environment, I was greeted with yet another forest area - one with a small hill. There was a small ravine that separated myself and this mini plateau, I crossed it with my boat with no qualms. I then climbed up the bank to take solace in the trees. However, once I reached the top of the hill, my life changed forever.

Through the branches, I saw a block of gray. My heart leaped, could it be? Yes, yes it was. It was a wolf. A gracious and beautiful wolf to whom I knew I must befriend. Unfortunately, I had no bone to train him. No way to prove I am worth of his trust. I made a decision - he is my purpose for being here. I must take him home. I knew it would be an uphill battle. A metaphorical hill far more close to the skies than the one I met this creature on. But I was determined. And so, I dove into the nearby waters, killing any and all fish I’d seen. Few were dropping the sacred item that represented the key to my canine’s heart. I searched high and low for skeletons brave enough to face me - but none spawned. Strange, I thought, the forest has the highest spawn rate for their kind. Yet, that did not matter, for I resulted to killing as many fish as it took to seek eternal happiness.

It grew dark before I finally found enough bones, the stars in the sky twinkling from above as they and mother moon watched my struggle far below them. I was afraid then, but not for myself. My wolf was still stationed in the trees, but how long would be before he could possibly be slain by vicious monsters? My resolve stood-fast as I searched and searched between the tree trunks and leaves that coated their branches. It was near dawn before i’d nearly had my fill of killing spiders, zombies and the like. My willpower was near broken until I spotted a color of gray between a sliver of tree branches. I dashed between the opening, a cry of joy sounding in my mind and not irl because thats taking it too far catie at what I saw. A familiar grey face stared back at me.

It was then that I fed the canine two bones I collected just for him. The hearts that popped up from his heart body and the line of red string around his neck signifying that he was now my friend. But now was not the time to celebrate. He and I had a long journey ahead of us. I made no haste in placing my boat in the nearest body of water, hoping my new friend would aboard. But of course not because its me playing and I have shit luck. Instead of doing as any normal minecraft dog, he kept falling into the water despite of me placing blocks beneath him in hopes his code would execute the command to sit his ass down in the goddamn boat. We struggled like this for a few minutes until he finally stoped having a stroke. From there, our journey continued.

I rowed around the lake aimlessly, not truly knowing which direction to head towards. I was trying to gather my meercat senses to guide me home but it was failing. I debated on cheating a compass, but decided that was pussy play. I stopped momentarily to venture into a cave in hopes of finding iron ore and redstone - but quickly driven out by monsters who had their eyes set on my boy.

I resulted back to fruitlessly paddling amongst the waves, praying I would spot familiar terrain I’d seen on the way to discovering my companion. I’d come across a few, but my sense of direction is so shit that it didn’t help much. It was during this time that I’d decided on a name for my boy - Nouget. I misspelled it but I’ve decided I like it with an e.

Eventually, dusk settled across the horizon. I was not worried this time, I was a boat - somewhere Nouget and I are relatively safe. I was wrong.

The thought had not dawned on me that I had not slept for several days. I didn’t even dare to sleep in any bed belonging to a village Nouget and I pilfered through in fear that we would never find home if I change my respawn point. It wasn’t til a fucker called a phantom reminded me that I need to fucking sleep when it swooped down and knocked a heart off my health. I would repetitively get off and on my vessel to fend off the flying beast and its companions - and cursed the minecraft developers when skeletons started shooting me from afar. Where the fuck were these thots when I needed a bone? I stopped paying attention to my health at that point, too worried about paddling away from the chaos at top speed. That was a fatal mistake.

I took to shore to kill another phantom, I kept my eye on nouget as I fought. His cute face fueled my determination, but in an instant, those obsidian eyes were gone. In fact - the battlefield before me was gone, replaced by the insides of my home. I died. Looking up at the top corner of the screen, the words “Catie was slain by phantom” were plastered in blistering white text. Fuck yall that wasnt fair.

Sadness bubbled inside me as I realized how I had 0 clue where my furry friend could be. Far away, I’m sure.

I am filled happiness at the fact that he is alive and well, yet grief knowing he is still in that boat, patiently waiting like the good boy he is. Not knowing that I may never return...

SIKE YALL REALLY THINK IM NOT GONNA FIND HIM??? AS SOON AS I GET HOME IM GONNA GO LOOKING EVEN IF TAKES FOREVER.

#im actualy crazy #im sry #the format is fucked bc i wrote it in my phone notes #and posted it on my pnone #rip #minecraft #writing #creative writing #my writing #short story #gaming #video game #f’s in the chat pls

[ckyking]

sur le bout des doigts

welp, this was supposed to be short to get me back into the thick of things but gladio didn’t seem to agree with me. so, here’s some gladnoct set in my aranea!noct au which is getting fleshed out at the moment. more pairings to come in that au~ 

Fresh out of the shower, skin rosy with heat that he lacks at any other time, Noctis looks almost vulnerable, his carefully tended armour laid aside in favour of softness and comfort. Water beads at his hairline, slides down the pale column of his neck one shining crystal after another and soaks the thin cotton of his sweater. The white material grows translucent under the mass of half-dried inky strands climbing down his back in a messy disarray, as different from his military meticulousness as night and day.

The sight is one that Gladiolus will never tire of, the savage beauty of fire and viciousness subsumed into the pale loveliness of a winter day. Silence and untouched wilderness for miles around, steam curling from a favoured cup and the weight of a blanket draped across one’s shoulders. Gladio carefully tucks away the urge to experience the clean taste of his skin for later, focuses instead on the muscled thighs peeking from under the borrowed garment’s hem, on the silvery scars marking the tempting line of his legs.

It’s only the two of them for now, no Ignis to share a private smile with over their leader padding into the room on cat’s feet, rubbing sleep out of his eyes with a sleeve-covered hand in an almost childish gesture, scratching at his stubble with the other; little quirks he keeps under lock and key when out in the world.

Like this, it’s easy to forget they’re mercenaries—the mercenaries if he’s honest with himself, and he usually is. Lionhearts is a name whispered far and wide across Eos; by nobles wanting another trophy to add to their collection, by overwhelmed hunters, by the upper echelons of the Empire. The infamous Dragoon and his companions shrouded in red, weapons held high against the darkness; quicksilver smirks and a tongue sharper than any blade.

Doesn’t mean that Noctis isn’t a brat under the veneer the world knows them as.

A slight grimace of discomfort twists Noctis’ features as he lifts his hair out of the way in an automatic movement, plucking at the soaked fabric in a vain effort to keep its coolness away from his shower-warmed skin. As always, Gladio is captivated by the blue glimmers playing in the night-dark tresses, the harsh light of their shared apartment turned into so many stars hidden amongst the hair sliding through Noct’s lithe fingers.

The movement turns purposeful once he spies Gladio lounging on the couch, book carefully held over his bare chest. With a smirk, he starts parting his hair in sections in preparation for a quick braid, amber-green holding amber-blue tauntingly all the while.

What would be a growl for any other man is but a sound of disgruntlement for Gladiolus, and gratification widens Noctis’ smirk at the immediate reaction. Since they were young, he’d always been very particular about how he cared for his hair, and Noctis who keeps them long for his sake indulges him with pleasure. Still, teasing is not above him – far from it – and the near pout on the giant’s face is always worth it.

An exercise in restraint. Hands that could and had broken through solid steel trembling as they slid through dark strands. Finger shaped indents in a wheelchair’s handles. A smaller hand bleeding black black black on his, guiding it back to an oh-so fragile head.

“I trust you.”

“Don’t do that.” Gladio grumbles as he sits up, spreading his legs and wordlessly signaling Noct to get his ass over here. “You’ll damage them even more.”

Laughing, Noctis lowers his hands and fishes out the comb he stashed in the elastic band of his boxers in prevision for this moment, revealing it with a flourish and making the other man roll his eyes in exasperation. Still, a tiny smile tugs at the corners of his scarred lips at the mischievous twinkle gracing Noct’s eyes, so unlike the detached and predatory glint he assesses the rest of the world with.

Those eyes stay focused on Gladio’s as he walks closer to the sofa, his stride unchanged by the lack of his customary boots; heel to toe, the swaying gait of a predator on the prowl. The bigger man’s mouth dries out at the intent in every single one of Noct’s movements, at the avian stare pinning him in place, softened only by the fond crinkles of his eyes, the sweet purse of his lips. Like this, Gladio knows with absolute certainty that his partner can see the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, the minute twitches of his muscles, the flecks of colours in his eyes—blue for the father he’s never known and the one he does, gold for their stabilizer.

Ancient Lucian comes to mind as he drinks in Noctis’ efficient motions, the comb dancing between his fingers like one of Ignis’ stolen daggers. It’s no fancy thing, a trinket Ignis picked up in Lestallum one day, its craftsmanship not worth mentioning but for the runes decorating the stained wood, matching the cracked leather of the book Gladio spends his spare time translating.

Tales of conquering kings and cunning queens, their lives slashes of ink on yellowed pages, indents he follows with callused fingers as he deciphers them, drawing parallels between Modern Lucian and Solheim’s barely remembered language to bring them back to life for a brief instant. Noctis reminds him of them now, a shadow stepped out of the book he cradles against his naked thigh as he waits to complete their daily ritual, a small piece of normality they grasp at and hold close.

It’s no wonder that Noctis sounding each world carefully in his ear, arms wrapped around his waist and head tucked in the crook of his neck, has always felt so natural, he thinks. On his tongue, each word is gilded in gold and silver, their grit coated in nacre by the softness of his mouth and given back proper meaning. Without understanding why, Gladio knows that each quiet exhalation against his skin, each twist of Noctis’ tongue fit the ancient language perfectly, the truth of it shivering down his spine in time with his lover’s breaths.

Even stripped down to the bare minimum, he radiates command, each of his steps teeming with the potential to break down cities as easily as he crosses the distance separating them. But it is not this dignity of old that kindles his heart, that warms his chest at the very sight of him. No, what binds him to Noctis is softer and easier, but infinitely more complicated.

As Noctis finally reaches him and alights on his thigh like a curious bird, his head tilted slightly to the side as he surveys his perch, Gladio’s heart fills with tender feelings he dares not name in fear of banishing them forever. The unsaid words between them sink like pearls in his chest, tiny treasures he hoards like the most precious of jewels.

Fingers gliding across his brow, still sweaty from his morning run, and tucking stray hair back behind his ear in an hopelessly fond gesture assures him that he is understood, that his feelings are echoed back with the same intensity. When those same fingers shift their course to trace his features and the scars that mar them – “X marks the spot.” – he closes his eyes and leans into it, his arms coming up to wrap securely around a trim waist. They brush against his stubble, follow the slope of his nose teasingly and finally come to rest against his mouth, fingertips light against the swell of his lips.

Only then does Gladiolus open his eyes again to gaze into his lover’s devastatingly open ones, laid bare in the face of the vulnerability no one except Ignis and him has ever seen from him, the Executioner. Just like his book, the comb lays forgotten on the couch, both items discarded for the time being, the past put aside to make space for the present.

The contrast of shower-warm skin and cold hair against his forehead anchors Gladiolus, keeps him rooted in the moment as Noct’s hands leave his face in favour of his hair, seeking the hair pins keeping them up and out of the way out of habit. Each time one of them is carefully eased from his bun, the warrior’s heart tightens a little more, as if his carefully built defenses are unravelled one by one, sweetly and without afterthought.

He observes Noctis as he does so, the steadiness of his hands, the look of almost peace that spread across his features, each pin a prayer bead under his fingers, each one a word that drops from his lips.

Only when he is done does he look down again and meets his gaze, smile overflowing from his eyes to reach his lips as he tangles his fingers in the hair he so carefully freed. Running his fingers through it as he does so, Noctis slides himself more fully in Gladio’s lap, not relinquishing his hold for a second, a sentiment shared between the two of them.

Then, finally, he bends down and curls a arm around the strong neck bowed to him, dragging him infinitely closer, uncaring of the sweat coating Gladio’s chest in a glistening layer. The bigger man’s mouth comes to rest against his collarbone, where his sweater slid out of the way in his ministrations.

“You’ll catch a cold if you don’t deal with your hair.” Gladio mouths against the scarred chest offered to him, against the pale wing of his collarbone straining against the bruised skin covering it.

“Do it for me?” Like a secret, like a request, Noctis whispers in answer.

“As you wish.”

Something infinitely softer than command, a relationship born out of thousand of moments and renewed each day as Gladio braids and cares for Noct’s hair, each twist another layer to the Dragoon’s armour, another door slamming shut between their own private universe and Niflheim’s coldness that awaits just beyond the threshold.

Gladio guiding him down to rest between his legs, heat bleeding from his hands in soothing waves. Noct’s trimmed nails gliding along the muscles of his calf and digging slightly, talon-like as light sparks beneaths his fingers. The repetitive motion of comb-strokes, the familiar one-two-three of weaving.

Perhaps it is nothing more than an old habit given more significance than it deserves, but it is theirs all the same; moments lost in time, moments that will never be recorded anywhere but on their skin, in the mismatched pieces of their hearts.

The tales of those forgotten rulers pale in comparison, the dying light of far flung stars compared to the fever-warm skin beneath his hands, the glorious life beating in such a lithe body.

Gladiolus breathes out slowly, the Executioner breathes in, closes his eyes and ties off the marks of his love and loyalty in Noctis’ hair, familiar roads leading straight to his heart, to the decades old promise lodged in his chest.

No books will ever be written about them, and nothing but their weapons will be left once their bodies return to dust. But they have each other, and it’s enough.

It has always been.

#my fic #gladnoct #gladio/noctis #gladiolus amicitia #noctis lucis caelum #aranea!noct #to go where the wind blows #final fantasy 15

[atomic-r0x]

Atlas, Part Seven | “I’m on the fence about what feels worse, the one leaving or the one in bed”

She was sneaking in inside her own home. At the crack of dawn, with the smell of Damien’s skin impregnated on her own, Atlas Collins was crawling up the red brick wall of her old home, going back over foot and fingerprints she’d left there so many years ago, back when she wouldn’t bother with the stairs and just make her way in and out secretly, long after her parents thought she’d gone to sleep. There’s something about men lying in bed alone and fast asleep that just makes Atlas’s knees weaken and her stomach ache with weird butterflies, and how she had to cling onto the window ledge even after landing inside her old bedroom at the sight of Henry’s peaceful body, chest rising and descending gracefully in ridiculously artistic breathing. She peeled her t-shirt and shorts off and stared down at herself, a flimsy bra sticking to the sweat-coated skin like duct tape, wearing a freshly washed and ironed pair of boxers from Damien’s collection, because finding her own had seemed like an impossible task. Flashes of memories of walls, teeth and textures were clouding her vision, and for the first time in six years, she was standing before Henry almost naked and feeling like an impostor. She could tell by the light sigh and the childish way he shifted his position that he was still sleeping soundly, and yet her feet wouldn’t move. How was it humanly possible to love someone with every atom of her fucked up heart and still do what she’d just done? How could she nod in approval, give in to the pressure of those piercing eyes, and then come back to this man who was so endlessly fascinating to her and still consider him her future husband? It took a lot more strength than normally necessary for Atlas to drag herself all the way to the bathroom, the weight of Damien’s lips on her body like bags of lead balancing on her shoulders. In the full-length mirror inside her bathroom, she didn’t look like herself – there were bags underneath her blue eyes and a certain puffiness all too familiar and the type of running nose you get from crying a lot. There were red scratches on the side of her hips and traces of teeth marks, the reminiscent residue of lovemaking that goes away with a hot shower and the secrecy of clothing, and yet there was something captivating in staring at herself under the white antiseptic bathroom lightning. So this is the body of a traitor? He was sleeping on his side when Atlas pulled herself away from his arms and wrapped the sheets around her body, but the moment the bed shifted under the weight of her getting up, his eyes immediately popped open, alert and searching. It was nothing, and yet she smiled and leaned over to press the softest kiss on his cheek, inches away from his mouth, and whisper ‘I must go home now’, as if this was their way of saying the fun’s over. Like she was expecting for him to agree with her and send his best wishes to Henry, waving politely before she disappeared into the weird darkness of twilight. She had to come up with a plan, something to justify the many things changed in her that weren’t there when Henry went to bed. She’d leave the window open and then blame it for her hoarse voice. The red fingernail marks would be her own, scratching herself in her sleep. The big red spot up there on the inside of her right thigh, which was turning black and blue by the minute, Henry wouldn’t have to know about. Not even the hot water pouring over her like a cascade could tame the nagging feeling in her chest that she’d absolutely ruined herself. And Damien too. And fuck, what about Henry? It was the mere thought of her soon-to-be husband that immediately sent Atlas to tears, convulsing inside the steamy shower with the last bits of energy left in her body. Never had she ever thought she would be capable of such cruelty, but there she was… . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “I’m starting to wonder if I’m marrying a woman or a sloth” Henry’s spoke, and even with her eyes closed and still half-asleep, Atlas could feel the playful smile plastered on his face. She smiled and hid her face inside the pillow, counting the seconds until his weight would lean the bed to the side ever so slightly and his lips would find their way to her cheek and then behind her ear, nibbling at the lobe for a brief moment. It felt like a morning ritual they religiously kept doing, and for a split-second Atlas allowed herself to lavish in the affection she was given. “Good morning” he whispered, chin resting on her shoulder, eyes contemplating her like they always did, so loving and so careful, eager to discover any detail, any feature that would remind him once more of why he’d put a ring on that finger. This was what your mornings are like every day, Atlas, why the fuck would you ever trade it for anything else? She couldn’t help but ask herself that as her eyes opened and a smile just couldn’t resist not spreading out across her lips, stretching like a cat underneath her loving man. “Good morning, Henry” she spoke and as soon as the first syllables escaped her lips, Atlas’s eyes widened in sync with his own. Of course she had been expecting for her voice to be hoarse, but this… It was absolutely destroyed, as if she’d been screaming for dear life on top of a Himalayan mountain wearing hot pants, feet bare in the snow. “Oh my God” she mouthed, her hand covering her lips in disbelief, before she tried clearing her throat several times, each gulp more painful than the other. “You left the window open last night” Henry remarked after a short silence of analysing her face, straightening his back as he stood on the side of the bed, his right arm still lingering behind her, hand propping up his weight. “I guess no iced coffee for you this morning, then, I’m gonna have to make a new one” he spoke, almost ready to get up from his position before Atlas’s hand reached out for his arm, pulling him back. “It’s fine, I’ll do it myself” she whispered, still slightly surprised by the state of her voice, and pulled at his arm until he was hovering over her again, the other hand pushing the comforter to the side. She didn’t even have to speak, or to look him in the eyes long enough for him to get the message, Henry already knew what she was waiting for, and he was eager to provide her that – falling to her side, pulling the sheets over their heads, a peaceful sigh escaped him as his arm secured itself around his soon-to-be wife’s figure in a tight and intimate embrace, the kind that makes your feet tickle from inside the skin and your stomach feel like it has suddenly been emptied by a vaccum. Atlas had everything she could have possibly asked for – a loving man by her side, a supportive family, albeit separated, a flourishing career, a beautiful home and a group of friends she could rely on. She had the world, and this should have been enough for her. But this world didn’t have time or space for Damien, for acting like a teenager once more, selfish and overwhelmed by uncontrollable feelings, for giving in to impulse and lust. “Everything okay?” Henry murmured, and Atlas still couldn’t understand how a voice can be this soft and reassuring, so velvety and soothing. “Your body’s all tense.” / ‘Are we friends? Are we fucking? What’s happening?’ / She should have said it then and maybe things would have been different now. Of course they were fucking, because she needed it, she needed to set herself free – all those years of loving him the only way her teenage heart knew how, cursing her parents and her luck for moving so many thousand miles away from him in an instant, without any word. Didn't he know it just as well as she did? Fucking was a coping mechanism, and maybe they both needed to get all those loose ends sorted out before any normal and potentially healthy relationship established between them. Damien had always been a smart guy and yet he believed every second of her nodding – didn’t he know better? How could he buy it, Atlas really running away with him from everything she’d ever build? Her mind couldn’t wrap around the cold hard truth that most of all, she was to blame for everything. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Days in Beaufort had never been fast-paced, and yet this particular one seemed never-ending, the hours slowly passing by like there time itself had issues moving on after the previous night. His car slowed down in front of her house, and from the passenger’s seat you could have sworn the Collins’ porch was stretching endlessly into the horizon, the lazy light of sunset casting a red hue over the dusty bricks. “Take care of yourself, kid” Brodie spoke once the engine stopped, his car perfectly parked into the vacant spot in the driveway. With his pearl white smile so characteristic of him, he ran a hand through his hair and looked over to the front door, Atlas still lingering in her seat. “Well, I bet Henry’s gonna be very jealous he’s not the only one you’re giving love to.” It was a joke, innocent and well-intended, but she still froze for a second, puzzled at his words before she shrugged it off, returning his smile with one of her own. “Of all, I should be the jealous one, you’ve basically stolen my husband.” Husband. The word had an unexpectedly grave ring to it, like she’d deciphered an old spell or a hieroglyph revealing the meaning of life. She’d never before referred to Henry as her husband, hardly ever as her fiancé, and pronouncing that in such circumstances made Atlas feel profane. Like she’d fucked up a sacred inheritance that she’d been trusted with. “Well, anyway, let me know how things go… With Jude, I mean.” It was enough for her to mention his name and life would spark up in the apple of his cheeks, a rosiness so characteristic of his marble-white complexion, which he tried to shake off and play it cool, letting out a chuckle intended to seem careless, almost playful. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.” And then he hesitated, running his thumb over his lower lip, eyes darting back to the entrance of her childhood home. “I don’t even know anymore… With Hope, and how she sees things… I just wonder if she’s seeing more than I do, being objective and all.” A small silence followed – Atlas had never been good around Hope, the two seemed to have never really understood how to handle each other, but then again, the Larssons were a family teenage Atlas hadn’t really been tight with for some reason. “But I want to give her the credit. I want to believe her. I’ll have to give her that, she’s much more experienced at having her heart crushed, the whole story with Charlie and how he died and finding out about all that shit.” He probably realised he’d spilled the beans on something Atlas was completely unaware of only when Atlas’s eyes grew wide open all of a sudden, as if triggered by one simple command. It couldn’t be true, Charlie couldn’t be dead. Not the Charlie she knew. “You didn’t know…” Brodie continued in a considerably lower voice, and something about the way he phrased it made it sound less like a question and more like a statement. They stood in silence for a few moments, with Atlas’s eyes vacant and focused on the unreachable distance. “How did he die?” It took a while for Brodie to answer, probably contemplating whether it was a good idea to let her know the whole story, but nonetheless he spoke up. “He committed suicide” he spoke and Atlas’s face was taken over by a frown and a jaw that wouldn’t relax, so clenched her teeth might have cracked under the pressure. “He… He did it a long time ago. Maybe nine or ten years ago? It was right before Damien left town too.” It might have been the shock on her face or the way her whole body had absolutely frozen to the news that made him extend his hand to hold hers in the most innocent way, so much so that she had to look down, marvelled by the gesture. “Thanks for the ride” she finally spoke, eyes moving back to his face. “Take care of yourself” she added, giving a final squeeze of his hand before stepping out of the car, the pavement so far away from her feet. She waited for him to get out of the driveway, waving as she stood on the front steps, acting like she hadn't been crushed by the news. She waited for his car to melt into the distance into something undistinguishable before sitting down, hand frantically raiding through the contents of her purse until a lighter and a cigarette found their way in her hands, before a quick set of moves set the stick ablaze and tossed the lighter back in. She’d been around for a few weeks now and nobody had bothered to tell her the news. Not even Damien, although a part of her knew all too well he wouldn’t open up about it, though it all made sense now, his mother and his tattoo and Isabella, ever-present in his life. Him leaving the town because he couldn't tolerate staying in a place that had ruined him. Isabella clinging on to him because he was the only thing she had left to remind her of Charlie. The nausea in Atlas’s mouth had become too familiar. “Oh, you’re back” her father’s voice brought her back to reality, the crack of a door opening too subtle for the type of trance she seemed to have fallen into. “You alright, kid?” He spoke, kneeling down to be on the same level with his daughter, joints cracking. “Yeah, I was just finishing this cigarette” she replied after a brief moment of contemplation, but ultimately figured it didn’t make much sense discussing Charlie’s death with her dad, who was now adjusting his position so that his body was mimicking hers, face bright with love and good disposition. Her father had always appreciated sitting down in silence with his loved ones, and it was something Atlas hadn’t known she’d missed until now, the two of them resting on the front steps of their house like some thug kids on eighties rap posters. “Went to see Damien about those photos?” He finally said, a small satisfied smile on his lips as he leaned back, hands propping his weight, head resting against the door. “Um, no” Atlas replied, resting her head on his shoulder, annoyed at herself for having to lie to her father, but not even he, with all the love and generosity he was capable of, could he not blame his daughter, and Atlas would’ve understood his reasons. Instead, she shifted to something else. “I went out with Brodie today, we had a little drink, it was quite nice.” Her father didn’t say anything for the next few moments, he just sighed peacefully, like the view before him was filling him with so much joy he had to make enough space inside of him to fit all of it. “Why don't you invite him, too?” He asked, continuing only when Atlas’s puzzled eyes looked up, in search for his. “Damien, I mean. He’s grown into such a good young man, and you two have always been really close. Even now, when he came over for dinner, it seemed like you’ve always been inseparable.” There was a weird combination between wanting to burst into laughter and shaking all over that flooded Atlas, retrieving her head for her father's shoulder as she kept staring straight ahead, phrasing and rephrasing what she was about to say next, until she just smiled to herself. “I’ll think about it” Atlas replied, getting up and shaking off the dust from the back of her cut-offs, before extending her hand to her father. “C’mon in, paps. Let’s cook something for dinner” she continued ever so lightly, shrugging his previous words off with a display of amusement to hide the churning feeling inside her stomach. When had her life turned into such a ridiculous masquerade?

[my-tripod-pupper]

found a brown recluse with a roly poly in its grasp today disgusting 0/10 never setting foot in my apartment again

#my sister said they hide in blankets 😭 #thats not even the worse bug ive found in this place i hate my state #my cats will be staring at a very particular spot which is an instant red flag that theres something horrible there #yknow what while im ranting i also ate fucking larvae a few months ago!!! #i ate literal worms!!!!! #im just going to die now #end rant #wait im not finished my brother in law also put a dead snake on my cars windshield #and it had puncture wounds on its body #he found it in the same place that he found a black widow #do black widows eat fucking snakes??????? #i hate it here #personal #done fr now lol #*worst