#the only way i know how to colour and “shade” is by using monotones apparently

[total-drama-brainrot]

p!noah with tapetum lucidum

You might be on to something here.

#the only way i know how to colour and “shade” is by using monotones apparently #the good thing about this scribble is that it can also double as a vampire!noah sketch #(everyone in astro's discord knows what's up there 😏) #total drama #td noah #psycho!noah au #silly ideas #ophe doodles #replies

[formenis]

Rain

Anon asked: “ Can you do a one-shot were reader is Light's sister and secretly in a relationship with L and she spends the night with L at HQ for the first time and Light catches her leaving L's bedroom and confronts her and L in front of the whole Task Force“

A/N: sure dear. But since in the manga L and Light were handcuffed together at the HQ, I changed a bit the location so this one-shot is set in the hotel we can all see in the anime.

Again, sorry if you find mistakes in my stories, English is not my first language.

pairing: L x Light’s sister!reader

warning: none

requested: yes

H/L = hair length

H/C = hair colour

F/C = favourite colour

E/C = eye colour

Y/A = your alias

The third Yagami. Why did nobody talk about her? Y/N Yagami: H/L hair in a shining H/C shade, excellent scholastic career and charming personality. Few years younger than Light and older than Sayu, she was as smart as Light, as perfect as her older brother despite the tiny age gap so why she wasn't on everyone's lips like him? Simple, because she liked something called discretion.

Y/N Yagami never liked being under the spotlight (A/N: ahah did you get the joke here?). She was an excellent student yes, Soichiro and Sachiko's pride, but she didn’t show it off.

Y/N, Light and Sayu had a special bond. They would do everything for each other, they were one the confidant of the other. However, since the end of November 2003 Light started to act strange. He would spend more time in his room than with Y/N or Sayu and both of her didn’t know the reason. He was more distant and colder with her too and this made Sayu a bit sad.

But, as we said before, Y/N loved discretion. Something happened to her too. She met someone. It was a strange encounter, Y/N admitted it.

♰ FLASHBACK ♰

It was another rainy day at Tokyo but Y/N had her F/C umbrella in her bag. Luckily it wasn’t that heavy so she was pretty confident she would reach home all dry.

Wrong. Not much after she left the Daikoku Private Academy (her high school), a heavy shower poured on her and the tiny pocket-sized umbrella could do precious little. Fortunately, a nearby bakery had a big awning and she ran towards it searching for a shelter.

«Damn…such a timing…» she wasn’t wet but that rain bothered her a lot since that afternoon she wanted to go at the tennis field with Light.

Y/N closed the umbrella and turned to take a look at the shop window of that bakery. In front of her a large variety of sweets, cookies, cakes, ice-creams, candies scattered all together on a table. She frowned finding it quite strange.

«Why on a table?» she asked mostly at herself since she was alone under the awning. However, she soon realised it was not the bakery's shop window but the table of one of the many clients. Then, from behind a black cherry double layer cake, appeared a head of a young man with messy black hair. Y/N observed how greedily that man was eating the cake: in one bite he ate almost half slice of that cake.

She opened her E/C eyes wide at that sight. Were all those sweets only for him? He would get a stomach ache and a cavity if he decided to eat all those sugary delights.

Another good look at the guy and Y/N, if it was possible, would open even wider her eyes: a very slim, pale, young man with messy neck-length black hair and black eyes; those eyes had a deep shadow below them, maybe his sleep was too much overwrought. Y/N noticed how simple his clothes were: a pair of blue jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt. Nothing more, nothing less.

But two things caught Y/N attention: first, his posture. He seemed to prefer to crouch rather than sit. And second, the way he was holding those sweets, using only a thumb and a finger. For someone as Y/N Yagami, a guy like him was strange yet interesting at the same time. For some reason she wanted to know more about him.

He was going to eat what remained of the slice of cake when he turned his gaze at her. His look was so intense that made Y/N jump for the surprise. However, she got hypnotised by those eyes, so deep black and apparently empty.

They kept staring at each other for a while, none of them looked away or blinked. It was only when someone spoke near Y/N's ear that she snapped back in the real world.

«Y/N, what are you doing here?» it was Light with his usual serious voice. When Y/N looked at him she noticed he was still wearing the Daikoku's uniform.

«Light!» she turned her body fully at him. «I was waiting the rain to stop»

«It stopped ten minutes ago, we're waiting for you at home»

Ten minutes ago? For how much time Y/N and that guy stared at each other then? She apologised to Light and before leaving the bakery's awning she looked inside one more time but she didn’t see that weird boy anymore.

♰ BACK TO THE PRESENT ♰

Since that particular encounter, Y/N met few more times that guy. Especially at the To-Oh University where Y/N was present at a tennis match between that guy and Light. Of course Light won and his little sister couldn’t be happier.

One day, back at that specific bakery where the two saw each other for the first time, Y/N was enjoying a break from her studies with a cup of tea and some sweets when she felt a presence beside her.

«Good afternoon, Miss. May I have a seat?» a warm and monotone voice spoke not much far from her. When Y/N turned towards the source of that voice she couldn’t hide the surprise in finding that same weird guy! What was his name…ah, something like Hideki Ryuga, like the idol. Sayu loved that actor.

Y/N looked around the shop noticing many empty tables so she found it very strange. However, she gestured him the chair in front of her and he sat down. Well, the correct expression was "he crouched" since he didn’t sit like a normal person.

«I noticed you took all the remaining daifuku» (A/N: "daifuku" = a Japanese confection consisting of a small round mochi (glutinous rice cake) stuffed with sweetened red bean paste made from azuki beans. They could be white, pale green, or pale pink-coloured).

«It's because they're my favourite sweets»

Shortly after that a waiter walked closer and took Hideki's order and few minutes later that same waiter brought a cup of tea and a large slice of strawberry shortcake. The two of them stood in silence for a while until Y/N decided to end that embarrassing situation.

«I saw you at the To-Oh…great match» Y/N took a sip of her tea, the steam warmed her face.

«Thank you. Light Yagami was a great rival back then. Aren't you too young for the University?»  he asked tilting his head in confusion, the thumb was pressed against his pale lips. «Oh my, the manners. I'm Hideki Ryuga»

«Like the idol?» Y/N asked surprised.

«Yes» Hideki replied and then he devoured in one bite an entire daifuku.

Of course Y/N didn’t believe him. Sure, it could be true that this guy shared the same name with someone else. However, Y/N had a strange feeling.

«I'm Y/A» she ate a daifuku, a pale-green one.

«Only Y/A?»

«Yes»

Unaware of Y/N, Hideki's gaze darkened. He knew exactly who Y/N was and the fact that she used an alias much like him made grow a strange excitement inside him. That was going to be fun.

♰ TIME SKIP ♰

It went without saying that Y/N and Hideki (or Ryuzaki as he wanted to be called) created a special, deep tie. Something completely different from the connection with Light and Sayu. Between Y/N and Ryuzaki there was understanding, complicity and empathy; they completed each other sentences and their way of reasoning was the same. This bond became even stronger when Ryuzaki revealed he was the greatest detective L. Y/N suspected that he was hiding something but she couldn’t imagine something like that.

Soon they could consider themselves in a romantic relationship. The fact that Y/N was Light's sister could be a problem but not for L. The two of them had a personal way to show love and affection: whispering sweet nothings in each other ears, lacing their fingers together when nobody was looking or gently running a hand over each other’s back or arm. In public they were quite discrete as Y/N requested. However, one day this discretion broke irremediably.

«Are you sure? I mean…I'm Light's sister after all…»

«You're nothing like Light-kun, Y/N»

It was late afternoon, almost dinner time. Very soon Y/N should come back home but before that they had a couple of hours for themselves. Their relationship grew to such an extent that both of them were ready to take one step forward (if you what I mean).

«You're the exact opposite…your eyes don't have the same dangerous shadow as his» L raised the hand and touched Y/N's cheeks, the index finger traced every curve of her features as to register everything.

Y/N smiled leaning in the touch. She looked at him, E/C pools met black ones. After an endless minute, their faces became closer and closer until a kiss connected them. A first chaste and sweet kiss turned in something more passionate and rough, the hands started to roam around their bodies wanting more and more. And they had more those hours.

.

.

.

It was 7pm and Light had to walk back home with Y/N as often happened when she would come with him at Ryuzaki's hotel. The Yagami boy had a strange feeling about his sister: she was acting strange, she was so out of character. Nothing worrying but Light noticed this change in his sister.

He was searching for Y/N around the hotel, they had to meet near the elevator but she didn’t specify which one. That was what Light referred when he said "being out of character": Y/N would never forget a detail like that, he knew she was a precise person.

However, Light would discuss this later but in that moment he had to find his sister. He turned the corner and stopped abruptly at the sight in front of him: Y/N was kissing L on the lips in front of his bedroom.  Light kept staring at them in disbelief, horror and in rage. How dare L do such things with his sister? He was going to pay for this.

After the kiss, Y/N walked away from the bedroom leading towards the private lounge where the task-force worked. Maybe she wanted to say hi to Soichiro before leaving the hotel. Light followed her, his blood was boiling inside him. Now he had another good reason to kill Ryuzaki, at least from his point of view.

«Dad! Me and Light are leaving. Should we wait for you for dinner?»  

«No dear, I'll be late tonight. Be careful on your way home»

Light joined the task-force in the lounge shortly after Y/N. Everyone greeted him but he didn’t say anything. His younger sister found it quite weird.

«Are you alright, Light?»

«Of course, Y/N. Everything's fine…except for the fact I saw you»

«It's good to hear you don’t need glasses, Light…» Y/N tried to appear relaxed by using sarcasm but inside her she was panicking.

«I'm talking about the kiss with Ryuzaki» he crossed the arms while looking sharply at his sister.

«The what?!» Soichiro uttered in shock dropping all the papers on the ground. Even the rest of the task-force was shocked.

In that exact moment L entered the lounge and sat at his armchair ignoring everyone's gaze on him.

«Ryuzaki! Explain! Is it true you kissed my daughter?» Soichiro asked in a rush. His face was red but for rage or embarrassment? Who knew.

«Please Yagami-san, there's no need for these scenes» the greatest detective in the world replied monotone as always.

«Don’t tell me to stay calm, Ryuzaki!»

L sigh. «Light-kun, could you tell your father to stay calm please?»

«I won't say anything, Ryuzaki. However, I would rather an explanation»

«You don’t need explanations, Light. My life has nothing to do with you» Y/N crossed the arms as well, now quite bothered by both her father and brother.

«You cannot date Ryuzaki, Y/N!» Light said firmly.

«And please, may I know the reason?» Y/N counterattacked.

«Because he is way older than you!»

«Look who's talking…the boy who is dating a girl older than him…» Y/N was talking about Misa who was for real two years older than Light.

This back and forth continued for a while and the three Yagamis were raising too much their voices for L's taste. Luckily, the rest of the task-force was too terrified to interfere and kept following with the eyes the moves of Soichiro, Light and Y/N. After a while, L had enough.

«Light-kun, Yagami-san please…» he put down the discussion using his alluring and authoritative voice despite it was always so emotionless. However, Y/N discovered how passionate his voice could be just few hours before in his bedroom. «Have you even considered that your daughter is smart enough to understand what is the best for her? I understand that you, Yagami-san, as a father and you, Light-kun, as a brother were worried about Y/N's safety, but please evaluate her opinion too before making a fuss» L took from the pocket of his jeans a lollipop, he unwrapped it and started to eat it.

Light and Soichiro stopped arguing. At those words Soichiro was deep in thought while Light didn’t change his mind about that topic.  After five minutes of silence, Soichiro sighed.

«I want the best for her too…» he admitted. «And if you're the best for her, Ryuzaki, so be it»

«Dad!» Light protested but Soichiro raised a hand to stop him.

«I know you're worried, Light, but Ryuzaki is right. Y/N…are you sure about him?»

Y/N nodded with conviction. «Yes dad, I trust and love Ryuzaki with all my heart. I want to stay with him»

Soichiro smiled at her. «Good. But Ryuzaki!» he said out of nowhere pointing his index finger to the greatest detective in the world. «If you hurt Y/N in any way I'm going to arrest you!»

In the meantime, Light didn’t say a word. He was trying to elaborate a new plan after that sudden turn of events. When Y/N asked his opinion about that argument, he replied that as long as Ryuzaki treated her with love and respect he could consider the idea to accept that relationship.

But now that his sister and Ryuzaki were a couple, will he continue with his deadly plan?  

#death note #death note headcanons #light yagami #l x reader #l x you #l lawilet #x reader

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

It’s The Avengers (03x14)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Season 3 Episode 14: It’s Not What It Looks Like

Series Summary: Living in the Avengers facility post-apocalypse in a better timeline   Tony Stark has decided to capture every moment by pulling The Office on the Avengers. All of housemates are pretty used to the idea except for you, who had just come here to finish her degree, and the newest member- Loki.

Warnings: ehehehehehe

Word Count: my anxiety was through the roof this time. and that too on the thing that I know was not achievable. But noooo my boss just wants results. Well, fuck you and your boss who gave me anxiety. You will know the pain of these tears soon.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

The familiar sports car shining in its red shade came to a halt right outside the door for Tony to get out and greet the lone camera covering him. "How's it going fellas?" He seemed comparatively chirpier than the last few days as he whistled his way to the boot of the trunk to take out five boxes of large pizzas along with a whole bag filled with soda and side dishes. "It's pizza party today, my lovely unicorn," he announced to the camera person; mostly because there was no one else in his vicinity.

Tony: *standing next to his car* I have come realise that I have been a bit hard on my team because of the anxiety I've been feeling ever since Y/N disappeared from right in front of me. Like last Monday. *camera switches to the video recording of Last Monday* Tony is seen in the kitchenette making detox juice for himself after a workout. Sam comes and grabs the coffee pot, looking around for a mug to pour himself some. The only mug hanging on the stand is your Brooklyn Nine-Nine themed one. "Well," he mutters to himself, "no one's using this for a while." Just as he finishes the sentence, Tony's hand slips on the juicer switch and the green spill out everywhere in the space, making Sam yell for help. "You are excluded from my will," Tony announces while looking dead into Sam's eyes before pouring the coffee from his pot into the sink and walking away. *back to present* Tony: Pepper says I went overboard but Sam didn't have to say that now did he. *makes a cringe face* Anyways. This is my way of showing them that I have made peace with the situation for now and that I trust our alien friends to get my daughter back to me asap.

Tony walked into the facility to be greeted by dead silence. "Did I miss something?" he wondered out loud for the camera while looking around the lobby and the waiting area. "I am pretty sure we were not supposed to go out anywhere thanks to that stubborn virus."  He walked up the elevator to be greeted by Clint coming back from the security room with his self-regulated watch, carrying two glasses of iced Americanos- one of which he offered Tony. "Pizza-" he seemed happy to see the boxes, taking the bag from Tony- "what's the occasion? Are you firing one of us? Is there a budget cut because of the 'Rona? In that case, just know that I spot a person without a mask from miles. And I can end them right there." Tony pressed the button for the lounge and waited for the camera to record his wink and smile till the doors closed to let the other handy camera in the elevator- following Clint- take over. Clint did a survey of the bag and was quite content with the contents. Tony, still with his glasses on, walked his usual walk that displayed well that he owned the place. "No one's getting fired unless they are eating my choco-chip ice cream." "You have set the bar pretty low." "It's pretty much up to the expectations I have from you all."

Clint shrugged and went on to agree with him, walking behind the Iron Man as the elevator dinged. The camera followed Clint and Tony out to film the scene unfolding in the Lounge. Manoeuvring away from their shoulders, the camera caught that deadpan silence in the room filled with nearly every Avenger staring at the screen with the seriousness of defusing a bomb that may go off any time. Peter was hiding under Scott's arm, peeping at the screen through his hands while Scott was biting his nails, nervousness dripping from his forehead. Wanda held Vision's hand while she muttered something under her breath- most probably a chant. Sam seemed to have forgotten he was watering the plants for the water-can was already empty and yet he still went on to pour the contents while his eyes were glued to the screen. Bucky's hands were busy brushing Zuko's fur- while the pupper took this opportunity to lay in his lap and snooze- monotonously, his gaze too stuck on the screen. "Come on, come on. Do it," Steve muttered while on the edge of his seat on the sofa. The camera swivelled back to Clint and Tony- both of whom had confused looks on their faces by now. Both of them turned to the screen in sync to witness what exactly was it that had all of them in such a grim state. And it was something like this.

On the screen was a barely lit space that seemed like it could have been a small closet under somebody's staircase. In that barely lit space, you could be seen from your abdomen up. There you were, panting, sweating, your hair a literal mess, your bra strap dangling out of your tank top's straps. "Again," you panted, wiping the sweat beads from your forehead while positioning your hands on a surface where the camera was seemingly recording you from. And in that same dim light, a movement was discovered behind you. That movement was of the exposed muscles and skin that the viewers had never seen in their daily life. Well, neither had they seen that very person pant and sweat like this before as well. Green eyes shined in that bare light, as the familiar face came out from the shadows to apparently hover just above your shoulder. One pale hand was used to remove those clammy hair strands coming in his way before both arms mimicked your position and came to rest on either side of your arms. "Are you sure?" Loki's voice, breathless and heavy, questioned you with sincerity while his body did not budge from behind you. You nodded. "Again." The frame caught you adjusting your hips to position your butt right with his front- something that was not covered by the camera. He towered over you, adjusting to your height while grounded his arms on the surface. "Okay then," he whispered, taking one arm to move your butt a little closer to your frame before going back to anchor himself to the surface, "here we go."

The iced Americanos created a crackle and bang louder than expected- thanks to the already looming silence- when they hit the floor. The pizza box and other snacks? Not so much. Every other person jumped where they were to turn and watch the colours from Tony and Clint's faces drain away by the second, their jaws unhinged, their hearts at a pause and their lungs just no longer working. Steve- the only one in the room to have deciphered what had just gone down in those Dad brains- got up and raised his arms till his chest as of sign of caution. "It's not what you think. Tony, Clint it's not-" The elevator dinged and out came Natasha and Bruce with four feet long bags of Cheetos and popcorn, the former quite excited to rush out into the Lounge. "We found the snacks from the pantry! Did we miss something? Did they put it in yet?" Steve winced just as Bruce blurted out those words. Tony was already heaving audibly, no air going into his lungs as he nearly collapsed on the floor if not for Natasha holding him up like she was used to it. Clint, on the other hand, had 'disgusted' written all over his face, judging every single person in the room before storming out. "OH MY GOD!!!! OH MY GAAAAA~" the screams could be heard from outside while the camera zoomed in on Natasha's face- already bored and tired.

Natasha: If they had more than one working brain cell they wouldn't have fought like twelve-year-olds in the middle of an airport and then stopped talking for a whole year. *camera pans in on her face* *faces the camera* And to think they can procreate. .

One Hour Ago Eight Hours Earlier In A Galaxy Far Away One of the camera drones stepped over a stone wall and passed over a dozen guards, buzzing its best to enter the first window it could find. Passing over ogres guarding the small galleries, another drone accompanied the first one down the maze of hallways, parting at the stairway leading down to the dungeons and up to the meeting room. The way to the dungeons was one dark path that only lit up at the very end of the hallway- few lamps burning with constant flickers. The space was divided into walls and covered with iron bars. A few of these cells were empty while others housed creatures who are only spoken about with the name of their shadows. In the last cell was a shadow that seemed similar to that of a human sleeping under the lone ragged excuse of a blanket. If one tried to focus, they could hear light snores coming out of that creature too. The drone came to rest upon one of the iron bars, sending in the live feed to the cameraman behind this whole shebang. The other fly had already found the 'throne room'. The throne- as one could make out with the setting of the hall- was made out of a tree trunk burned till all that was left was an ash-covered dead piece looking up at the sky. The seat was carved right through the middle with one of the ashened branches housing a black adder with red eyes. And in the throne sat the one person no one wanted to see. "Aellae," you mumbled in the most derogatory sense, your eyes wanting to hurt her there and then through the screen in Javier's hand. And lo! Right then the God stepped in the frame, standing in front of the witch with his usual demeanour. Well, that's what it looked like. "Why do you have to bow to her?" You whispered at him a bit viciously. White entered the frame that was recording your end. Looking at the screen he furrowed his brows and wondered how you could tell that. "He stands straight," you stressed, already sensing the question from White, "and right now he is not. And he does not not stand straight for anyone." "I see you have found yourself a fine pair of pets on your galactic travels, my love," you and White hear Aellae from the screen, bringing your attention back to her. "Just a bunch of humans and a kitten to entertain me on my way," he chuckled and shrugged a little, that Asgardian charm resurfacing in his smile. Aellae smirked at him. "On your way to where?" The question had a hint of anger even when she added a wave of curiosity, something that was easy to catch of the one who was listening to layers in her voice. Loki waved his hands in the air. "You know how it is for me. Here and there, always on the move. A nomad exploring the universe." "No more," she announced, her head high, her stare stern, "now you stay with me. You will be my advisor in the day, guiding my army to every corner of this world, with nothing to spare." She got up from her throne to walk an inhumanly seductive gait to reach the God and place her finger under his chin. "And in the night, you shall be my pacifier," she whispered, making your whole face cringe for the camera to zoom into it. "You shall satiate all my bedly desires till I the very. last. drop." Something cracked on the other side, making Javier and White turn in every direction to look at the source of the sound. Lulu too was a bit confused. You were the only person not taking your eyes away from the screen.

You: I swear to God if she was not such a bitch, I would have asked her out. Would have even gone to lengths of being her *makes air quotes* bedfellow if she was not such a fucking bitch?? Javier: *turns the camera to himself with the dazed look on his face* *signs for the camera* I am supportive and all in for this but is now really a good time for her to be questioning her sexuality? When we can literally die for just breathing wrong???

"Now," Aellae snapped everyone back to the screen, "as for those pets of yours, I'll send someone to take care of them. They are just hindrance if nothing more." "Aellae," Loki's honey laden voice was now implying a sternness. "What." "They are not to be given enough importance to be-" Loki sighed and closed his eyes- "taken care of." "All the more fun to watch them die in misery." Her eyes widened with excitement at the thought of murder. "Especially that Midgardian who is living in the illusion of being your friend." Loki's jaw tightened. "If you decide to harm h-them, I will not aid you in your irrational quests, Aellae. Going after those weaklings proves that you are still the reckless stubborn creature that I left you." There wasn't an exclamation of surprise on her face but rather that particular smirk of the devil who has walked its prey right into its trap. "So, she does mean something to you." Loki kept mum. "Guards!" she yelled for the two orcs standing outside, "bring me the head of the woman!" "Aellae, stop," he begged casually. "Enough humour." "And do whatever with the rest of her!" she ordered with her eyes piercing through Loki's soul.

The next thing you know, the last fly drone that got lost on the middle floor somewhere was recording two orcs throwing Loki into a room before shutting the door behind him. His grunts echoed through the room with no windows. All around him were walls coloured in a dusty cream shade, lamps lining up the four walls with one dressing table sitting with one of the four walls, housing heavy chains, the purpose of which Loki did not want to know. He huffed as he stood up, looking at the door before letting his gaze land on those shackles on his wrist that now seemed permanent. The tension on his jaw did not go unnoticed by the tiny roommate before he slammed those bracelets- along with his wrist- into the wall in pure animalistic rage.

Witch's Den- Down the Hall Two orcs stood guard to the entrance coming to the floor via the stairs. One of them seemed to be snoozing with all the pressure sitting on his nose and brows while the other one was trying to drive away this one stubborn fly that kept buzzing around its head. Eventually reaching the threshold of irritation, he followed the fly out towards the stairs, his curved sword being swung into the air to strike the buzzing creature; only to be taken by surprise with a bright source of light. The next thing the fly was recording was the other orc waking up to the clunk of a sword dropping, this one finding gasping and taking an attack position before the camera went dark.

But not for long.

The fly in Loki's room recorded the God catching the sounds outside while he was in the middle of surveying the whole room for an escape route. The grunts and gasps of orcs outside have stopped, making him all the more cautious to the steps that steadily approach the door. He took one of the chains in his hand, with calculated steps, walked towards the door to catch whatever tried to come in next. With the sound of a heavy key twisted inside the keyhole, the wheels turned and the door opened a smidge to let someone in. Without losing even a second, Loki wound the chain around your neck from behind you, nearly choking you. "Not now, dammit!" you choked, trying to free yourself from the hold. "Y/N?" the surprise stirring along with confusion was a new shade on Loki that you would have appreciated any other day. "Wha-what are you doing here?" That God wasn't even able to squeak on realising it was you. The chains came off as fast as they had gone around your neck, giving you room to breathe and widen your eyes in horror. "No! No no no no noooo!!"  You ran towards the door as it clunk shut, leaving you to pull at it with all your might to no avail. "The door opens from outside," you groaned with a sob, thumping your head on it with low winces before a tiny realisation hit you hard enough to stop and look back at Loki. "Ow!" He yelled at the hard slap that came for his back, looking at you in simmering confusion. "You could've waited to choke me after we got out, you fucking IDIOT!" The slaps and punches got more vigorous with each word until Loki had to gab your hands with his to stop you from wasting your energy anymore. "And what makes you think coming here was a good idea?"  He struggled to keep your writhing form from hurting itself more than him. You were ready to kick him in his shins and you would have absolutely done that if Loki had not shoved you into the wall with him towering over you to restrict any movement of your limbs. The little buzzing drone came to sit over Loki's arm and capture the frame where both of you were flaming with anger and still trying to breathe enough to keep that rage alive. "I'd already told you were on your own," he grunted, his eyes drilling through your soul. "And I'd already told you I am a psychology major. I can see the denial routine from miles away, you stupid blob of six-foot galaxy brain! You think I haven't sacrificed myself to a professor for the sake of my friends?" "...what? Wait. What do mean by sacri-" "Now get off me and find us a way out of here." You pushed him back. Well, at least you thought you did. But he pushed closer to you, shooting emotions of mild surprise in your eyes before you caught yourself slipping. Fortunately, this little drone caught everything in 4K. From the veins popping in Loki's neck to the parted lips and wavering gaze of yours. "This world is not a joke, Y/N. There was a reason you were left behind. And you have done the exact opposite of that which is supposed to keep you alive." It felt as if Loki had to restrain from spilling that anger over the rim. To make that hypothesis true, he punched the wall to dissipate this emotion he did not want to be running him. And there he stood, his head hanging above you in defeat, his eyes closed and his breath wavering. "I was supposed to send you home safe," he was barely able to mutter. The drone focused on your hands coming around his torso, your arms taking as much of his frame in a hug as possible as you softly patted his back and soothed him. Loki's body twitched a little at this new touch, still like a stone before giving in with every wave of your soothing touch. "You're family, idiot. I'm not gonna leave you behind with some crazy bitch that isn't me?" A chuckle resonated through you and then the room. The next moment when you looked at him, he was looking lighter. "Now come on, use your muscles and drill through one of these walls." Raising his good brow, he judged you while tapping his fist casually on the wall. "What exactly do you take me for?" "A cheesy brooder who's all soft inside," you commented without skipping a beat, looking around to find some kind of a loophole in this square room. "Say that outside these walls and watch what this brooder does to you." "Sounds like an invitation," you sang under your breath, tapping the walls. It took a while. A while that was long enough for you to move around the room to come and sit on the lone drawer by the wall, feeling the heat of the room bursting out the sweat in your skin, other than turning your brain into an irritated mush. You groaned while taking off your top and throwing it on the floor. You wanted to cry out loud to blow off some of the unbearable heat but stopped short at the sight of that overcoat coming off. Followed by that black shirt. Muscles. No matter how he moved or what he did, his back lived in that moment to tease you with those muscles. And what was that? Sparkles? No, sweat, glistening in the dim light. Wait, why was it glisten- You looked around and realised the lamps were at their wick's end. "Same," you sighed as you looked back at Loki's back, only to find him turned around to face you. "Oh, Gods!" you jumped down from the drawer with quite the surprise in your eyes. "This is your first time seeing me shirtless?" It almost felt like he was genuinely curious. "What? No! I don't know. That wasn't the-look!" You signalled him to come closer and let your hand hang right above the drawer's top that touched the two corners of the wall. Loki mirrored you and realised it instantly. "That's a cold breeze." He looked at you with pupils expanding wide in that dim lighting. Taking over from there, he tried his best to get a look as to which section of the wall it was coming from. "There's an opening-" he immediately shifted his position to standing parallel to the length of the wall, his hands grounded on the varnished top- "we will have to either pull it-" he tried his best but the structure did not budge- "or push it towards the opening in that section." You got to work as well, standing next to him and giving your end of the small corner a good push that only ended up in failed grunts. "Okay, let's try another way," you inhaled, "I'll push the top, you be the bottom."

The drone was sitting on the drawer now, capturing all those failed attempts from every angle both of you thought possible before you nearly collapsed due to lack of air. "We're are clearly doing something wrong here," Loki huffed, his puffed-up chest, the centre of the camera's frame. You flipped your wet hair to show your tired face in the lone lamp that burned in the room. "There weren't any more of those BDSM chains inside it, were there?" Loki's breathing stopped for a moment. You looked at him for an answer. Both of you moved to open the drawers. The drone captured the disappointment in your own IQ in high definition before watching you both taking them out with nothing but pure spite. "Take a break, I'll try-" "No," you shook your head and wiped the forehead sweat, "let's do it together." Loki wanted you to stop but that you gave him was more than adequate to let anyone know you won't listen right now. "This time you stand behind me and let's use the wall behind as a supp....ort? Wait how is this room looking shorter?" You were looking around in dazed confusion while Loki closed his eyes. "It's not a normal room. Those two walls will keep closing in until..." He didn't have to say more. "Well, then what are we waiting for?" the drop of panic in your high pitched voice was evident as you positioned yourself- putting your palms on the edge. "Come on." Loki came to stand behind you, copying your position, just a bit more charismatically- and with a bit more skin- till he felt your hair come into his mouth. "One, two, three!" This time the push did budge the drawer chest a bit but your strength had been used for that movement of a centimetre. Your breaths almost felt like your lungs were on the verge of crying. "Again," you panted, wiping the sweat beads from your forehead while positioning your hands on a surface where the drone was seemingly recording you from. Loki looked at your back, clearly concerned. This time he used his hand to remove those clammy hair strands coming in his way before both arms mimicked your position and came to rest on either side of your arms. "Are you sure?" Loki's voice, breathless and heavy, questioned you with sincerity while his body did not budge from behind you. You nodded. "Again." The frame caught you adjusting your hips to position your butt right with his front- something that was not covered by the camera. He towered over you, adjusting to your height while grounded his arms on the surface. "Okay then," he whispered, taking one arm to move your butt a little closer to your frame before going back to anchor himself to the surface, "here we go." Both of you had your eyes stuck on the wall with a fiery gaze and an aura that would have burned this place to the ground. His muscles tried to take all that you could not. And just when the grunts were turning into screams, the drawer started to move from its place with a screeching noise. As soon as Loki noticed a decent enough opening in the wall to your and his side, he pushed you and himself in through the opening before the death walls came for your limbs. The drone fly followed. Both of you rolled through what seemed like a tunnel slide through the walls for a minute till that just did not seem to end. It did end though. It ended in a noisy fall of thuds and groans- you on top of him. "You okay?" you winced through your broken voice, not moving a muscle for the fear of breaking something. Also because it was awkward lying over him on your stomach. Loki replied with a quick wince. A ruffle came from next to you. Followed by a lazy groan.  Your head turned to the noise. So did Loki's.  "You two could have easily waited for another hour." The drone swerved around to bonk into the one that was already there, covering the dungeons. There under the rugged blanket, laid Carol Danvers, looking at the two of you with sleepy eyes. Neither of you knew what to say. She looked at her watch and put her head inside the blanket again. "Five more minutes."

#loki #loki x reader #mcu loki #loki x female reader #loki fanfic #loki fluff #loki smut #marvel #marvel fanfic series #marvel fluff #marvel smut #Captain Marvel #fluff #smut #fanfic #loki friggason #loki odinson #It's The Avengers #tony stark #Steve Rogers

[alchemist-shizun]

I Can See My Kingdom Now

Read on Ao3!

Chapter 4: Lightened up darkness

Word Count: 5,736

Taglist: @krisdoesart @stop-it-anxiety @jeevashun @kim-argent-moon

Characters in this chapter: Virgil, Deceit.

Warnings for this chapter: scars mention, implied insomnia, minor panic attack, negativity, mention of terminal illness

A/N: I’m not dead yet, apparently.  I wanted this to be longer but I also wanted to give you guys something as I haven't updated in two months djkssj pardon me. So, finally our snake boy is here! Also, if you have any theories already on what might happen, let me know, I'd love hearing from you. Next chapter, again, I have no idea when it'll be out, school started and I'm already doing tests, last year sucks, but I'm not going to abandon you! As always, thank you all for likes, reblogs and your wonderful comments! I appreciate every single reader, hope you're liking it this far, enjoy!

✾

❝ My mother, she told me

"Don't get in trouble"

My father, he told me

He knew I would.

My brothers, they told me

"Don't give a damn"

My sister, she told me

To do something good ❞

A flock of ravens was startled awake as the man in the black cape appeared between trees and forest plants through a flash of light, as if a thunder had just erupted from the barks surrounding him.

With a precise direction in his mind, he followed those instincts that never dared to fail him and let himself be dragged toward the place his familiar was busying itself.

The boy he had seen was still sitting on the grass, petting the fox by his side and giving it all his attention.

He approached them, careful not to make a sound. He didn't want him to end up like the ravens.

At a safe distance, sure he wasn't already in his field of view, he extended his gloved hand towards the boy and let a smirk play on his lips for as long as he didn't speak.

« Got lost, kid? »

While Virgil's head snapped up to look at the source of the sound, time seemed to slow down to a stop. His eyes went from the bright yellow glove not too far from his body, to focusing on the face of the man. To the white in his irises.

And the horrid scars on his cheek.

The man was sure time had started up again when he heard the kid bolt away in his opposite direction.

Eventually, he ended up like the ravens.

Not long had passed before he had lost hope for Virgil to return. He could as well have began his search again, just for someone else that might have been as much a good fit as him. But there was a certain feeling in his guts, something he couldn't exactly give a name to, which told him to procrastinate on that.

In fact, he had found the perfect amount of broken in that single soul.

Despite preferring the dark his home had to offer – more times than he could count he had found the light outside to be too strong even for his blind eyes – he let himself wander around the spot in front of his habitation. His familiar lent him its sight, responding to his every command as if it were a telepathic being.

He sat down next to it after adjusting to the sudden change of atmosphere; he could see the green around him and raised a hand to contrast the monotone colour.

Then, with automatic movements, his palm faced the sky, while his fingers refused to extend completely, some still sprawled over his palm.

He didn't even need to take a breath for the first flicker of light and smoke to be forming on top of his hand. The little aleatory shapes danced around themselves, some slow, permitting one to see the change from a pitch black hue to a somewhat light violet. Others were so quick they blended into a single multi-colored flame as they fought for dominance.

There was no spell to be cast, no purpose behind his work, he felt like he was back when he was still in training. All those years back...

His eye caught on something that felt off about the nature in front of him, right behind his hand: he had lived in there long enough to know every little change and detail of his surroundings.

The figure of the boy, trying his best despite failing in hiding behind one of the trees, sent excitement all over his body. But decided against making a move.

Instead, he used his other hand to put his show to a stop, joining the hands, only to open a new one as he separated them again.

Soon enough, a humanoid shape took over the scenery, walking on a pavement of black smoke: they were clearly wearing a hat and a cape. He knew it was working when he subtly noticed Virgil staring, but not running away.

After all, dark magic was prohibited in their kingdom.

The human shape put their hands to their face and soon enough was approached by another figure of the same likeness. As the newcomer passed a dark flame suspended in the air, they seemed to take away something at the eye-level of the first person.

The scenery changed when a fox appeared in front of the human with the cape, who knelt down to it and extended his hand. As soon as the two shapes came into contact, there was a tiny sparkle between them that changed into a reddish hue. Before he knew it, the scene had disappeared into a myriad of miniature sized fireworks, the glittery remaining flying down on his body and disappearing into the deep nothingness.

A small smile made its way on his face as the fox nuzzled closer to his leg.

The tale of how he met his familiar had always been one of his favorite stories to tell.

Despite how much it usually amazed and softened the people around him, when the man looked up, Virgil was nowhere to be found.

He couldn't have known yet that didn't mean it was a defeat.

Not until later, the day after, as he heard a timid knock on his door, the fox already bolting to the wooden entrance.

When he opened up, his eyes fixated on the mysterious person with an odd precision.

« Please, teach me how to do that. » they said.

The man didn't need to see who it was to understand the boy had inevitably fell into the game as well.

They had been sitting quietly in one of his not many rooms, the windows finally letting some light in.

« What is your name, kid? »

« Uhm, » for some unsettling reason, he hesitated. « Virgil. »

« Very well, Virgil. » he began, letting his chin rest on his hand. « I know you want to ask, go ahead. »

Virgil felt like he was piercing his skin with a simple stare, and shrank in his chair. « I don't... I wouldn't want to be rude. »

« Answers can be stupid, but questions are always valid. »

Virgil's mind seemed to twist for a second.

« Uh- What happened to your eyes? »

« I am merely blind. » he explained, moving his glance to the ground. « There are times in which you must pay a price. »

« Is it because of ... » the boy's voice trailed off, unable to find the perfect words.

« If you're wondering if this is for dark magic, not really. » the way he was so nonchalant to name it left Virgil taken aback. « Although, it requires to suffer to achieve it, it is easier to perform if the person has already been through hell and back. Like you. »

He knew he wasn't mistaken when he heard Virgil shift in his seat and basically felt his gaze on him.

After a beat, the boy found voice and courage to talk again.

« Who are you? »

« For anybody who knew me, the name was Sir Amartìa, » he leaned on the table. « But the people in town liked to call me something else. » he smirked, underlining the fact that he had cut ties with those gents.

« What would it be? »

The man's eyes lit up and turned to a glowing shade of yellow, much like the fox's, who jumped up to sit on his lap.

« Deceit. »

✾✾✾

Virgil spent three years with him.

His parents had given up on getting him a regular life, as far as he fed himself properly and started sleeping again, they didn't mind him wandering off in the woods for hours, only to return late in the night.

He knew he wasn't doing anything good, or something the citizens would have condoned, but it gave him a purpose, a target to achieve, something to look forward to.

He thought that, maybe, it could have fixed him.

The first purple glimmers that sparkled on his hand had sent so much joy and excitement in himself, a positivity he had long forgotten and had been afraid, as a child, that he would have never been able to experience again.

After he had been able to cast a few minor spells, Deceit had led him back to his home and told him to wait outside. He had informed him it was for the sake of a little surprise, a gift for his dedication and hard-working nature.

As someone who hardly even cared for his own birthday anymore, the anticipation seemed to give him goosebumps and drive him impatient. His mind raced through the options: could he be finally getting a familiar? Was he going to have a sorcerer outfit as well?

Deceit peeked from the half-open door and hid an object behind his back, barely able to conceal it.

« Close your eyes, snoopy. »

Virgil did as he was asked, even when he felt his arms being pulled outward: a cold sensation immediately caught his fingertips as a smooth object was placed on his hands.

He tilted his head to the side, not sure of what to think of it, a low hum stuck in his throat.

With one hand, he gripped a side of the item and was surprised to find … strings? They were definitely attached to one of the ends. Virgil arched an eyebrow, but couldn't stop the corner of his lip to twitch upward.

He opened his eyes after a moment of hesitation, and found a violin lying in his hands, as well as a bow being handed by the sorcerer facing him.

« Happy belated birthday, I suppose. »

Virgil didn't even notice his mouth was hung open when he examined the instrument and took the bow from Deceit's hands. He, as well, didn't recall deciding to launch himself at the man and trap him in a suffocating hug, but there he was, locking his arms around his chest. It felt like the last time he had done it had been years earlier.

« Hey, » Deceit gently pushed him away by the shoulders. « you said you wanted to use black magic as a neutral source. »

Virgil nodded, determined. For as long as he had heard of the tale and the laws that forced dark magic to be banned throughout the kingdom, he had been eager to find a way to prove people wrong.

Nothing was inherently bad, to be feared and lock away in the farthest corner of one's mind.

« We can start by simply shaping the substance magic is made of. You've seen me doing that once. »

A rose hue tinted Virgil's cheeks, embarrassed he had been easily caught.

« If you can put your mind into it, you will be able to control your own flow with the violin's strings. Only then the melody may tell a story. »

And Virgil had so many stories to tell.

He practiced daily, for hours, with such dedication that he amazed even himself, he felt drawn to the instrument and its music, he could forget about anything else and only concentrate on getting a tune right.

He played for the trees, the lakes and the flowers, he played for the forest animals brave enough to approach him and the fishes that weren't scared of the strings' vibrations.

Sometimes, when Deceit claimed he had to busy himself indoors, he basked in the sunlight that shined through the leaves and danced to the symphony he created. Tentative steps grew into twirls until he felt lightheaded and almost fell by tripping over himself.

Until one particular and seemingly tranquil afternoon.

The scenery was almost the same, with Virgil dancing with the air around him and the violin in his grip.

His eyes were already fixated on the strings when he saw a different hand, made of black smoke and purple light, pick on the chords for him.

Too frightened to realize what might have been happening, Virgil let the instrument fall to the ground, crashing and breaking right on the impact. He watched in horror as it went tumbling a few feet away from him.

His hands flew to his mouth before he even processed he had yelled.

Deceit swung the door open, eyes already flashing the familiar yellow color as he darted to the wide-eyed boy.

His glance went back and forth between Virgil and the broken violin on the ground. He sensed a strong magical aura from both.

« What happened?! » he demanded, placing himself between his apprentice and the instrument.

Virgil didn't answer, instead his breathing increased and tears welled up in his eyes: that was it, he failed, he was scared, it was too dangerous and couldn't help himself, he disappointed the last person that put trust into him and  he was going to disregard him from there. He lost his occasion to prove himself that he actually valued anything.

He saw Deceit open his mouth and he braced for insults.

Which never came.

« Virgil, hey kid. » had he ever heard his voice soften up that much? « I need you to breathe for me here. I am simply concerned. »

He was barely able to make out any shape, or to focus on anything that wasn't the crushing anxiety that threatened to destroy his stomach. He trembled and shivered with small sobs, his hands were already shielding his eyes to protect him with darkness. It was like those nights with those thoughts.

« Can you hear me? »

No no nononononono.

He crumbled to the ground, his shaky legs were too weak to bear standing up any longer. He didn't even sense Deceit catching him and kindly guiding him in a sitting position.

« Do you mind if I touch you? » why was he being so patient with him when he had ruined everything?

The familiar came closer to them, recognizing a situation it had experienced months before by then, and offered all the support it could give.

Deceit tentatively moved his hand to Virgil's fingers, trying to pry them away from his eyes as gently as he could.

As he succeeded, he gained enough confidence to wipe away the tears from his cheeks, even though new ones wet them again almost immediately.

« Focus on me, can you do that? » he waited for him to look up before he carried on. « I want to teach you something. »

Virgil saw him counting, he really wanted to follow him but he just couldn't understand what was happening around him.

One, two, three, four …

It's like the steps you do when you dance. Follow the rhythm.

Five, six, seven.

He tried to relax his stiff muscles.

Eight.

« It's fine, we can try again. » finally his hearing matched his lip-reading.

« Breathe in for four seconds. » Virgil did so, finding himself enthralled by the chanting of Deceit as he counted.

« That's wonderful. Now hold it for seven more. »

He didn't feel like choking anymore.

« Breathe out from your lips for eight seconds. » as he slowly complied, Deceit nodded and kept counting for him.

As soon as he was able to do it by himself, Deceit smiled and sat next to him.

« I apologize if I startled you. I heard you shouting, I thought the worst. »

Virgil didn't know how to answer. He wasn't used to apologies.

« Do you want to tell me what happened? »

« There was- » Virgil's voice was still shaky, he hated how he sounded like the ghost of his crying was still there.

He cleared both his throat and thoughts, as he would have been barely able to formulate a sentence of any meaning. « I- the violin. It was … I was playing it and something- a weird shape- it appeared right next to my face. »

« Do you recall it? »

Virgil dug in his most recent memories. « It looked like … a hand. Made of smoke. »

Deceit got up and picked up what remained of the instrument and the bow, only to turn back to his apprentice without looking away from the object.

« And what were you thinking about the exact moment before it appeared? » there was no way it had been someone else's deed. Virgil wasn't powerful enough to be envied by other mages, let alone trying to be manipulated.

« Uhm. » his thoughts traveled deeper, he remembered the melody he had been trying out and how difficult it was, but he had been settled on succeeding so much he didn't want to give up at all.

Realization struck him as he responded. « I thought that I could have used a hand. Because the song was too complex for me alone. »

« Are you sure you weren't the one that summoned it? » as Virgil saw the knowing look on Deceit's face, he could tell he had arrived to his conclusion.

« I did that? »

« You were emotionally invested. This permitted you to create a bond even with an inanimate object. » Deceit pointed to the violin in his hands, then set it on the ground, moved his hands on top of it until it was clouded by the now all too familiar smoke.

« Epanorthou. » the black turned into light blue and, when the mist had disappeared, there it laid the instrument, as if untouched and completely unfazed by the fall. Brand new.

Deceit caught Virgil staring in disbelief as he handed the violin back to him.

« Therefore, you gave it the ability to respond to your very needs, desires and commands. »

Virgil tried picking at the strings with his fingers. Nothing happened, especially because he wasn't particularly asking anything out of the instrument or his magic.

Then, he tested a few small tunes with the help of his bow.

I'd like a setting played out for this one.

Just as the first string touched the bow and the notes danced around them in an imaginary musical notation, at the same time a flicker escaped from the source of the melody and shape-shifted into a small forest scene.

Virgil stopped, and with him the magic flow turned into white stardust. This time, he felt confidence pervade his senses.

« Keep practicing. » Deceit encouraged him, walking back to the door he came from.

He couldn't hide his pride, for sure. That kid had managed to handle his magic so well in so little time! Anyone would have been amazed, too bad they had to hide in its shade.

It was when he glanced back at how the familiar danced around the boy, that he knew.

He was going to protect Virgil at all costs.

Not long after that, steaming teas were prepared and drank, a certain fox was pet and conversations were being held.

Their chat had been going on for quite sometime when the wizard had to stop Virgil after hearing a detail he didn't remember giving out to him.

« I told you that? » Deceit's white irises fell to the ground in a pensive look.

« You … did it just now. »

« Oh. » he pondered, leaning on a piece of furniture. « Must be this headache I'm having. » he mused and placed a hand on his forehead with a pained expression.

Virgil was rather confused, but shrugged and brushed it off; he couldn't really prove whether he might have had some kind of condition he hadn't told him about.

« Why don't you rest? I'll have your familiar by my side. » the fox promptly showed at Virgil's feet.

« Perhaps that'd be for the best. »

Virgil had been practicing for quite some time outside, when he noticed a certain golden flicker coming from the fox with the corner of his eye and sighed in defeat.

✾✾✾

« How did it happen, anyway? » Virgil was sixteen when he finally managed to ask about the story behind Deceit’s eyes. It took him an year to find the courage he felt when Deceit had barely mentioned his blindness in a discussion.

The man turned from the counter where he was placing some of the herbs found during one of their walks.

« You said it wasn't because of dark magic. »

« It's a bit heavy for a youngster like yourself. I doubt you'd want to hear it. »

« Try me. »

Deceit let out a sigh and abandoned his task, leaning against the counter, while Virgil reached him and sat on top of it.

« I used to live in another village before. » he talked to the air as if he was narrating a story to an audience in front of them.

« Everything was the same old miserable but oddly functioning and lament free livelihood, just like your place. But, of course, that didn't stop disgrace to fall onto people for natural or other circumstances. » his voice turned bitter, before recomposing himself.

« Everyone that saw me asked if I was alright. I said I was and that the blurriness I saw could have been easily fixed with a good pair of glasses. »

His head turned to the side and his glance hovered over where he believed Virgil's eyes were. He blinked a few times.

« The first doctor I went to diagnosed me with an eye condition. Another one told me it was a  simple sickness related to the discoloration of the irises. » uncovering old wounds didn't have to be so painful, yet there he was, holding back tears with the profound hope Virgil wouldn't have noticed.

« The last ones were professionals, » he took a deep breath. « And told me I had a terminal illness. »

Virgil was glad he couldn't see his expression. He placed a hand on Deceit’s shoulder, finding physical contact to be the only way he would have been able to show support.

On the other hand, Deceit couldn't wait to change the topic. « I was around thirteen I think, when a hermit traveled to our village. Just in time, he said he could have fixed the problem. None believed him until he gave a demonstration of his skills in public. Black smoke and indigo lightnings were enough for the people to condemn him and lock him out of the village. »

« But wasn't your life in the line? Didn't they care about it? »

« They would've soon stopped doing that too, anyway. »

Virgil arched an eyebrow, and let his confusion slip away as Deceit carried on his explanation.

« I reached out to him. I was going to get cured by myself. He told me he was going to cure the illness, but that I would end up blind for the rest of my life. My eyes turned white after the spell, which I agreed to without hesitation, and that only confirmed the type of condition I had. » he extended a hand to caress the fur of his familiar.

« Then he told me he could have helped me seeing again if I wanted, but I had to learn his magic first. I did, I escaped my own village, I found a familiar I could trust, then I was by myself out here. » he motioned to Virgil and himself. « And here we are. »

Virgil wanted to ask about why he had to escape rather than wanting to leave the place in a peaceful way. But, seeing as Deceit had barely brushed the memory, he decided against it.

« You never met the guy again? »

« No. He disappeared right after I met this fox. He said his duty was done. »

« That sounds sketchy. » Virgil eyed him warily.

« Or, he was actually a creep I shouldn't have approached as a thirteen years old. »

He stifled a laugh. « You're here now, though. »

Deceit looked down at his familiar, now curled up between his feet, always in need of human touch when sleepy. « Yeah, » he smiled almost imperceptibly to himself. « I think I'm glad. »

✾✾✾

He remembered the cries.

Howling. Screams. All those different voices he didn't realize actually came from him alone.

Virgil, now seventeen, paced around the forest shack in search of the seemingly absent wizard. Now, where could a blind sorcerer have gone without his familiar?

That was inexplicable. He never left without warning, nor did he leave the animal or the house completely unlocked and devoid of protection charms.

That was … too unusual.

Virgil grabbed his magical belongings and started running.

He had lost control over himself. All he wanted was to prove his power and worth to the other citizens, but there he was, horridly looking at his hands as solid scales made their way through his body, thickening his skin with every second.

The villager ended up following the familiar to a pattern it seemed to know a little too well to be casual; there was another clearing in the forest he hadn't been told to check yet. Deceit had explained there was nothing to be noted in that spot and that he had, consequentially, to ignore it.

Little did he know he was going to find him right there, peacefully sitting on top of a fallen tree trunk.

Alastair was at his side, but his vision was blinded with utmost fear and confusion, his agitated state worsened his condition and a suffocating feeling filled his chest.

« Deceit! »

« Deceit? »

The sorcerer's glance shifted to the spell book at their feet. A formula gone wrong. « What have you done? »

« Deceit? »

His eyes closed shut, his brain on the verge of exploding, his body heating up with impetuous emotions. He felt his shoulders being grabbed, a light flashed before his eyelids and the ringing in his ears ceased.

A slight tap on his left shoulder snapped him back to life, he intook some breath sharply and scrambled to his feet, searching for the source of it with a wary look.

Virgil threw his hands up. « It's me. »

He watched him slowly relax, as if he were trying to hide the fact that his heart had been pounding in his chest just a moment before. The fox immediately brushed its fur between his ankles and lent its sight.

« Didn't see you there. » he attempted at a joke, which failed to be delivered as Virgil's expression didn't change.

« What- »

« -happened? » Alastair's demanding tone had a veil of deep concern.

The citizens.

They had definitely heard. They were going to be after him.

« We need to leave. »

« What are you talking about?» there were barely hints of his voice, more startled noises.

« About them.» Alastair gestured to the window and, in that single motion, he gathered a multitude of meanings and dangers.

« They're not gonna be like that. » how could Deceit still put trust in the people that had already started to despise him was the greatest mystery the sorcerer had ever encountered.

« I beg you to rethink this. »

« It's fine. No need to worry about me. »

« They will turn against you, I assure you. »

« They're not going to end up like that. »

« You can't pretend I didn't see you holding your head like you were having a migraine. »

Monster. Inhuman. Beast. Abnormal. Miscreation. Revolting. Sickening.

They ended up being like that.

Deceit winced, reminiscent of a past wound that still stung right under his skin.

« Want to know how I got this? » he gestured to the scars that traveled down his cheek, cutting his eye in two symmetrical halves.

« Yes. » Virgil didn't hesitate.

« I didn't. »

Virgil shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing as the response set in his mind. Did that mean anything? Was this another life lesson? He kept silent, looking for a clue, when a sad smile formed on the man's lips.

A swift movement of his hand covered the left side of his face and, altogether, the scars vanished, leaving greenish-coloured scales in their place.

Virgil couldn't help but watch as he removed his gloves only to reveal more of them down his arms and fingers.

« There are more. » Deceit declared, his tone was so low Virgil wondered if he was actually suppressing a devilish voice that remained after a failed experience.

« Was this a curse? » the boy analyzed it all from a distance, he could almost feel the magical aura around them.

« I suppose. This is the result of inexperience. » he tapped on the scales on his cheek. « And the reason why I insist on being around when you perform new spells. »

That was when it hit Virgil. He had done that.

« Why do you cover them with an illusion? »

Deceit raised his eyes from the ground where they were implanted and fixated them on him in a blank stare.

« Because people are complete jerks. »

« I don't recall anyone around here apart from you, though. »

« And yet, you found me. You may never know. Prevention is better than cure. » his glance shifted to a pond nearby. « And compassion is better than a death threat. »

Of course, dragon-like skin would have alarmed anyone with enough brains to work out the single danger signal that would have derived from such a sight; scars, though? Empathetic individuals would have simply smiled sadly to themselves and moved on.

Virgil, though? He had an undecipherable expression, like someone had written in hieroglyphics on his face. He understood his decision and respected it, but there was still that sour aftertaste that left him ponder to what extent that situation was okay.

But it wasn't, at all.

Deceit stood up with a deep sigh, his fox trailing after him with silent contentment, with the intention on heading back to his habitation. He was stopped by Virgil's hand on his sleeve.

« Are you going to be alright? » how could he fool him, of all people? Virgil went through similar doleful circumstances, which made him the most understanding of the situation in the first place.

« Why, yes. I was merely reminiscing. » Deceit lied, but didn't move.

« Do you need a hug? »

He turned to face Virgil and offered a half smile while holding back tears.

« Please. »

✾✾✾

There was something fizzy in the air that morning.

Sure, with autumn around the corner, the temperature was on its way to get lower with each day, but Virgil had this sensation in his guts.

He was eighteen in that moment, which made him old and experienced enough in the supernatural to know what that feeling meant.

Virgil felt literal shocks sparkling around him, as if tiny thunders formed in mid air and disappeared the moment they showed themselves. The sound of static filled the silence here and there, lights and flickers made him buzz with an excitement he couldn't give a cause to.

He approached Deceit's home in the woods with a faster pace than usual. Once inside, he saw his literally glowing eyes looking through a woven bag. He heard the clinking of coins.

« What, are you going on holiday? » he smirked and took a seat in front of him.

« Something like that. » Deceit grinned and closed the bag before putting it back on a reserved spot on the wooden counter.

Virgil raised his eyebrow. « Huh? »

« Oh, you're coming with, too. »

« Sure, just let me go ask my parents for permission. »

Deceit let out a short laugh. « I'm serious. » he lifted his yellowish eyes to meet Virgil's, which were slowly growing wider. « We're leaving. »

The boy was stunned. « Wha- Wait, what do you mean? Where are we going? » he stared at the man, who smirked right after.

« The capital's center. Hopefully, also the royal palace. »

Virgil wasn't sure if he had just stopped breathing, or altogether existing. He was sure, on the other hand, of the hit his heart gave to his rib cage, so hard he was worried he'd have a broken bone by the subsequent few seconds.

At the mention of the palace, his hand instinctively flew to a certain golden and emerald bracelet in his pocket.

He hadn't been thinking about that for years.

Seeing that the boy was, for some reason, too taken aback to react, Deceit continued. « I heard they're holding some kind of festival soon. A talents show of sorts? There are going to be people from our kingdom participating, the best three competitors are going to perform in front of the two royal families that will be merged in the upcoming marriage. They're going to decide which of the three is the winner and they're going to let them stay at the palace and, eventually, attend the wedding too. »

To be fair, Virgil wasn't able to pay attention to the details. For the first time in eight years, he was given a chance to, maybe, see Roman again.

The name felt almost foreign even for his own mind.

« What will we do? » the blatant determination with which he spoke gave, right then, a meaning to the previous fizzy air.

« You can perform. » Deceit got up from his seat and approached him, before placing a hand on his shoulder and leaning slightly forward. « Show them dark magic isn't inherently wicked. That was your goal, wasn't it? »

Virgil smiled imperceptibly with the corner of his mouth. He nodded.

« Let's achieve it, then. » he backed away and opened his arms, his yellow glowing irises almost pierced Virgil's body in the dim light.

« Let's make history. »

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#roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #prinxiety #logicality #fanfiction #ts fanfic #sanders sides au #sanders sides #fantasy au #royalty au #purp's writings

[leonawriter]

Time Hauls A Silver Tide

Also on AO3

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs

Characters: Chuuya, Dazai, Atsushi, others.

Pairings: Dazai/Chuuya

Notes: Pseudo-soulmates AU. Coloursverse. Previous fic in the series is “A Faint Pale Rainbow”, which is Dazai’s side of the same story, but you don’t need to have read that first.

Summary: Chuuya can't see as many colours as most. He doubts he ever will, so most of the time it doesn't bother him so much. The ones he needs are right there, after all.

Until suddenly, they aren't, because he looks at Dazai and he's covered in grey.

...

Chuuya had only ever seen in black and white from the moment he was born. Which, for him, was far more recent than most. He had crawled out of a crater in a seven year old body, and known nothing about the world other than the fact that, suddenly, he existed.

Chuuya, he had said when a kid older than his supposed age had found him, asked what his name was, some weeks later. Nakahara Chuuya. 

Was it really his name? Did even really belong to him?

It had been what had automatically come out of his mouth, though, so he hadn't questioned it. He had needed to be and to belong more than he had needed truth, and the need for some sort of truth would come later. Could come later, once he was prepared to face it.

They held a piece of paper up to him, and he scowled with all the power of a seven year old god when asked what colours he could see.

Some of us can see different colours, they said. Not just back and grey and white.

He'd just stared at them, and they'd almost ignored him, passing him off as useless until one of them shoved at him more than he liked, and he sent them flying without even thinking about it.

It turned out that colour didn't matter when you could fight instead.

...

At first he's something of a lucky charm, and then later on as he grows older and learns how to fight, he becomes the strength and might of the Sheep.

He looks after them, defends them, tells them off when they get rash and stupid and go into the wrong areas of town. Teaches the younger ones some of the things he's learned over the years, and gets into arguments with the older kids.

He watches as one by one, each of the younger kids they've picked up over the years grow up, and each of them gain their first colours, as they make friends and fall in love and have stupid crushes on other Sheep - or drag their supposed true love into the fold.

A cute little kid asks him, when he's fourteen and he's pointing out some of the ways you can tell colours apart just by shade and placement and what colours usually go where, because it's useful to know this shit, you don't wanna suddenly tell someone the sky's red when it isn't, or that the grass is a beautiful shade of blue-

"But - what if I never get colours and none of this is ever going to mean anything because I never meet anyone who's that important to me?"

Chuuya's mouth goes dry.

He belatedly realises that he's still holding a crayon - maybe red? - in midair.

"I... I guess it isn't normal, but it's not like it's unheard of. That's why they label stuff, see?" Her face drops. He isn't helping. "Besides, you're a cute kid. Can't imagine a cute kid like you going around colourless all your life."

She seems better, after that.

He wishes he could take his own advice, and not worry about it so much.

Instead, he's reminded of how many people he's met and known, and how he just seems to never mean quite enough.

The more he thinks about it, the more he wonders if maybe colour is far too human a thing for him to have aimed at attaining, when his main memory of what he's more than just started to realise is the same as what everyone calls Arahabaki, is just a being of pure destruction with no need for colour, or connection.

...

He first begins to see the blues of the sky in Mori's office, arguing with the suicidal brat, and at first he doesn't even notice.

Eight years of nothing other than black-grey-white, and he hadn't known what to expect, because he'd all but given up on the idea by this point, and now this. 

He's able to keep ahold of himself at least - holds back the worst of the staring, keeps himself from going wide-eyed at everything like some damn tourist who's never been to Japan before, let alone Yokohama, which would've been annoying, given this was where he was from, and in many ways, it was where he'd been born, the only place he'd ever known, and yet-

It felt like seeing everything brand new. Through new eyes. And this was just one colour.

It's new enough and novel and wondrous enough that he's relieved when he can barely see the sky or the sea during their fight with Randou, and that none of the combatants were wearing blue.

(Dazai's ability activating didn't normally glow that brightly, but then, usually it didn't cancel out an ability that big, that powerful, with that much range. He finds himself staring a little too long and a little too awe-struck at Dazai's face, then. Knowing damn well who was to blame for the extra colour in his world, and for just a moment, unable to hate him for it. Hate the fact that it's Dazai, rather.)

It's easy to forget who Dazai is.

And then he's gone, vanishing off back to the mafia, leaving Chuuya to pick up the pieces with the blue sky and the blue sea and the first time he looks in a mirror since mouthing off back in the mafia's headquarter's, he sees his eyes - blue, bright blue.

He curls up around himself that night, leg still hurting, and he blames the tears on the pain and the shock of realising how close he'd come to dying, only to lose the first person who'd known exactly what he was and told him that being Chuuya was enough.

He's left feeling like he's lost something without it having even had a chance to start, the idea that if he'd known Rimbaud longer, maybe... maybe, he would have had a second colour.

Apparently, though, kicking a scrawny brat into a wall and then arguing was enough for one, but a few conversations and two life-changing events just aren't enough for the other-

Most of all, though, the heaving sobs that come for him and steal his breath are for the fact that he can see colour at all, and that this means that either it doesn't matter what he was, or - or maybe, he's human enough as he is.

...

The first hints of red flow into his world like sunset as Mori explains what being a leader means, and he realises at long last what it was that he'd been missing for so long.

It seeps into the chair the Boss is sitting in, the Boss' scarf, the carpet, even the rim of the hat he's now holding.

He'd sworn to destroy every last one of the Port Mafia, but here he is, and he feels more alive than ever in spite of the still throbbing knife wound in his side.

(Red also becomes the colour of blood, which makes him pause before applying just a bit more gravity on the unlucky bastard, because knowing and seeing were two different things.

It made sense, in a way, that the same colour he'd been given by the Boss was the colour of the blood that he had to spill to keep Yokohama's nightlife in check, and remind them who was in charge.)

When he looks in the mirror now, he sees red hair, a little too grey to be truly the shade of scarlet that Mori had imparted to him, but close enough he could see what it looked like, for the first time.

A little more of Chuuya that he could accept as his, as real, as someone and something that belonged somewhere.

...

By the time he meets Dazai in that hallway, Kouyou has already begun to give him pink, and that's enough colours to make the light of the stained glass almost unbearable to look at-

Not to mention, in spite of how insufferable he's being, in spite of so much else still being kept in monotone, he can see in stark relief the way that Dazai's face goes from pink to red and all of the places he flushes, and like hell is he giving in, because if anyone around here is an attention seeking dog it isn't Chuuya.

(Even so, he also refuses to admit he enjoys seeing all of the different ways he can make Dazai flush red. Far too many of them at his expense, and the last thing he wants is to encourage the bratty kid to get worse.)

...

Work and responsibilities drive him into having less time, once he gets the role of executive, but he never stops seeing blue, or red, or pink, and when he'd heard people talking openly about how they'd woken up one day for work only to have a colour fade, he's worried himself more times than he can count by the idea that the next time he looks at the sky, it will have faded to a dull tone.

Dazai doesn't seem to care. Dazai just keeps on throwing himself into danger, the way he'd said he was all too happy to the moment he'd admitted he'd wanted to give being in the Port Mafia a go. 

It shouldn't shock or surprise him anymore. 

He still sighs with relief when the sky is the same as always.

...

And then Dazai leaves, without a word, and his car had been targeted with a bomb, so he can't even go after him.

Dazai leaves.

Dazai leaves, and doesn't come back, and he half expects the sky to turn grey regardless, because everything he'd ever started to trust had been right there, and now one of those pillars, as frustrating and aggravating as he was- 

Dazai was gone.

The sense of betrayal feels like it should mean something. That it should do something.

Instead, the sky is as blue as ever, and the sea sparkles, and his eyes stare back at him, bright and hard and dull and scared and alone-

He hates it. He hates what Dazai makes him feel like - vulnerable and only half of what he could be, and he hates that it's Dazai who makes him feel so human, and he isn't even here for it.

...

He had barely interacted with Akutagawa before Dazai had betrayed the organisation, but now, he's somehow wound up becoming a subordinate. He spars against the kid from time to time, and the way he flinches sometimes pisses Chuuya off, because if you're gonna fight someone stronger than you, the last thing you need is to give them an opening.

Even so, it comes as a sort of dull surprise when Akutagawa comes back from a mission one day with dark spots marring his features, and when Chuuya gets close enough to force the kid to slow down and stop pretending he's fine, he realises it's not just a mix of pink-grey-red, but there's purple mixed in as well.

He tells Akutagawa to go put ice on those bruises before they swell up further, and to tell Mori or a medic if they do get worse, before dismissing him.

Purple, he thinks to himself later, lost in the irony of it. A mixture of red and blue. Someone Dazai left behind, but Mori put him in my care. Just figures, doesn't it.

...

When he comes down the steps to the cell they'd been keeping Dazai in, he isn't lying when he says that Dazai looks like a masterpiece, hung up like that to dry. It was what he deserved, after all - for being a damn traitor, for working with the enemy, for leaving him behind like that.

The fact that Dazai isn't dressed in what had once been clearly just a plain black suit, a suit that hadn't left anything to the imagination, that hadn't been interesting or eye-catching, causes him to blink.

Grey. 

Dazai is covered head to toe in grey.

Colours Chuuya can't see, reminders that Dazai had people in his life who'd given him colours Chuuya didn't have.

It's enough to piss him off even more than he already was, because how the hell did someone like Dazai earn the right to that? Someone who manipulated and harassed other people, and had constantly left Chuuya wondering if he'd ever had a shred of human decency or compassion?

How dare you, his fists say. You don't deserve those colours.

He holds Dazai up by the throat, and holds his knife up to the skin above the bandages, close, close enough to see red pooling around the sheen of the blade, feeling satisfaction at the sight of the dark bruises that are already forming on the little skin Dazai is showing.

I hate you, he thinks, and the feeling doesn't dissipate after he's forced to let Dazai go, and it sits pooling in the pit of his stomach once he's already left.

...

His world goes grey whenever he enters Corruption.

He'd told Dazai once, when they were sixteen and he was scared, more scared of what going completely colourblind had felt like - what it could mean - than of Dazai using it against him.

He always had. Expected Dazai to use it against him, that is, and yet... he hadn't.

What do you think it means, he'd asked, needing some sort of answer even if it was just made up to piss him off, and Dazai had said I've heard that dogs are colourblind, and it'd done the job.

It's also the reason why he hates using Corruption at night more than he hates using Corruption in the daytime. 

In the daytime it feels jarring, because even anyone who's used to violence is used to it not escaping the night, but the night brings darkness and muted colours, so when the monochrome begins to fade out and and wash away, it's slower than it should be, more muted than he'd like, and he finds himself shaking in Dazai's grip as Corruption loses its hold on him and yet at the same time, he's still worried that the lingering aftereffects haven't gone away yet.

He collapses to the ground of the crater he'd made, the strength leaving him and with Dazai's hand gone, nothing to keep him upright.

Feels Dazai's eyes on him, as he's peering down at him like, like- like he's playing some sick show of being concerned.

A show that's betrayed by the way that when he does crouch down to be more on Chuuya's level, when he berates Dazai for not stopping him sooner, Dazai just says that he could have, but he'd been having fun.

The bastard.

"I used Corruption," he manages to get out, "because I trusted you..."

He trails off, staring at Dazai's chest, now that his bandaged arms aren't in the way.

Feels like he should say something else, but the words are all lost.

"That's blue," he says instead.

Dazai blinks. Looks down.

"You didn't notice before? I thought I'd add some colour."

The words spin in his head, the anger and confusion and hope and love and hate clashing to the point where the only thing he can think to do is put the last of his energy into a single punch aimed at Dazai's chest. 

It's pitiable, how he knows damn well that an hour or two ago he could have knocked Dazai back into the trees even without the use of his ability, but after Corruption his words from back in the cell are coming back to bite him - you call that a punch? That's barely even a massage.

The last thing he sees as he topples sideways, is Dazai smiling.

...

(The words won't leave him alone, even well after he wakes up and Dazai is gone.

I thought I'd add some colour.

They both knew damn well that Dazai wasn't actually just wearing grey - that there were things he had, that Chuuya didn't.

I thought I'd add-

But Dazai had chosen to wear blue.

Dull and almost unnoticed in between the stripes of his shirt.

I thought-

Bright and shining in the moonlight, glimmering and ready to catch Chuuya's eye when Chuuya needed it most.

I thought I'd add some colour, Dazai had said, and Chuuya heard I thought of you.)

...

It takes a while for him to get back on even ground with himself.

He curses Dazai's name in the celebration he, the Boss, and Kouyou all share for the fact that Yokohama's been saved.

Swears that he isn't mother henning Akutagawa, thank you very much, unless you want to call practically locking him in until he's sure the kid has rested after that fight, and threatening to confiscate the damn coat until he's sure he isn't just going to pull a Dazai and walk out half dead on his feet.

He finds himself walking the route to the Agency's dorms when he should be going home one day, absent-minded and with more focus on the sky than where he's going, which is how he winds up almost - but not quite - walking straight into the weretiger Akutagawa's so hung up on.

"Eh- Nakahara-san?"

He blinks.

"You're doing better than Akutagawa," he says without thinking.

For a moment he wonders what the kid's gonna do with that information, but then the weretiger just... sighs.

"He pushes himself like he thinks he has to prove something to the world with every fight he gets into, that's why," the kid muttered out, just loudly enough Chuuya could hear him and snort, getting a startled look and a flushed face for his trouble. "Sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"Nah, it's fine. That sounds just like him, actually. I've been trying to get him to take better care of himself for years now."

The kid deflates - relaxes, really - and laughs nervously before looking at Chuuya in an almost expectant way.

"Were you... looking for someone?"

He could deny it. He probably should. He could snap and say it was none of the kid's business-

He doesn't, though. Not only because there wouldn't be any point this close to where Dazai might come out of the woodwork at any moment, but because the kid didn't deserve any of it.

He sighs, and looks away, and winds up staring at the cloudy sky, the sun set but the light not quite having disappeared from the horizon yet. Pale blues mix with near-blacks, and he can see every last one of them.

"Yeah... I was wondering if the grey bandaged bastard was around."

"Grey-? Oh... you mean Dazai-san, right?" He doesn't wince, at the reminder that Dazai wasn't grey to everyone else. "He... I think Kunikida-san wanted him to stay later than usual to finish up some reports that suddenly became relevant in a recent case. If you need to tell him something, I can pass a message along?"

He-

Can't.

His mouth goes dry.

"Thanks," he says instead, "but you don't have to. It can wait." He didn't think he could ask this sort of thing through a proxy. It'd be like passing notes in class where the teacher can see them - not that he's ever been able to do anything like that. He doesn't know about Dazai, though. The closest is when they'd tried to tap out morse code messages while they were being reprimanded by Mori. "But - can I ask you something without you telling Dazai for me?"

The kid froze awkwardly, as if only just now remembering that he was chatting away with a Port Mafia executive. It would've been cute if it weren't frustrating.

"I, uh - that- that depends on what you want to know...?"

"Relax, kid-"

"Atsushi."

"Atsushi, then." He left off the honorific. He didn't use it with Dazai, or Akutagawa, or anyone really. Besides, they were technically not on the same side, so a bit of disrespect didn't mean love lost."Relax, I just - wanted to- you know what colours he's wearing, don't you?"

"You can't- oh. I didn't mean... I'm sorry."

"Don't. Just... don't."

He just stands there. He doesn't know if the kid's going to just stare at him with pity until he walks away, but he's got more pride than to be the first one to move.

"...Brown," Atsushi says at last, and it feels like it's been way too fucking long. "He has a tan brown coat, and light brown trousers, and a dark brown waistcoat," he carries on, and each word hurts, because the kid's just standing there and pointing out his weaknesses in the middle of the street. "The leather of his tie is, and so are his hair and his eyes."

Chuuya laughs, and it breaks off when he realises how much he must have given away just by the look in his own eyes, and the way he'd sounded so broken, even just to himself, but he can't help but ask-

"Who the hell gave you that colour?"

The weretiger looks back at him, mostly black-and-white, but with almost full-grey eyes that were somewhat purple near the pupil, near the middle, and he smiles.

"That would be Dazai-san," he said, as if he wasn't just saying something that most people kept private, as if he didn't even think of that. "And, I hope that things work out for you, Nakahara-san."

Something about the way the kid looks at him, the way he just accepts, and the way he wasn't even sure if that was pity anymore, something about any one of those things or just one - takes the wind out of him.

"You might as well call me Chuuya," he says, and sees Atsushi smile - brightly - before he turns away.

...

He answers the call, and doesn't come running, but he comes all the same.

You know what this means, don't you, they all tell him, one way or another.

Like hell he doesn't know what they all think. He doesn't care what they all think.

The blues are fading, he'd realised earlier. I can still see them, but-

He hadn't been able to finish the thought, because the idea that they'd just keep fading until they were just a shadow of what they'd been is one he's not about to entertain today. 

He'd worried about it enough other times, growing up, and more than he ever should have in the past four years. But not today.

The bastard didn't get to die on him today.

...

"You know when's a good time to chicken out and go home? 

"I- no. What is?"

"Never, that's when." Everyone's telling me that bastard's dead. But- "Especially not while I can still see this much blue."

He hurls himself off the helicopter with a run, and chants those damn words in midair.

(There are no guarantees, he remembered reading once. From the viewpoint of fear, none are strong enough. From the viewpoint of love, none are necessary.

He doesn't remember who wrote it, but hell if they didn't know what they were talking about.)

...

He still can't see brown when Dazai touches him and brings him back, and the suit is all black-and-white apart from the tie, which is a washed out and ugly grey. Dazai's eyes, when he sees them, are wide and grey, and he knows damn well that the grey in Dazai's hair isn't from age.

None of that matters, though, because he's completely surrounded by the blue of No Longer Human.

He won't admit it, but-

Shitty suit and colours he can't see or not, he still thinks this is the most beautiful he's ever seen Dazai.

...

"If you wanted a kiss, you could've just asked for one, asshole," he grumbles out, the curses and grudging frustration betrayed by his words.

He's slumped across Dazai's shoulder, anyway. The only dignity he'd been able to reclaim was that he wasn't caught with his head practically shoved between Dazai's legs. 

"Dogs give the worst kisses," he hears Dazai say, and the only reason (other than being too damn exhausted to move a muscle still) why he doesn't hit him again just for that, is the distant way he's talking, because he knows Dazai as well as Dazai knows him. You don't get that kind of depth from one colour if you don't. Dazai's... scared. "I much preferred the idea of being given one from a prince."

"You're the worst," he mutters out, and hears - feels - Dazai sigh, his hand on Chuuya's neck not moving. "You could've just asked," he says again.

He could swear he could almost feel Dazai's heart stop beating, his lungs stop taking in air.

He forces himself, with what little energy he'd managed to regain, to push up, out far enough that he could see Dazai's face.

"Don't," Dazai says, sounding like he's just been choked.

Dazai's hand slips-

Chuuya lets himself fall forward, like it's a parody of before, trusting Dazai to catch him again, which he does, but this time he has Dazai's hands on his chest, stopping him from just plain falling onto him entirely, and his mouth on Dazai's. It's about the least romantic thing he can think of and they can laugh about it later.

Right now, he's caught by the way that those not-grey eyes are wide open, staring at him.

"Chuuya is beautiful," Dazai says, before gently setting him back down, before they both wind up worse off than before.

He doesn't let go. Chuuya doesn't let go.

He wonders what Dazai sees, when he looks at him.

...

"...Atsushi was the one who suggested the truce between the Agency and the Port Mafia," Dazai says some time later, by several weeks. They're on a bench by the prettier side of the docks, and the sun's setting over the water. A beautiful mix of red and blue. "The only way he could have come to that conclusion would be while he was either on or falling from the Moby Dick, in an attempt to get Q's doll to me, so that I could nullify the ability and breast the curse."

Chuuya blinks, and thinks back to that time. It's not something he likes to think back on. They'd lost too many good people.

"I don't see what that's got to do with me," he says, trying to push the subject away.

"Really? I certainly found it interesting. Because although he was able to see dark reds before then... it was only after that, that he began to be able to see burnt orange."

"That's... seriously?"

"I wouldn't lie about a thing like this, Chuuya. I believe he respects you."

Who the hell gave you that colour?, he remembered asking, and he laughs. 

"And why d'you think I should know that, anyway?"

Trust shitty Dazai to tell him other peoples' secrets. It shouldn't have been his to tell.

"Because I thought you should know," Dazai says. "You deserved-" He looks out at the sea. For once, the first time he can remember, Dazai's eyes don't just glaze over the parts of the sky that aren't red. "To know. That he was the one I found my blue in."

When Dazai turns to him, eyes wide, leaning in, it leaves his mouth dry for reasons entirely nothing to do with kissing, because he knows this isn't a kissing thing. 

His new subordinate-

Oh, he finds himself thinking.

Because it isn't anything about them, it's about Dazai trying to say to someone, that he'd improved, he'd become better.

Akutagawa had never given him anything. Not even the purple that Chuuya had. And when he saw Dazai now, he didn't think that'd changed. Guilt was no more a basis for a colour than pure hatred was, after all.

"You're an idiot, you dumb shitty mackerel," he says. "But... maybe this isn't such a bad look on you."

He might not be able to see the sunset the same way Dazai did now, lacking the gold he knew Dazai was able to see, but he could see the way the years had changed his old partner, and maybe it wasn't that bad, and maybe he was still bitter and angry, but maybe...

Maybe none of that mattered, because the wide-eyed looks Dazai still gave him from time to time were breathtaking. 

Even if he couldn't see all of those shades of brown.

...

AN: The "There are no guarantees" lines are actually something I'd seen quoted by another author, and it turns out the source is Emmanuel Teney, if you're curious.

The title comes from "The Moon", one of IRL Chuuya's poems.

EDIT: Originally this was just going to be a second part or chapter of "A Faint Pale Rainbow", before I decided to make the Coloursverse into a series. Because of that, I almost forgot that I'd accidentally deleted a clarification: 

Randou/Rimbaud does indeed give Chuuya a colour, but because colours tend to seep in rather than come in all at once, the colour that he would have given to Chuuya never had a chance to set, since the first time Chuuya felt any positive influence from Rimbaud was while he was dying; effectively, the yellows stuck in a state of being never entirely desaturated. Which, unfortunately, also means Chuuya's never going to get that colour in future, since it does technically already exist for him.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd stuff #soukoku #Leona fic #coloursverse

[scarlett-sketch-studios]

Fantasy story extract

The hand keeps moving, signaling off each minute that passes. It’s ticking filling the silence that resides in the nearly empty, and incredibly bland, interrogation room. It’s perfectly square and spacious with its walls, ceiling and floor made of concrete; the only things of interest here is the simplistic circular clock on the northern wall, a metallic slab being utilized as a table in the centre with runic etchings creating a border and a single large white crystal embedded into the ceiling casting a whitewash onto the room.

Three people are present here, utilizing the room in a very inactive way as they sit here in tensed silence. Not a word escapes them to break the monotonous ticking, the sound just substantiating the stiff atmosphere that has been created. Two of the three people sits before the one, the pristine metal table being the only thing between them that is more tangible than their hostile energy.

The mood shifts slightly as movement is made, a man who appears to be in his prime leans back into his chair letting the stale light fall harshly onto his face giving him the appearance of a gargoyle. A look that is only encouraged and enhanced by the void that are his grey eyes and the wrinkles around them that look like cracks in stone. His hands move to the pocket of his tailored pants to conjure up a joint in one hand and then a stout, cylindrical wooden gadget that has a faint glowing rock embedded into the side of it in the other. In one motion he puts the joint into his mouth and presses onto the rock of the gadget, allowing a sharp crack to cut through the air and powder blue smoke to delicately fall off the end of the joint.

Apparently this action from the old man is a stimulant for the much younger man beside him; he presses his forearms on the reflective table, leaning far on them so that he could stare at the girl in front. The hard look that forms on his face is unsettling, as if he isn’t the kind of man to express such harshness with his perfectly sculpted nose, his arched and angular eyebrows, and his clefted chin. That the brown eyes of his were meant for warmth and comfort as opposed to malice - intentions of the worse kind. His whole form looks to be moulded and touched upon by ethereal entities for no other explanation can be given in regards of how perfect and balanced his whole being is. He looks to be created for only the pure things of this world, for only the kind, yet he is here with coldness in his eyes, tension in his shoulders. Such a counter to his friend beside him who continues to smoke from his joint, relaxed.

The young man parts his lips, just enough for a soft melody with a razor sharpness to float out.

“Answer the question.”

The girl sitting on the receiving end of the command is far younger and far different than the elders before her, her whole existence- image- juxtaposing the immaculate and statuesque features of the two men. The crimson essence of a person paints the left side of her body, taints the ripped and dishevelled clothes she wears. Her thick blonde hair is gathered up in a poor excuse of a bun with small shards of blue glass poking out from the strands like crumbling gravestones in a cemetery. However the state of appearance is not what makes her so curious and is not what makes her so distinct from the two men opposite her, it’s the very noticeably small threesome of triangles emerging from her hairline on her left temple, faint dots trail the outer line of it and draw attention to her mismatch eyes as they curve under it. The one closest to the marking is a soft, warm amber and the eye furthest away is a cold and icy blue. But while both eyes are different colours they remain the same in how they lack any emotion; well any emotion relating to fear that is.

“Princess?” She speaks in a soft tone but her voice trips over the word, hinting at weakness. “Don’t know about any princess.”

Not a muscle moves in the ethereal man’s face, his brown eyes glint like the ones of a reptile being the only sign that the answer brings him a kind of displeasure and frustration. However, his colleague remains to be as impassive as ever; still giving off an air that this situation is one of importance yet allowing one to think that this is a special case and can take its time- answers aren’t required just yet.

The gargoyle puts the joint back to his lips and slowly draws it away, blue smoke dribbling down his chin as he stares at the girl. He reaches for something hidden, fishing for yet another object that he then places on the table and slides it over to the girl.

“Now, now.” He says, gravel in his voice, “let’s not just skip to the end, we need to go the beginning. Now, my dear, do you mind telling me what exactly this is?”

She stares at him for a little, watching as the smoke twists and dances all the way down. She slowly turns her eyes onto what has been now presented to her- a small piece of paper with blotches of colour on it arranged to be representative of an event, a person. Even though the objects are not all that distinct it was enough to gather a fountain of knowledge from.

The shades of green that make up the background with the pinpricks of colour is familiar enough to the girl to understand when and where this had been taken, and the short figure dressed in their peculiar outfit that’s standing next to her did well to inform her about what exactly she will be questioned about. Despite that knowledge she still can’t help but feel emotion; she draws in a breath out of shock and her hands tremble slightly as a memory of that time flash into her mind.

The gargoyle looks at her still, a small smile shifts the cracks in his face and a glimmer of knowing fills his void eyes. He leans back into his chair allowing his colleague to question her.

“It’s from your solace of the sixth month, yes?”

The girl says nothing, she just lowers her eyes and clasps her hands.

“That’s when you got those beads of yours too isn’t it?” He refers to the blue shards of glass on her head and she cringes as if their fragments are piercing her now. “Would you like to tell us about that event?”

Not a sound escapes her, she just proceeds to sit there and stare at her hands as if that will make an improvement on her situation. But it’s clear that she has used that tactic one too many times already in this encounter for the ethereal man is showing his impatience with how quick he ends the silence and how there was a melody of harshness to his words.

“Fine, let’s just go through our list that we have on the event, shall we?” He brings out a scroll and rolls it out on the table, reading the words scribed there. “On the Sixth day of the Sixth month, upon the week of the Solace festival in Elvania, in which all six tribes came together for said festivities, Alliane Jarlinunth- of tribe Jarlin was bequeathed her ancestral beads as well as thirty other females and thirty males whom have reached their seventeenth solune. In attendance of this festival, and seen interacting with residences of the tribe Jarlin days previous to the day that is being mentioned, was Stateldrin Valoss of Dhemit  whom has been convicted of one Dhemit felony, committed his first international felon and thereby his second felony overall as of that time on the eve of this Sixth day of the Sixth month with the aid of Alliane Jarlinunth-“

“I didn’t help him,” she whispers, she looks up slightly at the men before her, maintaining eye contact with the ethereal. “I didn’t do anything, it was him.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Then explain.”

She looks back down, her hands now beginning to shake and tremble as she looks back on that day. She didn’t do anything, she knows that. She would have never done those types of things, it was all him.

She shuts her eyes and takes in a deep breath, trying to calm her quickening heart as she recalls that day.

#fantasy story #fantasy extract #original work #writing #aspiring writer #fantasy #world building

[shootingstarcipher-blog]

Dreaming Underground (Chapter Four: The Bracelets)

The tatty, fraying black and yellow threads of his much-loved bracelet were in his dreams that night. He couldn’t remember where he had gotten it from but he’d always thought it must have been a gift to him from some distant relative who knew nothing about him but his name, that being the only thing on the vibrantly-coloured bracelet – or at least, it once had been, but by now most of the letters had gone missing, with only I and E surviving. But within his dreams, the lack of letters was insignificant.

What was significant was the way in which those black and yellow threads wound themselves tightly around Eddie’s left wrist, crossed the room to where Richie was standing, and wound themselves around his wrist too, essentially binding them together. The two of them spent the entire duration of Eddie’s dream connected not only by the threads, but more often than not by holding each other’s hands as well. Even when Eddie awoke after roughly five hours of sleeping the tingling feeling in his left hand refused to leave him, his thoughts of Richie doing the same.

Turning his head to the side, he found his friend still lying beside him, eyes closed with a peaceful look on his face. He was the pure embodiment of tranquillity, and it wasn’t often he could say something like that about Richie Tozier. It was all too tempting to brush the hair away from his eyes and gently kiss his forehead but he managed to fight off the compulsion by forcing himself to remember how he’d felt when he’d discovered that the person he’d given his first kiss to was not his best friend as he’d thought, but the nightmarish monster that would happily psychologically torture him before killing him.

But the real Richie wasn’t a thing like Pennywise the Dancing Clown. The real Richie was sweet, attractive and insanely irritating, yet still funny and entertaining. And if he suddenly became less irritating, Eddie was pretty sure that nothing would feel right anymore. He was far too loud and never knew when to shut up, but a quieter Richie would have been worrying. They were constantly bickering (which resulted in frequent comparisons between them and old married couples) but they both secretly enjoyed their petty little arguments and Eddie wouldn’t have had it any other way.

He was still thinking about all of this when Richie’s eyes fluttered open. He sat up and stretched, yawning, until his mouth curved up into a grin. Then, reaching over to the nearest nightstand to grab his glasses, he mentioned the one thing Eddie had hoped he hadn’t noticed. “You were staring at me.” His voice was serious but his grin remained on his face and he was blushing slightly, but nowhere near as much as Eddie was.

“Shut up,” Eddie hissed playfully, laughing as he picked up his pillow and hit him in the chest with it. “I just happened to look at you for a second, that’s all.”

“Yeah, right,” Richie muttered, rolling his eyes at him. After a moment, he rolled out of the bed, stretched his legs and said, “So what’s for breakfast?”

Eddie shrugged. He didn’t feel like eating and he couldn’t risk Richie getting caught by letting him wander into the kitchen on his own, so he suggested that he’d go and get something for him. His mother wasn’t up yet so he managed to sneak past her room, grab and bagel and a glass of juice from the kitchen, and quietly return to his bedroom where Richie was waiting for him without a problem.

Richie must have been hungry because he wolfed down the bagel within seconds and then looked up at him expectantly, as if he was asking for more. Eddie just scowled at him and handed him the glass of juice, encouraging him to drink it. After taking a single sip – during which Richie’s face screwed itself up into the perfect image of disgust – he spat it back out into the glass and thrust it into Eddie’s grasp. “It’s got pulp in it. I hate pulp.”

“But it’s good for you,” Eddie immediately explained, like he didn’t already know it. He just found it hard to believe that anyone would refuse something that could make them healthier, even if they didn’t necessary like it. He didn’t particularly enjoy having to take pills all the time, but they were good for him and without them he’d be even more fragile and delicate than he was when he was taking them. That – and his mother’s insistence – was why he did it.

“Then you drink it,” Richie retorted teasingly, knowing damn well that he wouldn’t – even if he hadn’t spat the juice back into the glass, Eddie still wasn’t exactly a fan of sharing food and drink even without the added touch of a mouthful of saliva. He teased him even more when Eddie looked down at the glass for a second and then almost threw up at the thought of it, adding “If that’s what you’re like about sharing a drink, then what the hell are you gonna do when I stick my tongue down your throat?” to his taunts, but it instantly became apparent that he’d gone too far because suddenly the glass had slipped from his friend’s grip and had crashed onto the floor and so had his friend, juice and glass had gone everywhere and Eddie was hyperventilating, his inhaler smashed into smithereens in the sewer so no use to anyone.

He told him he was just joking, that he wasn’t really going to do anything like it. Eddie heard him say he was sorry for the second time in twelve hours. He was on a roll. He wrapped his arms around him, begging him to breathe and rubbing his back without even caring when the shards of glass sliced at his legs as he kneeled in front of him. When Eddie seemed to be calming down, Richie yanked the blanket off the bed and flung it around his friend’s shoulders before turning away to make an attempt at cleaning up the glass with his bare hands.

But when Eddie’s condition deteriorated, he whipped round again, jumped to his feet and started in the direction of the door, telling him he was going to get his mother. He had just reached the bedroom door when a hand snatched at his ankle and Eddie practically yelled at him not to go. “You’ll…” He took a deep, shaky breath. “Get in trouble,” he finished, the panic still very much alive in his voice. “I’ll be fine. Just… give me a minute.” Richie nodded hesitantly and came away from the door, sitting back down on the floor beside his friend. “I had my first kiss yesterday,” Eddie explained to him quietly once he’d calmed himself down (with Richie’s aid, naturally). He kept his gaze trained on the carpeted floor, afraid to look his friend in the eye and directly witness his reaction.

“Wow, that bad, huh?” Richie joked, though he was half-serious about believing his friend had been traumatised by his first kiss.

“Well, the kiss itself wasn’t bad,” Eddie went on, his cheeks turning a bright shade of pink. “It’s just…” He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and took a long, deep breath, preparing to tell his friend what had happened. “I kissed the fucking clown.” It came out as a sort of whispered screech and he could tell Richie had to do a double take, pausing for a minute to comprehend what he had just heard him say.

“Did you just say you kissed the clown? The fucking clown?” His eyes were wide in astonishment and Eddie could tell he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or throw up. “Well, I’m sort of impressed,” Richie eventually admitted, nonchalantly leaning his back against the wall next to the bed. “So it was good, right? – you said it wasn’t bad – but what’s… Why? Why did you kiss It?”

“Because I thought it was you!”

He yelled it a little too loudly and for a short while there was only tense silence enveloping them, until his mother’s footsteps began thundering towards his room and she was calling out for him, asking what all the noise was. Temporarily forgetting the tense moment that had just occurred, Eddie hissed at his friend to hide and Richie promptly threw himself under the bed, the blanket falling down enough to cover his view of the door just in time before Eddie’s mother burst in, demanding to know who her son was talking to.

Eddie didn’t like lying at the best of times and lying to his mother was always going to be worse, but he had to for Richie’s sake (as well as his own, because it while Richie would have gotten the brunt of any ferocious hostility, he probably wouldn’t get away without at least taking some of it; he had been the one to let his friend into the house against his mother’s instruction, after all). So he told her, rather unimaginatively, that he’d been talking to himself. She narrowed her eyes and looked at him curiously, silently asking for an elaboration, to which he hastily replied that he’d been practising speaking in front of the mirror to try and improve his confidence.

She seemed to buy into his deception and nodded, reminding him to eat breakfast and clean up the mess before walking away and gently shutting the door behind her, but it was only after she left that Eddie realised he didn’t even have a mirror in his bedroom.

He held his breath, expecting her to realise it too and return angry at his lie, and waited for several minutes before signally to the boy underneath his bed that it was safe for him to come out.

Richie crawled out from beneath the bed and sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at his friend as the uncomfortable tension creeped up on them both. Eddie stared back, biting his lower lip.

Then, without uttering a single word, Richie took something out of his pocket and leaned across the floor, sliding it over to him. “This yours?” he asked casually, ignoring the tension returning from their earlier conversation. “I’ve had it for years and almost forgot I even had it. Mine went missing a long time ago and I found this one instead. It’s similar but…”

Unbeknownst to Eddie, his friend was still droning on, a monotonous sound of static in the background of Eddie’s mind as he gazed down at the object Richie was suggesting belonged to him. It was a bracelet made with blue and crimson threads, a series of beads hanging in the middle of it, each with its own letter imprinted on it, spelling out the name Eddie.

Nodding, he stuffed it into his pocket and headed into the kitchen for a brush he could sweep the broken glass up with. Richie watched him from the doorway, his gaze trained on Eddie’s light movements and with a smile on his face.

#reddie #it 2017 #the losers club #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #fanfiction #angst #romance #fluff

[the-letter-y]

Stuck With You

A voltron au consisting of the domestic lives of the ever loved klance. Summary- In which a moody artist rooms with an overdramatic florist.

Chapter 3: Onii-chan is always watching

There is a firm knock on the door and Lance tells Keith to go get it unless he wants to deal with a broken washing machine. Keith,in the middle of a sketch drags himself off the comforts of his couch and trudges over to unlock the front door, he’s yawning loudly once he reaches it and pulls the doorknob open. He slams it close immediatly and goes back to sketching on his couch.

A confused Lance emerges from the laundry room. “Who was that?”

“No one,” came Keith’s monotoned voice as Lance huffs a breath and stomps over to the door to yank it open.

Standing six feet tall with his well known white tuft of hair and prosthetic arm, Lance is greeted by the sight of his landlord, Takashi Shirogane. Mr. Shirogane, or Shiro, had the appearance of some badass Marvel character with a tragic background story. As intimidating as he may seem though, he was actually a really nice guy, he reminded Lance of a dad, not specifically his dad but a dad dad.

“Shiro? I thought this month’s rent was due two weeks from now?” Lance, still surprised by the visit from the landlord himself questions him.

Shiro smiles kindly. “Hello, Lance. And no, I’m not here for the rent,” he glares over Lance’s shoulder, towards an innocent looking Keith with a spot on surprised look on his face.

“Onii-chan?” He speaks, faking a small gasp.

Shiro opens his mouth to say something, but was immediately cut off by Lance’s dramatic gasp. “Hold the fucking phone! You’re Japanese?!” He practically yells to Keith.

“What, Keith Kogane isn’t Japanese enough for you?” he remarks with a frown.

Lance being the overdramatic one, like always, widely gestures his speech as he he talks. “You never told me your last name!” He practically yells at Keith, his arms flailing and nearly hitting Shiro on the nose.

Keith gives him a deadpanned stare. “You never asked,” he says and Shiro finally cuts in just as Lance was about to open his mouth and argue with his roommate.

“You look like you’ve settled in,” he muses and Keith gives him that angry pout-glare combination he uses when he’s talking with him.

“Urusai, a-aniki,” he grumbles and Shiro grins.

“Mou ‘onii-chan’ wo yondenai?” he says, a fake hurt look replacing his amused one.

“No,” he says almost too quickly and returns to his sketch. Shiro laughs.

Lance, suddenly feeling very awkward, decides to finally offer Shiro to come in and asks him if he wanted anything to drink. “Water,” is what he replies him with and Lance goes to get it and leaves the to brothers to catch up, which results in angry shouting in Japanese from Keith.

He returns with the glass of water and places it on the cheap coffee table Lance got from a garage sale. “Here’s your water,” he says and Shiro thanks him. “You sure you don’t want anything else? We have tea.”

“Not my calming tea!” Keith hisses and Lance rolls his eyes.

“Keith, he’s a guest. And we, as the humble hosts, have to serve him,” he replies and Keith scrunches his nose in disgust.

“Serve Shiro?” Keith says like it’s the most offensive thing Lance has said to him, yet.

“Hey!” Shiro says, offended. Lance laughs.

“Seriously though Keith, I had no idea you guys were related,” he tells them honestly.

“Adopted,” they both say simultaneously like it’s been rehearsed or done many times in the past before. This had Lance thinking, cause both their expresions are different from the tone of their voice, one sounding stiffer than the other, more uncomfortable. He decides to leave it for another day. Besides, he and Keith are only at that tolerable roommate stage, they weren’t that close.

“By the way, doesn’t ’onii-chan’ already mean big brother? Why change it to ’aniki’?” he says to lighten the mood a bit. It does, cause Keith is sending him a greatful look. “Actually, both of them mean big brother, right? I only know cause of anime.”

Keith’s eyes narrowed. “Not telling,” he grumbles.

This brings a laugh from Shiro. “Apparently, Keith here is only calling me ’aniki’ to sound mature,” he muses, Keith rolling his eyes and flicking eraser dust towards him.

Shiro’s short visit ends when he announces that he has more things to do and only stopped by to check on Keith. He even secretly tells Keith that he was glad that he and Lance were getting along just fine when Lance’s back was turned towards them. Keith flushes and shoves Shiro out the door with an angry huff and slams it shut, not even telling him Good Bye. Shiro’s laughter could be heard through their wooden door.

Lance raises a confused eyebrow at the flustered Keith only to further worsen his already flustered state. Keith shoves a pillow in Lance’s face and the subject was never brought up again.

Lance works in a flower shop called Altea. Its interior consisted of a soft pestle blue, the rest of the shop was covered in different shades of pink. Flowers of different colour schemas pop out for attention against the cherry blossom pink walls, a neat desks for bouquet wrapping is placed beside the register, wrapping paper of all kinds neatly arranged in colour coordination.

Lance had fallen in love with this place when he first laid eyes on it, it was a quaint little flower shop at the end of the street from where his last part-time job was. It had an aura of friendliness that just attracted people to it, whether it be for looking around the shop or buying a bouquet for a special someone. Lance had been thrilled when he saw a sign posted up on the window that said ‘Help Wanted’ in neat capitalized letters. He thought, ‘sign me up!’ And here he was now, working as a cashier at this little flower shop.

The register is where Lance works, being able to see customers with smiles of all kinds on their faces when he hands over their beautifully wrapped bouquets was what made him love his job. His boss, Allura, a pretty lady with the grace of a princess had even mentioned how good he was at socializing with people at the counter, ‘the perfect job for him’ she had said and he had given her a sheepish laugh.

Lance was mentally listing a list of groceries to buy for dinner when Shiro enters the shop. He had a anticipated look on his face when he entered, Lance had to stop to wonder what a guy like Shiro would be doing in a flower shop, all exited and child-like. Lance had to stare at him for a few minutes before he finally took notice of him, he was even drumming his fingers against the counter to get his attention! What had gotten this guy into such a daze?!

“Shiro,” Lance greets with the smile he reserves for customers. “Seen anything you like yet?”

“S-seen? Who? Me?” He says, flustered and Lance sends him a questioning look. He calms down after clearing his throat and apologizing. “Sorry. Hi Lance, good to see you again,” he says stiffly, a bit sheepishly too.

“Buying flowers for someone?” Lance questions, a teasing smirk making its way up his face.

“N-no,” he replies and Lance could hear the defensive tone in his voice. “Just want to brighten up the office…” he mumbles nervously.

Lance stares at him and nods slowly, totally (not) believing him. “Well, if you do want to buy some then I’m your man. So, what cha’ looking for?”

Shiro blinks. “Juniberries,” he mumbles and Lance would call out on his blush but he was nice. Unlike Keith.

“Oh, those. Well, they’re a one of a kind and I’m not really sure where there’re kept…do you mind if I go call a co-worker over?”

“Sure,” he says and Lance wonders how these two brother’s could be so different in personality.

Lance finds Allura in the back room where the freezers are and where extra flowers are kept. He finds her moving some tulips into a freezer and closing it shut with a huff before finally noticing him. She gives him a smile and he flashes her one of his own in greeting.

“Customer?” She questions, a delicate eyebrow raised and starts trimming thorns off some roses.

“Eeup,” Lance says, popping the ‘p’ and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Someone I know too.”

“Someone you know? This I got to hear,” she says, a curious glint in her eyes.

“Yeah…well, he’s my roommate’s brother, also my landlord,” he says, recalling the time he found out, which was probably a week ago.

Allura nods for him to continue, her eyebrows scrunched in concentration as she works.

“You know who he reminds of?”

“Who?”

“The Winter Soldier,” he says and she snorts a laugh. “He even has a prosthetic arm and all.”

Allura is nodding and laughing now, her white hair bobbing along as she laughs. “I would like to meet him.”

“Sure, I mean you guys would make a great coup- I mean make great friends,” he laughs sheepishly as she gives him a questioning glare.

“Are you setting me up?” She seethes.

“Whaaa? Noooooo, I would never,” he laughs nervously and looks away, guilty. “Buuuuuut, if you are interested then his name is Shiro.”

Lance doesn’t know what happened, but the next thing he knew was that Allura had nearly cut off all the rose heads with her very sharp scissors.

“SHIRO?!” She says almost hysterical and Lance had to take three steps back. “T-Ta-Ta-Takashi Shirogane?”

“You…seem to know him,” he says, uneasy and fearing for his life.

“My apologies, Lance. I got over excited,” she says sheepishly and it was the most adorable thing Lance has ever seen, next to Keith’s sleeping face…not that he’ll admit it to Keith though.

“Well, he’s looking for some juniberries. So, go get em’ Allura!” He cheers and she shushes him.

“Ju-juniberries huh…” she’s smiling now and Lance could tell when a girl is in love. “How-how do I look?”

“Like a princess,” he winks and she smiles before walking out the back room. “Oh, Allura!” He calls and she pauses. “Enjoy your beef,“ he says and starts laughing hysterically as Allura mutters something about cutting his pay.

The most hysterical thing happened when Lance returned home that day. It started when he came through their front door, his shoes soaked through from the rain and his hair swept to the side. He spots Keith coming out from the hallway that leads to their rooms and he greets him. Keith pauses and stares at him, blinks and stalks over to the kitchen.

“You’re soaking wet,” he mutters under his breath and Lance laughs.

“No umbrella,” he says, wondering why Keith wouldn’t look him in the eye. “Besides, I like the rain.”

“Huh…” he hums and stalks back into the living room with a two glasses of water, the warm one for Lance.

“You do care,” Lance says with a grin while Keith mutters a ‘whatever’ and walks over to his couch, taking a gulp of water as he went.

“Oh yeah, guess what I found out today?” He asks as he takes off his shoes and catches the towel Keith throws at him.

“What?” He questions, looking at Lance through the rim of the glass cup.

“Apparently, my boss has the hots for your brother,” was the key sentence to making Keith choke on water.

Lance panics. “Oh my god, Keith! Dude! Like drink slower! Shit, what should I do? The heimlich? Hold on buddy, I’ll save you!” he says and tries attempting the heimlich maneuver on Keith as the raven head tries his very best to push him away.

A/N: Chapter three up… ^_^

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #lance macclain #keith kogane #takashi shirogane #allura #coran #pidge gunderson #hunk garrett #stuck with you #swy #klance #shallura #my writing

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Manhattan.

Authors Note: Au where Harry is a Frat Boy. I don’t know where this is going. It was hard to write though.

Harry Masterlist found HERE Other Chapters found HERE

I was never the character to continuously go to parties, get drunk, or even go out every Friday night.

I regularly prefer to stay in on Friday nights, revising for the tests or doing the homework that I’m drowning in.

I perpetually overhear the stories that go around every Monday morning, after some sort of party that sparked everyone’s interests.

I continually hear the late night giggles and drunken stumbles in the hallways’ of my dorm. Every Saturday morning, around two, I hear the laughs of tipsy and intoxicated classmates’ that never seizes to disturbs me from my sleep or my studying.

I overhear the front door to the suit open, an indication one of my three suit mates are subsequently back from class, or shagging up with their boyfriends’ or their boyfriends’ friends.

To say the least, my suitemates are of some character, character that is different to my own. I always listen in on some of the scandalous stories that go on within the suit— they can be great friends’, but they don’t always make the best of decisions.

I narrow my eyes back to the book in my hand that is required to be read for English class, despite its terrible storyline and the fact it is borderline monotonous. For a moment, I am distracted when my suitemate enters the bedroom, a smile painted across her face. “What are you doing tonight?” She beams over to me, directing my attention away from the torturous book in my hand.

“I have a date with Bio, why?” I glance over at her, noticing how she is already rummaging through her clothes, perhaps trying to find something to wear for the evening.

“Come out with me, there is a party.”

“I need to do Bio, I’ll pass.” I shake my head, just as she flings a glittery black dress into my lap. I lift it off my lap and drop it to the bed.

“Bio will be there in the morning, get up. you need to have some fun.”

“I need good grades, actually.” I correct her, her posture straightening as she turns to glance at me.

“Get your ass up, put on a dress and heels, do something with your hair, and put the damn book down.” She narrows her eyes on the book still in my hand, “One night, that is it. I promise you won’t regret it.” She presses, determined to not allow me to pass on the opportunity to go out with her and probably get drunk and have guys hit on the two of us.

With a heavy sigh, I push myself off the bed, my fingers clasping the glittery dress, “Fine, but I want your psych notes, and I want those heels.” I gesture towards a pair of crimson red heels. She raises a brow, seeming surprised by my choice of colour.

“I said get dressed, not to look hot. I am surprised.” She gasps teasingly, my eyes rolling at her,

“I do know how to dress, surprisingly. Now, hand over the psych notes.” I smile, already beginning to undress and pull the dress over my body, adjusting it to fall perfectly.

“Damn, you brush up nicely without a book in your hand.” She chuckles, handing me her heels that I have requested for the night. I grin, giving her a shrug as I run my hands through my hair, debating whether I need to do anything to it.

I mutter under my breath my regret as I step into the rowdy house, parties are not really my thing—neither are Frat parties. I sigh, allowing my roommate to drag me into the house of swaying bodies and raucous noise, music echoing against the walls, laughter and chatter boisterously buzzing.

It takes me a while to settle into the atmosphere of overly enthusiastic and somewhat intoxicated figures, my hand already clasping a red solo cup with some sort of fruity drink poured into it. I hurried away from the vodka shots and settled on whatever it is that was poured into my cup. I assume it is a mix of fruits and vodka, but there is really no telling, the bartender seemed half intoxicated himself.

I glance over as a loud eruption of laughter takes my attention, a group of boys’ gathered around a pingpong table, shouting at each other, pushing and shoving as two of them go head to head in the battle of beer pong. I can’t help but chuckle at the pathetic attempt of the blonde in a pair of light dawn-tinted shorts and a white polo hung around his figure. There is no doubt in my mind that he is already at his limits end with alcohol, and his friends’ are just savouring his embarrassment with beer pong.

I wander closer to the table, considerately amused by the whole group; they appear to be having a lot more fun than the sweaty, dancing bodies in the other room, and they’re the only group of boys that aren’t trying to mount their dick onto anything that breathes and resembles the slightest bit of a female.

“Ah, we have a new spectator.” A guy gestures towards me, forcing all the attention to be focused on me, I shrug and take a sip of my beverage, “Guess you didn’t see the sign?” He comments,

“Which one?” I raise a brow, unsure of what he is referring to.

His mates grow quiet and his mouth begins to move, “This is not a game for chicks.” His sexist comment automatically causes me to roll my eyes.

Entitled, sexist fratboy— clearly a non-intelligent twat.

“Oh, really? I thought the sign said to drop my balls at the door because you seem to have lost yours. You scared a girl will beat you?” I respond, unsure of where he gets off pointing me out for watching, as a female.

“No girls.” He adamantly states, gesturing around to the men standing around him.

“Oi, I’d quite like to see her stay. Unless, of course, she is right and you really have no balls.” A voice pipes up.

I follow the voice, my eyes resting on a boy— I’d say he is around six feet tall, clothed in a Ralph Lauren, white button down shirt, one that hugs his body in a rather lovely manner, accompanied by a pair of dark wash, black jeans.

He raises his red cup to his lips, his sleeve sliding down his arm, imperceptibly revealing a detailed looking watch.

He stands out a little from his Fratboy fellows. He isn’t wearing pastel colours or wearing a baseball cap backwards, he isn’t being too boisterous, and he is not being like the ringleader— a complete bro-y misogynist twat.

“Are you offering to pledge for her?” The instigator glares over towards the unknown man, “Because, we know how that went down last time, Styles.” The jackass grins, an inside joke seeming to be made as the other men snicker, holding up the solo cups in unison.

Styles rolls his eyes, flicking the demagogue the bird, “your ex-girlfriend definitely went down, last time,” Styles remarks, “Remember that one time—” He begins but is instantly cut off,

“Fine, she can stay.” The dick of a frat boy mutters, glaring over towards me with sombre, defeated eyes. I return the favour with a grin, amused by his downfall. “Not like she’d last long, she’s a newbie, but yeah, she can stay.” He shrugs, trying to play it nonchalantly, resembling a tool more than anything. I roll my eyes, holding back my tongue, deciding to keep calm.

I stray away from the beer pong fanatics, finding myself roaming the frat party, trying to find a familiar face, but only finding drunks and eager party goers.

How everyone appreciates this every weekend, I do not know.

I don’t find anything interesting about sweaty bodies, grinding, and alcohol.

The amount of times I have seen a couple make out is disgustingly high.

There is a thing —it is called getting a room— but apparently, nobody knows what that is. They much prefer to parade their drunken antics in front of everyone.

I shake away my thoughts, placing down my drink and searching the extensive house for my roommate. I have no idea where she got herself off too, but I am about to head out, and me being the responsible person I am, I am going to make sure she is okay.

I eventually find her sitting on a leather couch, a guy with his arm slung around her. I mentally roll my eyes before I inform her of my decision to leave. She tries to protest but she stops when I continue to shake my head, having no inclination to stay in a place I have no desire to be in.

I step down the stone steps, leading to a cobbled pathway, feeling the cold chill of the late night breeze brushing past me, tangling itself within my hair.

“Wait.” A familiar voice grasps my attention and I turn on my heel, abruptly being face to face with the frat boy that permitted me to watch the game of beer pong. “Ye’ leaving already?” He questions and I nod,

“I have better things to do than to sit in a house and have prying hands on me,” I respond, making it known I do not like the scene of what is going on. I take notice as his eyes eclipse a darker shade of Emerald, his lips curving into a firm line. “Is there something you needed? I have studying to do.” I distract him from his gaze and unworded thoughts.

“You should stay,” He presses, almost causing me to stifle a laugh at his ludicrous comment.

I shake my head, “Again, prying hands is not my forte.”

“Nobody will touch you.” He assures me with a bit of a sonorous voice, something about him intriguing me for the moment.

“Oh, really?” I cross my arms with a raised brow, observing the smirk becoming painted across his face.

“Really.” He nods,

“I have studying to do.” I shake my head, “And, I don’t know you— for all I know— you could drag me back inside and pull me into the lair of your jackass, frat boy, simpleton.” I respond, observing as he chuckles, finally giving me a slight smile, a smile that I can not disregard.

It is very charming.

“I am about ninety-nine percent positive there is not a lair inside. As for the simpleton, he won’t bother you, he currently has his tongue shoved down some girls’ throat, he will be occupied for at least ten minutes.” He responds, seeming amused by my way of words and naming his friend a complete moron.

For a moment, I contemplate whether or not to take up the offer of the charming boy in front of me. Surely, if he wanted to pull some sort of dickish move on me, he would have already. Despite his charming smile and his rather succulent gaping lips, I shake my head.

“I really need to study,” I respond politely,

“Well, can I at least walk you back to your apartment?” He kindly offers, noticing how there are a few other people stumbling their way out of the house.

I wrap my arms around me, the cool air being a little too chilly for my liking, “Uh, you don’t have too.” I respond, taking note of how he seems to subtly sigh with a little disappointment from my words… “But, I mean.. It would be appreciated.” I hastily add, figuring it would not be such a bad thing to be accompanied back to my suit, after all, there is no telling just who is lurking around here.

“Lead the way.” He smiles and I do exactly that, I lead the way back to campus, keeping conversation with the boy that is still nameless. All that I have managed to gather from him is that he is a gentleman, but, I will not be fooled. Frat boys start off as gentlemen to mislead you, then when they have you wrapped around their finger, they turn into arrogant pricks that think the world revolves around them.

I know his type, I know how it works.

“You have an accent, where are you from? If you don’t mind me asking.” I softly ask as we walk across campus, the frigid temperatures of the fall setting in early as I shiver slightly, trying not to make it known.

“I am from a small town. Cheshire, England… It is a county in north-west England, very rural.” He apprises me.

Ah-huh. There is the accent. A British boy, nice.

I would never have guessed he was from a dainty little town in England, a rural one at that. But, I can’t deny the fact that I do, in fact, find it rather charming.

“What about you?” He questions. For a moment, I contemplate whether to tell him the truth or to lie. I hate having to answer the question on where I am from. It is not for any reason such as disgust or shame, it is more because of judgement. 

“I’m from here, New York,” I respond, knowing already what will come out of his mouth next. It always happens.

“Oh, nice. Which part?” The familiar interrogation I am always challenged, usually followed with a wide-eyed expression when I respond. “I would offer you my jacket, but I don’t have one.” He appends, appearing to take note of my cold shivers, the damn New York air making me look like a fool.

“It is okay.” I assure him with a small smile, “And, you know. Around here.” I shrug, being vague with my answer on the specific part of where I am from. 

“Mysterious, I see.” He chuckles, “You do realise, ’around here’ is very vague.” He continues, seeming interested in what I have to say, 

“Mhm, means you will have a struggle finding me away from campus.” I joke, somewhat. 

I notice him stifle a laugh as we arrive at my suit building, my hand reaching for my card to allow me to access the building. “Well, this is my building,” I gesture towards the large glass doors.

He nods, glancing around the area of campus, “Hm, well. Your escort has done his duty, I guess I will see you around?” He challenges, catching me off guard with his low voice and his enchantment. 

Damn that British Bewitchery. 

I nod and he gives me a sweet smile before he turns and steps down the few steps, “Wait,” I call, grasping his attention. 

He turns around, waiting for me to speak. 

“You never told me your name,” I comment, noticing how he is still a nameless man to me, just as I am nameless to him. 

He grins, his eyes glowing in the dim light illuminating from my building. “That makes two of us with mystery, don’t it?” He cheekily remarks, causing me to cock my head imperceptibly to the side, my eyes narrowing down on him. 

“Perhaps,” I recognise his point, 

“I’ll trade you?” He proposes, “My name for where you are from.”

“Okay,” I concede, “But, you promise not to judge me?” I softly claim, feeling insignificantly vulnerable to the judgement that may be passed upon me. 

Why? I do not know. I shouldn’t care what he thinks, he is just another frat boy.

“Judgment free zone.” He assures me, that radiating smile still beaming widely.

“Manhattan… The Upper East side.” I mumble quickly, trying my best to answer the question without coherently whispering the ‘The Upper East Side.’ part. 

He nods, “It is a lovely side of Manhattan.” He continues, 

“Why did you not ask my name?” I curiously inquire. I would have only thought he would be more inquisitive about my name rather than the mystery of where I am from. 

He smiles softly, leaving me in a bit of suspense as he takes his time coming up with a result. 

“It keeps the mystery.” He finally acknowledges, striking me by surprise. 

Huh, so the British boy likes mystery. Interesting. 

“You still have not told me your name.” I remind him as he turns around to continue walking. He glimpses over his shoulder, his eyes reflecting a wonderful hue in the moonlight. 

He simply answers with that sweet smile of his, “Harry.”

#harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #one direction imagines #harry styles prompts #one direction prompts #harry styles blurbs #one direction blurbs #one direction preferences #harry styles fluff #harry styles preferences #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #one direction fanfic #one direction fanfiction #one direction blurb #one direction preference #harry styles prompt #one direction writing #harry styles writing #Harry styles au #Harry Styles Fan Fiction #frat boy harry

[aurorlongbottomridingadinosaur]

Graviora Manent / Closed

Part 1 April 4, 1979

Most mornings, his day started out like all the others used to. Willingly shuffling himself out of bed, his palm would rub uneven tracks into blurry eyes as he stumbled his way into the shower. His hair would dry and fall perfectly into place as he read the Daily Prophet over a cherry wood table; the strongest coffee he could handle while still enjoying it would wake him just a little bit more than the scalding water. And in the hours before he headed into work each day, Frank read, and he drank his coffee, and he shuffled his cards, and he watched the sun rise through sheer, pristine white curtains as if he were trying to consume as much of it as he could into his memory, as if it would be the last sunrise he would ever see, though it never stayed with him as easily as his eyes promised it might.

But on one bitterly cold early-April morning, though his palms still rubbed at his eyes as he shuffled out of bed at the normal half past four, the energy it took to keep the routine was, for a lack of a better word, completely gone. The Daily Prophet lay rolled in place on top of a cherry wood table. The dark shadow of two unusual days without shaving itched the skin beneath his jaw, his coffee mug sat empty beside his packaged deck of cards in the kitchen, and as Frank took a seat on a wicker, weathered chair just outside the double doors that led to the high porch of the flat, he wrapped the long, woolen coat tightly around him in protection from the frigid air. More so, from what he knew was ahead of him that day.

It took all the concentration he had to apparate to Calcot, for the morning, void of the beautifully coloured sunrise, couldn’t have been a brighter shade of monotonous grey.

As usual, the house was far too warm for his liking. Always too warm. The sound of his shoes moving swiftly across textured tile was always too high pitched. The grandfather clock that stood towering over the rest of the sparsely decorated foyer ticked all too loudly. The dark shades that Frank had fought to keep open relentlessly through his childhood were closed. He could already smell the coffee brewing, as usual.

As usual, Frank’s father sat in his place at the head of the long cherry table, the Daily Prophet in one hand, his coffee in the other. Quietly, out of habit, and involuntarily, Frank grinned, knowing that on any normal morning he would be sitting at cherry with the Daily Prophet in one hand and his coffee in the other. He had always wanted to be like his father. The only outward difference these days was Frank’s lack of salt and peppered hair, and his lack of the thin reading glasses that adorned the bridge of his Charles Longbottom’s nose.

And as usual, Frank would have given nothing more than to stop into the dining room, plopping himself to his father’s right instead of treading past the room without looking backward like he so wanted to.

__________________________________________________________________

He hadn’t been in their bedroom since he was eleven.

The smell of his mother’s perfume hit his nose more potently than it ever might have had the lights been turned on, and Frank grew more nervous than he already had been. But the steps toward her bed he knew by memory even in the dark, and that, at least, was oddly comforting.

“Mum?” he asked in a whisper, reaching her bedside and shaking her lightly on the shoulder, “Mum.”

“Yes,” she drawled. “What is it, Charles?”

“It’s me.”

Frank counted to three before Augusta’s eyes flew open. “Frank. What are you doing here?” she asked harshly enough to send a sting along Frank’s spine, though he knew she meant to ask what he was doing in her room. “I’m in my nightgown, go and–”

“It’s a nightgown,” Frank interrupted with a sigh, pulling the string of the lamp beside her bed in order to throw the room into dim yellow lighting. He took a seat at the foot of her bed, automatically pulling his legs to his knees and waiting for her to speak just as he had done as a child when he was sick. Augusta was already sitting, eyes open albeit ridden with sleep, hands pressing at disheveled hair.

“Do you have any idea what time it is? What’s wrong?”

“Almost five. I need to talk to you.”

Augusta stared at her son for a moment, and from the apparent look on Frank’s face, a moment was all she needed. That, at least, should have told him something; calmed his nerves enough to stop his fingers from fidgeting with the hem of his trousers. Frank, in all his stubbornness, missed it.

“I’m listening.”

“Why didn’t you owl me?” he blurted without thinking. That wasn’t at all what he came to talk about, but now that he had said it out loud, he couldn’t stop.  “I know you read that newspaper. I know you talked to Dad about it.”

“You didn’t want me to, Frank.”

He had no words. She was absolutely right.

Exactly one week previously, a motion of no confidence was tabled against the muggle Prime Minister’s regime, effectively placing the general election he and Alice had worked so hard to prevent onto the table, and Frank into total and complete chaos. The motion had passed by one vote. The dissolution of parliament was coming whether he liked it or not, along with it six hundred and thirty five seats that could be occupied by anyone: anyone, muggle, Death Eater, and imperiused alike.

He could barely stand his own thoughts on the subject, let alone hers. 

“Are you afraid?”

Yes.

“No, mum, but since when does that stop you from doing something I don’t want you to do?” he asked, voice rising as he caught his bearings.

“Do not get upset with me here. You wanted to speak with me, you’re going to keep yourself calm and speak to me how I deserve to be spoken to.”

Frank sighed and nodded, legs falling to either side of him as his back straightened. Again, he blurted words that shocked him. This wasn’t at all the conversation he meant to have.

“You only care about me because I’ve made the decisions you wanted me to make,” he stated matter-of-factly, realizing immediately how childish he sounded, “you don’t care what’s going on, you care that I’m in the middle of taking care of it.”

“If that is your perception.”

“But you don’t care that I feel that way?”

“You haven’t decided the way I might have on every decision I’ve ever wanted you to make, not by a hair. Don’t be dramatic. I’ll ask you again. Are you afraid?”

“No,” he repeated lightly, head falling toward his hands for only a moment before his fingers met his eyes.

“Then how can you possibly say I wouldn’t care? Of course I would know you weren’t afraid.”

But he was. He was petrified. He was the twenty-three and sitting on his mother’s bed type of petrified.

She should have known.

“You told me what you wanted many years ago,” Augusta carried on without his input, “I did support you in your decision. I encouraged you to pursue your chosen career. I pressed you in school to make sure you would carry it out; do not tell me I have to check on your every move once you have done so.”

That, childishly, stung worse.

“I didn’t need to be pressed,” he practically whined, eyebrows furrowing as his hands left his face to fall to his thighs with a slap.

“I will never sugar coat my thoughts to make you feel better. That is who I am. That doesn’t mean at all that I don’t love you, Charles Frank. That does not mean I don’t respect you. Now, either you can carry this on as you have, again, for years, until--”

“If I’ve carried it on for years--”

“Do not interrupt me. Either you carry this on and you never speak to me again or you start taking a taste of your own medicine and give me the margin to be myself, too. As well, you can stop accusing me of not caring for my own son.”

As quickly as everything else had began and stopped again, his heart ached.

So suddenly, his heart ached for Alice. As much as he wanted his mother to care as she should have far before he turned twenty-three, she didn’t. As much as he wanted her to understand, she wasn’t going to. As much as he wanted her to be in this with him, she wasn’t, and he was doing the very same to Alice. He had pushed her to be what he wanted her to be rather than accepting her for who she was. He wasn’t meeting her in the middle. He wasn’t considering a middle.

Maybe he shouldn’t. But this girl, no matter how much of a whirlwind she was, loved him. He was going to take everything away from her. He appreciated her when she was Auror Trainee Prewett. Girlfriend, mother, wife. Dinner. Tea. Eleven months. This wasn’t what it was supposed to be like.

His head was pounding.

“Am I more like you than I think I am?” Frank asked with grit teeth, hoping it didn’t sound as harsh as he wished he didn’t have to mean it.

“Oh, no, you’re nothing like me,” she said, a small smile painting the corners of her lips as she leaned forward and straightened the collar of Frank’s coat, “But you are, however unintentionally, a very extreme double standard.”

“Alice Prewett wants to marry me,” he blurted again. The five-year-old in him wasn’t ending today. The urge to tell her everything wasn’t ending today. But it wasn’t working, either. 

If Augusta was at all shocked, she didn’t show it.

“Well, that’s nice.”

“That’s nice. What do you mean, that’s nice?”

“Am I to consider this an invitation?”

“I can’t do that.”

“Well, why not?” Augusta sneered, “What a respectable girl; respectable family, yes. You have been seeing her all this time, after all, without bringing her to dinner, without caring that I might be interested in something about your life other than what you want me to be interested in, Frank.”

Frank’s lips fell open, and then his voice fell to a whisper.

“I can’t do that.”

“What a perfectly reasonable decision."

“Stop it!” he finally shouted, moving quickly to hover the bedside instead of standing his ground where he sat. Childish, yes. But when enough was enough, it was enough. “Stop it. You know I can’t do that. You know I can’t-- marry someone who wants-- you know I can’t.”

Frank started pacing. He knew his father would be standing outside of the door by then, and somehow, the thought threatened to drown him.

“It’s not even been a year. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. She wasn’t supposed to be my partner, she wasn’t supposed to be a trainee, I’m her mentor, she wants children, she wasn’t supposed to say that, we were supposed to enjoy th-- shit. And I can’t--”

“Of course you can’t,” Augusta shrugged, eyelashes fluttering with extreme rapidity as her hands raised, “I don’t know why you are worried about this when you have so much more to think about.”

Frank paced faster.

“A war in front of you and you worry for your mother’s coddle and a girl you quite apparently don’t care much for.”

“I LOVE HER, I don’t need you, I want you.” Frank spun to face his mother, so shocked by his own words that his throat closed of its own accord. 

Augusta’s hands linked together above the bed sheets.

“This is not the son I raised.”

Frank ignored his throat.

“Why don’t you tell me who that is then, mum, because I don’t know that I know anymore.”

“You do know,” came another voice, a stronger, more solid voice in Frank’s mind, though infinitely more kind. His eyes refused to divert to the door frame where he could feel his father watching him. Frank knew he had come to Augusta rather than Charles because Charles would have talked him into this. He was already well on his way with three words.

“You do know who you are.”

What Frank had left of his fingernails dug into his palms.

“It’s okay,” Charles pressed.

“It isn’t,” Frank answered, irises still locked to his mother’s, though he could see his father’s sigh from the corner. 

Augusta hesitated for a moment, staring at her son with a wide gaze, as if she had never seen him before. Frank felt nothing more than ashamed. Her cocked brow let him know that she was confident in her own last words, and Frank stood frozen in wait, breath held, needing the understanding. In accordance with all odds, Augusta shook her head no, only once. And Frank, though he wasn’t even ten percent sure that he had at all gotten what he came for, swept himself from the room.

#drabble #wik drabble #charles* #augusta*