#it hurts my soul but i have accepted the fact math and i are not friends | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lackyghost · 1 year

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Soulmates are a simple fact of life.

Everyone has a soulmate—some even have more than one.

A soulmate is someone who perfectly completes the life of another.

Oftentimes as lovers, but many simply complete each other in friendship.

No one knows how the soul connections are formed. It’s a universal unknown that no science has ever been able to make sense of. It just happens, and people have accepted it for centuries.

The connection is usually made near adulthood, but occasionally bonds are formed earlier, in a person’s early teen years. Any younger than that is so rare that no one ever expects it, as it means one of the pair has gone through something incredibly traumatic, or, in some cases, has died before the two could meet.

—

Bakugou Katsuki is only eleven when he feels his soul bond come to life. He’s in the middle of class, focusing on the math lesson, when he’s hit with an intense feeling that courses through his entire being, inside and out.

He falls from his desk, his entire body tingling, and he pants heavily as he clutches his chest. The bond overwhelms his senses, burning his heart and soul with a heat that is both pleasant and painful in a way he can feel is wrong.

His teacher rushes over to help him, panic lacing her features. “Katsuki! What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Katsuki looks up at her and she gasps and nearly falls over herself. His classmates gather around him then, and their jaws all drop. The soul bonding process is unmistakable, and no one can miss the way that Katsuki’s scarlet irises glow as the connection solidifies itself.

“I’m going to call your parents,” his teacher says.

Katsuki nods weakly, unable to move. He’s not sure what it is, but the burning feeling is like some sort of secondhand ache in his core.

“Kacchan,” his long-time friend and rival, Midoriya Izuku says as he makes his way over. “It’s… it’s your soul bond.”

“No shit, Deku,” Katsuki snaps weakly. He levels the green-haired boy with a glare, but the expression falters when he sees the sadness in the boy’s wide green eyes. “The hell’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing!” Midoriya says, waving his hands frantically, freckled face flushing a deep red. “I just wanted to see how I could help! I thought you might be hurt at first, but you’re fine. I could help you get your stuff together before your parents get here. I could probably bring you to the nurses office or—”

“Oh my God, shut up,” Katsuki snaps. The soul bonding is calming down slightly, and he pushes himself up to his feet to lean heavily against his desk. “Stop your fucking muttering, nerd.”

“Your father will be here in a few minutes,” the teacher says from the front of the room. “You can gather your things and wait for him by the front doors. You’ll be exhausted for a couple of days while the bond solidifies.”

—

His parents are both anxious and excited when they find out Katsuki’s bond formed so early.

His mother, Mitsuki, tells him that over centuries of recorded soul bonds, there are less than a thousand known cases across the planet where bonds were formed before fourteen.

Katsuki is pleased by that fact, as he has always strived to be the best in everything he does, so knowing his name will be added to such a short list does wonders for his already somewhat inflated ego.

His father, Masaru, is more reserved though, knowing that there’s a possibility the early formation means Katsuki’s soulmate may have passed on. He explains that gently to Katsuki, who brushes him off, refusing to even consider the possibility.

He stays home for three days while his soul bond burns throughout his body in waves. It ripples across his back and shoulders, along his throat and lower face, and he even finds himself crying when the areas under his eyes burn unexpectedly.

During this process, some people receive a soul mark, something like a tattoo that perfectly matches in design and location to their soul mate. Not everyone obtains (or finds) their mark, and Katsuki honestly isn’t sure whether he really wants to have one or not, but he looks.

He has his mother comb through his wild, ash-blonde hair for hidden marks, but nothing is there. He looks his body over multiple times while in the shower, but never finds anything.

He asks his father to check his back for marks that he might’ve missed in the mirror, but it seems that there’s simply nothing visibly different. He tries not to waste too much time on it.

—

When Katsuki goes back to school, the kids are strange around him. Many ask questions that he doesn’t know how to answer, so he just tells them all to fuck off and do a web search if they’re so insistent on getting some fucking answers.

Midoriya, however, is all too eager to answer the questions around him.

“So, have you written messages on your skin yet?” One of his classmates asks. “That just seems so cool! It’s what I’m most excited about!”

Katsuki is about to answer when Midoriya pipes up from his seat. “Actually, soul bonds aren’t always formed at the same time between two people!” The nerd seems weirdly cheerful about that fact. “There can be up to ten years between the bond marking two souls!”

Their nosy classmate gasps. “What!? That’s so cool! Man, Katsuki, I wonder if your soulmate will be someone you already know?”

Katsuki snorts. “I fuckin’ doubt it. I don’t wanna be stuck anywhere near any of you losers.”

“That’s not very nice, Kacchan,” Midoriya says, frowning.

Katsuki sucks in a breath to start yelling at him, but their homeroom teacher walks in and announces that class is starting. Katsuki huffs angrily and turns his gaze back to the front of the class. He struggles to focus on the lesson while he turns over Midoriya’s words, though.

If his soulmate hasn’t gone through their own bonding yet, that could explain why Katsuki hasn’t found a soul mark on his body.

—

Katsuki is eighteen when he’s cornered on his way home from school. A grown ass man shoves him against the alley wall and Katsuki’s useless followers scatter like the goddamned cockroaches they truly are.

“Get the fuck offa me!” Katsuki roars, shoving back against the man.

“Oh, but I like you,” the man says, giving Katsuki a disturbing grin. “You’ve got spunk, kid.”

Katsuki tries to shove the man off, but the asshole has to be nearly 200cm tall, towering over Katsuki’s 172cm frame. He grabs Katsuki’s wrists with one large hand, pinning them above his head.

With his other hand, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a soaking wet rag. He shoves it harshly against Katsuki’s face, smothering his nose and mouth.

“Kacchan!” A scream echoes down the alleyway, but Katsuki rapidly loses consciousness.

—

When Katsuki wakes up, he’s in a hospital bed. He sits up quickly and an intense pain shoots through his body. Nausea overcomes him and he leans over the side of the bed and vomits on the floor.

“Katsuki!” The familiar voice of his mother reaches his ears.

“What the fuck happened?” Katsuki asks as he turns to look at the other side of the room. Both of his parents are sitting in chairs alongside his bed. They’re lucky that he hadn’t vomited on that side of the bed.

“Oh, son,” Masaru says with a sob. “You’re going to be okay. You’ll be okay. I promise.”

“The fuck’re you talking about?” Katsuki demands. Breathing hurts and there’s a pain in his shoulder and abdomen that he’s struggling to ignore.

“Honey, go get the nurse,” Mitsuki says to Masaru.

The man nods before rushing out the door. Katsuki smacks his lips and grimaces. Mitsuki hands him a box of tissues and he gratefully snags a few to wipe his mouth off. It doesn’t help.

“You gonna fuckin’ explain?” Katsuki grumbles.

“A man tried to grab you in an alley,” Mitsuki says, fury in her voice that she’s failing to control. “You’re lucky Izuku happened to see it. He called the police and distracted the man after he knocked you out with a rag soaked in chloroform. Kid, there was so much on that rag, you almost drowned in it. The bastard managed to stab you twice. You were in surgery for hours, and you’ve been unconscious for days.”

Katsuki furrows his brow, he remembers everything up to his nickname being called out by the nerd. He looks down at his body, frowning deeply. He’s in a hospital gown, which makes sense. His left shoulder is wrapped in thick bandages, as are his forearms. His mother is about to say more when the door opens and his father reappears behind a bland looking doctor.

“Ah, Katsuki, so good to see you awake!” the doctor says, stepping closer and giving Katsuki a smile. “You’ll be alright, young man. We’re monitoring your vitals very closely. You are fortunate that your friend got to you as quickly as he did.”

“Deku’s not my fucking friend,” Katsuki grumbles.

“Katsuki!” His mother hisses. “He saved your life!”

“She’s right, young man,” the doctor says. “Now, your injuries are severe, as you were stabbed twice, but we managed to patch everything up. Your arms are really scraped up, but nothing is broken. The nurses put a thick layer of ointment on your arms as it’s simply cleaner and easier to wrap over that. You’ll have some pain for a while, we’ll get you something to help with that.”

“When can I go home?” Katsuki asks, scratching absently at his covered arms. It feels like something is under the bandages, and the itchy feeling is growing rapidly.

“Soon, don’t worry,” the doctor says. “We’ll monitor you for a few hours now that you’ve woken up, but I see no problem with you going home tonight after we run a few more tests. You can come back in or see your primary doctor in a week to get the stitches removed.”

“Stop scratching, brat,” Mitsuki scolds, grabbing Katsuki’s wrists.

“They fucking itch,” Katsuki snaps.

“Oh, you can remove those,” the doctor says. “The itchiness is probably from the ointment drying the bandages to your skin. Do you need help removing them?”

Katsuki scoffs. “Fuck no.”

He tunes out the doctor as he starts unravelling the bandages on his left arm. He furrows his brow when he spots something black under them. When he realizes what’s there, his jaw drops and he freezes mid-movement as he stares at the writing on his skin.

He faintly hears his mother gasp, and he doesn’t even struggle against her as she quickly unwraps his arm the rest of the way. Someone else is unwrapping his other arm—the doctor or his father, he doesn’t know and doesn’t care.

Are you okay?

Please be okay!

Fuck, come on, write back! I need to know that you’re okay!

Katsuki slowly turns his arms as he reads the messy scrawl. It’s Japanese, and Katsuki’s heart leaps at the idea of his bonded half being in the same country. He knows that some people have to learn whole new languages just to understand their soulmate.

Katsuki slowly turns to look at his right arm. The words there are messier, his soulmate is clearly right-handed, and the singular phrase is surrounded in arrows pointing down.

Write on this arm!

Writings on skin show up not only on one’s own skin, but also on their soulmate, in the same spot. Ink on skin fades over the bond after a few hours, so his soulmate has to have been re-writing the messages regularly in their desperation for a response in order for them to still be this dark.

“Pen,” Katsuki croaks out.

“Of course!” Mitsuki says as she violently rifles through her purse.

After a moment, she pulls out a black pen and thrusts it into Katsuki’s hand. Katsuki is, fortunately, left-handed, so it’s easy for his response to go on the arm his soulmate asked him to use.

I’m okay.

Katsuki doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until new ink starts blooming on his arm under his response. He lets out a shuddered breath as messy scrawl written by a non-dominant hand appears on his milky pale skin with each pen stroke from his other half.

Thank fuck! I’m so glad you’re okay! I’m Touya.

Katsuki grins down at his arm and waits a moment to ensure Touya is done writing before he gives his response.

Katsuki.

“Alright, brat,” Mitsuki says softly. “You have the rest of your lives to write to each other. For now, you need to take a shower. I just sent your dad out for food that isn’t the garbage served in the cafeteria downstairs. I’ve got a bag here with clean clothes for you.”

“Fine, hag,” Katsuki says, but there’s no heat in his words; he’s still in shock over the marks on his arms and unable to even attempt to be anything but amazed.

—

When Katsuki goes back to school nearly three weeks after his attack, he ignores pretty much every single one of his classmates. They pester him with questions, but he screams at them until they back off.

Final exams are only a month away and he needs to focus on studying and completing his college applications.

Fortunately, Katsuki uses the few days home from the hospital to catch up on his missed homework, so he’s still confident in his ability to stay at the top of his class through the exams.

Still, never the slacker, Katsuki takes detailed notes and barely wastes his time sending threatening glares at the students who left him alone with that asshole who’d attacked him. They avoid him, smartest decision any of them ever made, clearly.

Outside of schoolwork, the only other thing he really does is write back and forth with Touya. He learns that the other man is older, having turned 25 back in January, his favorite color is purple, and he likes all kinds of animals.

His soul bond had formed when he’d nearly died in a house fire caused by his father falling asleep while smoking. Which explains why Katsuki’s bond formation had hurt so much.

Touya hadn’t even realized his bond had formed until he’d felt the dread through their connection after Katsuki’s attack. In turn, Katsuki hadn’t ever tried to write first because he hadn’t felt the bond change and assumed his other half hadn’t formed their bond yet.

They have yet to try to meet in person and still only know each other’s given names, both anxious for their own reasons.

—

Being late winter still, it’s cold outside, and Katsuki always tends to run cold. So, he keeps his uniform jacket on at all times and bundles up in his black winter coat on the walk home, which becomes the worst part of his days because of one persistently obnoxious green-haired boy.

“Will you stop fucking following me, Deku!?” Katsuki barks over his shoulder.

“Wha—I’m not following you, Kacchan!” Midoriya squeaks. “Our houses are on the same street!”

“Walk on the other side of the fucking road, then!” Katsuki growls out.

“But—” Midoriya starts, and Katsuki rounds on the other boy.

“I don’t need you to fucking protect me,” Katsuki says, voice low and gruff as he stomps up to Midoriya.

The other boy gasps suddenly and leans closer to Katsuki’s face, his green eyes going wide while Katsuki’s own flare with anger.

“What the fuck!” Katsuki shouts as he shoves him back, knocking the greenette to his ass.

“Kacchan, your eyes,” Midoriya says quietly. “Your mark… is on your eyes.”

Katsuki blinks. “What?”

“You’ve got black rings around your irises,” Midoriya says. “They weren’t there before.”

Katsuki frowns and turns away from the other boy. “Fuck off.”

“Do… do I have them?” Midoriya asks quietly.

“Do you have what?” Katsuki snaps, spinning back around to glare at the other.

Midoriya’s eyes are wet as he stares up from his spot on the sidewalk. “Do I have black circles around my irises?”

Katsuki scowls. “Why the fuck would you?”

Midoriya’s face flushes a deep crimson. “W-well, y-you haven’t… um… your soulmate…”

“I know who my fucking soulmate is,” Katsuki says angrily.

Midoriya’s eyes widen. “You’ve met them?”

“What? No, but I’ve fuckin’ written to them,” Katsuki growls.

“Oh,” Midoriya says, so quietly Katsuki almost doesn’t hear it.

The nerd swallows thickly and tears pool in his eyes, quickly spilling down his cheeks. Katsuki stares at him, bewildered, but he doesn’t offer to help the boy up as he shakily rises. Midoriya opens his mouth to say something, but the only sound that escapes him is a small sob. Katsuki’s eyes widen and Midoriya abruptly runs past him.

“What the fuck,” Katsuki whispers to no one. He turns and walks home, thankful for the peace and solitude, but mildly concerned about the damn nerd.

Katsuki isn’t an idiot, he understands what just happened.

Midoriya, Deku, the fucking nerd that Katsuki is a friend, rival, and bully to, thought that he was Katsuki’s soulmate. He wanted to be Katsuki’s soulmate.

“What the fuck,” Katsuki mutters again.

—

When Katsuki gets home, he rushes to his bedroom to deposit his bag before heading to the bathroom to look at his eyes.

Midoriya was right.

Katsuki’s soul mark has finally shown up. It has to have been recent, so maybe it’d happened after his first written contact with Touya, though Katsuki can’t be sure.

He considers letting Touya know, but he’s embarrassed that maybe he’d missed the mark for years, and he really doesn’t want the older man thinking he’s an idiot.

—

Katsuki finishes his final exams with flying colors, receiving the top marks in his class and he graduates with honors.

At the graduation ceremony, he’s forced to give a small speech to the rest of his graduating class, and he tries very hard not to swear or belittle anyone during the short time on stage.

He only uses ‘fuck’ twice and doesn’t blatantly specify anyone as being incompetent or stupid, so he considers it a success.

Touya lets him know he’s proud of his accomplishment, and is absolutely ecstatic when Katsuki receives his acceptance letter to UA University and lets the other know he already filled out the paperwork to attend.

Touya lives and works near there apparently, and is thrilled at the development.

They still haven’t discussed meeting up.

—

Katsuki groans and rolls over, nearly falling off his tiny dorm bed. He huffs and sits up, stretching his arms up over his head and cracking his neck.

“Yo! You’re up!” Is yelled across the room.

Katsuki looks up to glare at his dormitory roommate, Takami Keigo. The man is a couple years older than him, having started college later than most. He has dirty blonde hair and copper eyes lined with little triangles on the inner corners. Katsuki had originally thought it was a soulmark, but nope—the moron tattooed the marks on.

He apparently doesn’t have a soulmark, or at least he doesn’t know what it is. But his friend apparently likes tattoos and got him hooked on them. Katsuki’s personal (least) favorite are the wings on his shoulder blades. They’re cliché and the wing style looks like they came from a chicken rather than a cool bird of prey or something.

“The fuck d’you want, Bird Brain?” Katsuki snaps as he rises to his feet. Takami laughs as Katsuki strides to his dresser and pulls it open with more force than necessary.

“Just wondering if you want to go get a coffee?” Takami asks, still far too cheery for having just woken up.

Katsuki contemplates that for a moment. “You paying?”

“Sure!” Takami says. “I know the barista there. He usually gives me half off, so that’s cool with me!”

“Fucking… fine,” Katsuki grumbles. “I’ll be dressed in five.”

Ignoring Takami’s cheering, Katsuki pulls off his pajamas and tugs on a pair of dark wash jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt with a white skull on the chest. He grabs his black sneakers, pulling them on before looking over his shoulder at Takami, who is gaping at him.

“The fuck’re you lookin’ at?” Katsuki growls.

“Dude!” Takami sputters. “You’re stupidly muscular for your age.”

Katsuki cocks a brow as he straightens back up. “No shit. It’s called going to the gym and eating right.”

“But… you’re like… ripped, man,” Takami says, pouting dramatically. “It’s not fair.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes and tucks his phone and fine point Sharpie into his pocket before turning back to his roommate.

“We gettin’ this goddamn coffee or not?” Katsuki snaps as he stuffs his arms into his winter coat. It’s March, still cold outside, and Katsuki hates the cold.

“Fine!” Takami says with a huff as he grabs his bright red leather jacket.

Katsuki rolls his eyes and tugs the door open. He waits for Takami to step out before pulling the door shut and locking it. He’d only moved in a couple days ago and he already knows that his moronic roommate never locks their door, which royally pisses Katsuki off.

Katsuki walks alongside Takami as they leave the dormitory building, letting the man guide the way toward the campus gates. Katsuki turns to the other blonde with a flat look.

“This place is off-campus?” Katsuki asks.

“Don’t worry, it’s only a ten-minute walk,” Takami says cheerfully.

“Better be fuckin’ worth it,” Katsuki grumbles.

Katsuki feels a familiar tingling on his forearm and he pulls his sleeves back just enough to check the message, already knowing what it’s going to say.

Have a good day, Katsuki!

Katsuki pulls out his Sharpie and takes the cap off with his teeth so he can write his own message underneath Touya’s.

You too.

“Aw, you have your soulmate already?” Takami says, sounding thoroughly amused. “You’re so grumpy. I bet your soulmate is all growly and angry and stuff.”

Katsuki yanks his sleeve back down and re-caps his pen before shoving it into his pocket. He glares at Takami, a heavy scowl on his lips.

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” Katsuki says coldly.

“Hm, you’re right,” Takami agrees. “I haven’t gotten my soul bond yet. My parents got their bonds later, in their mid-twenties, so I should get mine really soon.” Katsuki grunts in acknowledgment, not particularly caring. “But I’m pretty sure I already know who my soulmate is.”

Katsuki cocks a brow. “Yeah?”

Takami sighs dreamily. “You’ll meet him at the café. We’ve been together for years.”

“Oh, gross, I don’t wanna meet your fucking boyfriend,” Katsuki says, scowling at the other man.

Takami laughs and stops in front of the café doors. “Too late!”

Takami tugs the door open and walks in, leaving Katsuki to catch it before it can slam shut in his face. Katsuki rolls his eyes as he follows his roommate, looking around the small café.

“Dabi!” Takami belts out happily. “My man! My best bro! My one true love!”

“Hawks!” The barista says cheerfully. Katsuki’s eyes immediately snap over to the man.

He’s a little taller than Katsuki and has spiky snow white hair, broad shoulders, and a clearly strong form absolutely coated in black, purple, and red tattoos. The ink is under his bright turquoise eyes, his lower jaw and lip, down his throat beneath his shirt collar.

On top of the colorful markings, he has silver piercings in his ears, three studs in his left nostril, barbels in both eyebrows, snakebites in his lower lip, and cheek piercings that could possibly be for dimples. Katsuki doesn’t know enough about piercings to be certain about that.

Where the man’s short sleeves end, the ink continues down both arms, all in the same tightly drawn style, almost like a mandala, and the reddish purple in the background seems almost like a henna design. The little name badge on his apron reads ‘Dabi’ with a little fire sticker next to it.

He’s fucking beautiful.

“This is my roommate, Bakugou,” Takami introduces when they reach the counter.

Katsuki nods his greeting and tears his eyes away from the other man to look up at the café menu on the wall behind him. He can sense the other man looking him over and he feels weirdly self-conscious under his eyes.

“So, this is Blasty, huh?” Dabi says with a chuckle.

“The fuck did you call me?” Katsuki snaps, eyes flicking to the man as he narrows his gaze.

Dabi laughs, and the sound twists Katsuki’s heart in a painfully pleasant way that he can’t accurately decipher, which is not good paired with his lack of caffein. Dabi calms down after a moment and grins at the blonde, the look is somewhat manic.

“Man, you’re just like Kei said you were,” Dabi says, sounding delighted at that knowledge.

Katsuki turns to glare at Takami, who shrugs. “It was only fair to warn him.”

“Fuck you, Bird Brain,” Katsuki snaps.

“Bird Brain?” Dabi wheezes, practically doubling over with laughter.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Takami grumbles. “You’ll get a cruel nickname soon, anyway.”

Katsuki narrows his eyes at the two, not liking the feeling that the two boyfriends are making fun of him. He is not awake enough for this bullshit.

“Oi, Patchwork,” Katsuki says, catching the barista’s gaze. “What coffee here isn’t too sweet and has a fuckload of caffeine?”

“Patchwork!?” Dabi yells indignantly, and Keigo grimaces. “You’re such an asshole!”

“You’re covered in fucking tattoos,” Katsuki says flatly, and for some reason, the man calms a little at his reasoning.

“Gimme a caramel macchiato,” Takami says, cutting the two men off.

“Fine,” Dabi says, and then huffs and looks to Katsuki. “You wanna try our spicy coffee?”

“Why the fuck not,” Katsuki says dryly.

Dabi smirks and Katsuki rolls his eyes as the white-haired man starts chatting animatedly with Takami. Katsuki pulls his phone out and scrolls through his messages as he waits for his drink.

“Here you go!” Dabi chirps, holding out a coffee cup to Katsuki.

“Thanks,” Katsuki grumbles as he takes the offered item. He sniffs it tentatively and takes a small sip. A surprised, pleased hum escapes his lips. “Not bad, Patchwork.”

Katsuki looks over to the barista, who is practically glowing with the approval. Katsuki gives him a quick once-over. The man’s white t-shirt hugs his obviously toned body, and it’s thin enough that where the edges of the apron end at the middle of his chest that the faint spots of more dark ink can be made out on his front.

Katsuki’s eyes make it back up to the tattooed man’s face and he cocks a brow when he sees the flush on the man’s cheeks, paired with a mischievous smirk.

“Okay! Time to go!” Takami says, pushing his way between Katsuki and the counter, effectively cutting off Katsuki’s view of the other man.

“Bye, Kei! Bye, Doll!” Dabi says as the two students make their way out of the shop.

“Fuck you!” Katsuki shouts, furious over the nickname, and he can hear Dabi cackling behind him.

Takami shoves him out the front door as he shouts, “See ya, Dabi!” over his shoulder.

“I ain’t gonna steal your man, asshole,” Katsuki snaps as soon as they’re out on the sidewalk again.

Takami blushes a furious cherry red. “Shut up.”

Katsuki takes a long drink of his coffee, it really is very good. “Why’d you get all jumpy back there, anyway? I’m not interested in stealing your goddamned soulmate. I’m not a fucking asshole.”

“I mean, you kinda are,” Takami says, and Katsuki levels him with a glare. “Okay, okay! Maybe you’re not that much of an asshole. You’ve just got an explosive personality.”

“Right, ‘Blasty,’ wasn’t it?” Katsuki sneers.

“Yup!” Takami says with a laugh. His expression soon falls, though, and he takes a sip of his drink. “But I’m pretty sure Dabi is my soulmate. He’s bonded, but he’s never talked about them, so I don’t think he’s written yet.”

“It can take up to ten years for that shit,” Katsuki says, repeating the fact he’s known for nearly a decade himself.

“Damn,” Takami whistles. “How long was it before you wrote to yours?”

“About eight years,” Katsuki says with a shrug, not interested in giving out the more personal information his Touya has shared with him about their bond.

“Wait, what!?” Takami shouts. “You’re only nineteen!”

“Yup, I’ll be twenty on the 20th,” Katsuki says.

“So, you were what, ten, eleven when you bonded?” Takami asks, sounding awed.

Katsuki nods. “Eleven.”

“Dude,” Takami says. “Dude! That’s crazy!” He laughs, sounding a little crazed. “Why haven’t you met your soulmate yet?”

“None of your fucking business,” Katsuki snaps.

Takami holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “I get it, man.”

Katsuki bites his tongue and focuses on drinking the rest of his spicy coffee.

Takami does not get it, but Katsuki isn’t about to explain that bullshit to his goddamn roommate.

—

Katsuki falls into a routine once classes start. Takami goes to the café and brings him back a spicy coffee. He acts like it’s to be nice, but Katsuki knows it’s because Takami didn’t like the way Dabi and Katsuki had interacted in that weird, playful banter.

Katsuki doesn’t really care—he isn’t interested in pursuing someone else’s soulmate, and Takami insists that his tatted up boyfriend is just that.

Besides, Katsuki is happy enough simply writing back and forth with Touya.

They still don’t share super detailed info, but they write about their favorite places to eat around the UA campus, and random things about their days. Sometimes Katsuki gets bored in his easier classes, and he pulls out his pen and doodles on his arm.

Katsuki is majoring in Organic Chemistry and minoring in Art. So, he often draws chemical bonds that he flourishes with flowers. Doodling for Touya isn’t anything new, but his soulmate always seems to appreciate it, and even admits to taking pictures of some of them.

—

Uraraka Ochako plops down next to Katsuki in the cafeteria.

“So, there’s this party on Saturday, and I really think you should go,” the bubbly brunette says, and Katsuki looks up at her with a raised brow.

“The fuck would I wanna do that for?” Katsuki asks.

He isn’t sure why Uraraka started eating lunch with him, but he also doesn’t mind. They’re both staying in the Heights Alliance dormitory and met when there was an impromptu weight-lifting competition in their building’s gym. It quickly became a simple contest between the two of them, and after nearly matching Katsuki’s own limits, Uraraka had gained his respect.

But that doesn’t mean he wants to go to a fucking party with her.

“Oh, come on, you’re in college, live a little!” Uraraka says, giving him a wink.

“Don’t need a fucking party to live, Pink Cheeks,” Katsuki snaps.

Uraraka pouts. “Please? My soulmate wrote to me and said they’d be there.”

Katsuki eyes her curiously. “Your soulmate goes here?”

“Yeah!” Uraraka says, her expression suddenly bright. “Small world, right!?”

Katsuki grunts and considers that as he eats his rice. After a long drink from his water bottle, he looks back at her and purses his lips.

“Fine,” Katsuki says. “But if you two hit it off, I’m fucking leaving.”

“Works for me!” Uraraka says cheerfully. “I just need some emotional support.”

“Whatever,” Katsuki grumbles, and he furiously digs back into the rest of his lunch.

He knows Uraraka is giving him a strange look, but he really doesn’t want to voice the fact that he’s jealous she’s going to get to meet her soulmate, who she bonded with only a month earlier, while Katsuki still hasn’t met Touya.

—

Takami is also apparently going to the party with Uraraka, since she’s friends with just about fucking everyone.

She’s sitting on Katsuki’s bed while Takami stands behind the foldable privacy screen to change. Uraraka arrived prepared with makeup on her face, white khakis, a pink blouse that hugs her frame, and pink boots.

Katsuki was ready even before she arrived, mostly because he simply doesn’t care. He’s wearing dark gray slacks and a short-sleeved, black muscle shirt with a large orange ‘X’ across the chest. His arms are bare save for a single message just under his left wrist:

Happy Birthday, Katsuki!

“That’s seriously so cute,” Uraraka says with a giggle, pointing to Katsuki’s mark.

“Whatever,” Katsuki says with a shrug.

“Did they draw the flowers around it, too?” Uraraka asks.

“That was me,” Katsuki says.

“Whoa, really?” Uraraka asks, grabbing his arm and pulling it closer to inspect. “That’s really, really good.”

“Thanks,” Katsuki grumbles.

“Ready!” Takami yells as he steps out from behind the privacy screen and walks over to them. “Did I hear someone say Blasty draws flowers?”

“Yeah, look!” Uraraka says, tugging Katsuki’s arm up to show Takami the mark. “They’re small, but so detailed!”

“Wow, that’s really…” Takami trails off and his face falls from excited to neutral, and then to hurt as he steps closer and looks at the writing. He critically observes the scrawl for a moment before clearing his throat and plastering a smile on his face. “You ready to go!?”

“Are you okay?” Uraraka asks. She’s no idiot; she clearly saw the same response Katsuki had.

“Fine!” Takami says, forcing out a laugh.

Katsuki clicks his tongue. “Whatever.”

The three head out the door, with Katsuki lingering behind as usual to make sure the door is closed all the way. And locked, for obvious reasons.

“You’re not gonna wear your coat?” Takami asks nervously.

“What? No,” Katsuki says, scrunching his face up. “It’s actually fucking decent out tonight.”

“You’re not wearing a coat either, Takami,” Uraraka points out. “And neither am I.”

Takami laughs and turns away from them. He pulls his phone from his pocket as he walks and starts typing out something in a rather frantic fashion. Uraraka and Katsuki trail behind him, exchanging bewildered looks.

Katsuki watches Uraraka closely from across the room as she seeks out her soulmate—she had refused to share the details with Katsuki, and he didn’t care to ask.

So, Katsuki leans against the wall by the back door of the large house with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. The house apparently belongs to a rich kid named Yaoyorozu Momo. She graduated top of her high school class and got into UA University, so her parents congratulated her by buying her a fucking house less than five minutes away from campus.

The Bakugou family is pretty well-to-do, what with Mitsuki being a model and Masaru being a fashion and interior designer, but they aren’t buy-your-kid-a-house rich. That’s a whole other level of money that Katsuki can’t even fathom.

His phone starts ringing and he pulls it out of his right pocket, swiftly answering it, already knowing who it is. He keeps his eyes on Uraraka as he speaks.

“Hey,” Katsuki says.

“Happy birthday, Katsuki!” His parents sing into the speakerphone on their end. Katsuki rolls his eyes fondly.

“Is that party music I hear?” Mitsuki asks excitedly. “Do you have friends throwing you a birthday bash?”

“Jesus, fuck, hag,” Katsuki groans. “No one fucking says shit like that anymore.”

His mother huffs loudly. “Be nice, brat! I sent you a care package and reloaded your spending card. Happy twentieth birthday! Drink responsibly!”

“Alcohol is gross,” Katsuki deadpans.

“How’s your soulmate doing?” Masaru asks before his wife and son can start arguing for no actual reason.

“Fine,” Katsuki says.

Across the room, Uraraka’s face lights up and she turns to give Katsuki a thumbs-up. He rolls his eyes and looks down at his sneakers.

“Have you met them yet?” Mitsuki asks. “I’ll pay for your tickets and hotels and shit, kid. Go meet them!”

“Shut it, hag,” Katsuki snaps. “I’ll meet them when I’m fucking ready.”

“Alright, alright,” Masaru says in his please-stop-before-the-real-fighting-starts voice. “Go enjoy your birthday, son.”

“Yeah, sure,” Katsuki says with a sigh. “Bye.”

Katsuki shoves his phone back into his pocket and looks up. He locks eyes with someone, but it isn’t Uraraka, it’s the man next to her. The man with curly green hair and wide, green eyes.

“Kacchan?” Midoriya says, his voice shaky but just loud enough over the lull in the music to travel to the blonde.

Katsuki scoffs and turns around to walk out the open back door. That’s a conversation he’s not even remotely interested in.

He walks down the porch steps and looks around for anyone he might know. He spots Takami, standing with the white-haired beauty, and makes his way over.

“Hey,” Katsuki says as he sidles up to Takami.

“Bakugou!” Takami says with a jolt, and his full cup of beer splashes all over Katsuki.

“What the fuck!?” Katsuki snaps, tugging at the front of his shirt.

“You scared me!” Takami says, holding a hand over his heart.

“Gimme your fucking shirt, asshole,” Katsuki says as he tugs his soaked one over his head and drops it on the ground. Dabi chokes on his beer and Katsuki gives him an odd look before glaring at Takami again. “And you’re fuckin’ washing that one for me when we get back. ‘S one of my favorite shirts.”

“I didn’t bring an extra shirt!” Takami says, giving him a bizarre look. “Who the hell brings extra shirts to a party!?”

“People who spill their fucking drinks on other people?” Katsuki snaps. “Fucking—whatever. I’m leaving.”

“Wait!” Dabi says, his coughing finally having stopped. He pulls at the hem of his purple t-shirt, which houses the black logo for some rock band. “I’ve got a tank top on under this.”

“Dude!” Takami sputters as Dabi pulls his shirt off.

“No thanks,” Katsuki says, bending over to swipe his soaked shirt from the ground. “Not interested in wearing Takami’s boyfriend’s shirt.”

“Takami’s—what?” Dabi says, and Katsuki looks up at him. The white-haired man’s turquoise eyes are wide as he stares at Takami. “What the fuck is he talking about?”

“Uh, um, I just…” Takami licks his lips nervously. “I didn’t specifically say you were my boyfriend.”

“You literally told me he’s your soulmate,” Katsuki deadpans.

“Here, man,” Dabi says, holding his t-shirt out to Katsuki without breaking eye contact with Takami. “I’ve gotta have a chat with my friend.”

“You can have my shirt, Kacchan!” The horribly familiar voice of one Midoriya Izuku says from behind Katsuki.

Katsuki groans and grabs the shirt from Dabi. He yanks it on over his head before turning to face the green-haired man, who is now shirtless, holding his green t-shirt out.

“I’m not taking your fucking shirt, Deku,” Katsuki growls. “Go talk to Uraraka. She’s your fuckin’ soulmate, asshole.”

“Oh, um… we’re just friends,” Midoriya says awkwardly.

“I don’t care,” Katsuki says, crossing his arms, holding his wet shirt awkwardly to the side so he doesn’t accidentally stain Dabi’s shirt.

Midoriya looks up at Katsuki’s eyes and sniffles. “I know you’re not my soulmate, Kacchan, but—”

“Don’t,” Katsuki snaps. “It’s not happening, Deku.”

“But, I thought…” Midoriya trails off. He gestures down to his own torso, which is decently muscular now, and is admittedly an improvement from how scrawny he was before.

“You thought what?” Katsuki asks, voice monotone.

“I’m stronger now,” Midoriya says, clenching his fists to steel himself. He looks up and forces himself to make eye contact with Katsuki again. “I can protect you.”

“What the fuck!?” Katsuki snarls as he starts walking back toward the house. “I don’t need your fucking protection, asshole.”

“Kacchan!” Midoriya pleads, reaching out to grab the blonde’s shoulder. “Katsuki!”

Katsuki stops and turns to level his most dangerous glare at the green-haired man.

“Do not call me that,” Katsuki says.

Midoriya is clearly struggling to hold back tears. “I-I was there, you know! Your parents were out of town for that work thing. I was the only one there for the first day!”

“Jesus fuck, Deku,” Katsuki says, running his free hand through his hair. “Is this fucking guilt or some shit? You didn’t stab me.”

“I saved your life,” Midoriya says.

Katsuki’s jaw drops, and he stares in disbelief at the shorter man.

“What the fuck,” Katsuki says lowly. “Are you trying to guilt me into fucking you?”

Midoriya squeaks and jumps back, waving his hands frantically. “No! That’s not what I meant!”

“Then tell me what that was supposed to mean before I fucking kill you,” Katsuki growls.

“I’m in love with you,” Midoriya blurts out.

Katsuki cocks a brow. “And?”

“Whoa, dude!” Takami says from right behind Katsuki, who’d forgotten he was there. Shit, he’d forgotten Dabi was there, too. Katsuki doesn’t dare to turn and look at either of them. “Shouldn’t you give him a chance?”

“I’m not required to date someone just because they won’t leave me the fuck alone,” Katsuki says, still staring straight at Midoriya, who is eyeing Takami and Dabi now.

“He’s right,” Dabi says. “Maybe you and Takami can have a discussion about why it’s not okay to pull shit like that.”

Midoriya opens his mouth and then closes it and frowns. He steps closer to Dabi, and Katsuki watches him warily. Dabi clearly looks uncomfortable with the closeness, but he stands his ground and stares blankly at Midoriya.

“You’ve got… black rings…” Midoriya says quietly, and Katsuki’s eyes snap up to Dabi’s face.

“He’s always had those,” Takami says quickly.

“No, I haven’t,” Dabi says coldly.

“They look like…” Midoriya turns to look at Katsuki.

Katsuki steps closer, shouldering past Midoriya to look at Dabi’s eyes. Katsuki hadn’t been close enough to notice them the one other time he’d met Dabi, but there they are. Black lines circling his turquoise irises.

“He called you Katsuki,” Dabi says quietly.

Katsuki blinks and looks down at Dabi’s crossed arms. He grabs the white-haired man’s left wrist and turns it over so he can look more carefully. Now that Katsuki is close enough, he realizes the discolored skin beneath the ink are burns, and nestled in with his tattoos is a little message surrounded in flowers.

Happy Birthday, Katsuki!

“Well, this is an interesting way to meet you, Touya,” Katsuki says, his eyes flicking back up to meet the man’s gaze. “Apparently the things we have in common includes childhood-friend-turned-stalker.”

A huge grin spreads across Touya’s face. “Let’s get out of here. We can wash your shirt at my place.”

Katsuki nods and they both turn to walk back toward the house, ignoring the calls of Takami and Midoriya from behind them.

“D’you live close by?” Katsuki asks curiously as they make their way in through the open back sliding door, both completely ignoring everyone else.

“I actually rent the studio apartment above the café,” Touya says, his entire attitude cheerful and giddy now.

“Makes sense,” Katsuki says.

“So, what was your first thought when you saw me?” Touya asks curiously.

“That you’re really fucking hot,” Katsuki says honestly. “And me?”

“Um, yeah,” Touya says with a nod. “I actually felt bad for my soulmate when I saw you walk in because there is no way anyone could be as gorgeous as you.”

Katsuki’s cheeks flush a deep pink, which has Touya chuckling. They reach the front door of the house and Touya opens it, holding it for Katsuki to walk through first. They step outside again and Touya closes the door behind them, turning to lead the way toward the café.

“I should probably text Uraraka,” Katsuki says suddenly, pulling out his phone.

“Uraraka Ochako?” Touya questions.

“Yeah,” Katsuki says as he texts out a quick apology and promises to bring her mochi when he explains things to her fully. “Met her in the gym. She tried to out-lift me.”

Touya laughs. “I bet you won.”

“’Course I did,” Katsuki grumbles as he puts his phone back in his pocket. He looks up to Touya with a single raised brow. “So, explain Dabi to me.”

#dabibaku #bakudabi #dbbk #ao3 link #ao3 fanfic #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #Bakugou Katsuki #Dabi #Todoroki Touya #Bakugou Katsuki x Todoroki Touya #ao3 fanfiction

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soupbabe · 3 years

Note

Could I get the Bucci gang and Diavolo with a ghost sibling? (like the one you did with Dio and the Crusaders) I really appreciate your writing and you've inspired me to try to write my own reader stories sometime!

Ghost Sibling HCs: Bucci Gang Edition! (+ Diavolo)

Oh my god that's so nice of you to say!! I think it's so cool that I actually inspired someone!! Ily so much anon!! <3 My only impression of Diavolo just has been his fight w Bruno, so I just wiki'd everything for him. So I apologise if he's not entirely in character!! Also, I genuinely had nothing for Abbacchio so he's not in this one. I really hope you don't mind

Warnings!: Goes into how reader died, Spoilers for Part 5, and Mentions of abuse from Giorno's part! Please stay safe !

Bruno Bucciarati

You were an older sibling of Bruno and you also stuck around with your father when the divorce came along

You commonly worked along with your father and ended up getting murdered when the gangsters infiltrated the boat

While your father was able to survive, you died at the scene. Your soul set to haunt the surrounding dock

Although it was tricky trying to see you due to the lingering fear of potential gangsters, Bruno always managed to find a way to visit you

It was hard for the younger Bucciarati, he cared about you as much as he did his father

Almost every visit was paired with a somber undertone, no matter how normal you tried to make it

But you were proud of Bruno and the man he's become today and you two still keep in touch

I do believe that as he gets older, he'd look at this place with a bit more fondness. Replacing the tragic memory of you and your father with all the times you tried to be there for him

When he became Capo, Bruno made certain to keep tabs on the small fishing village, making sure your resting place is in pristine condition

He's well aware that you might not get to pass on and he just wants to do what can to get you the best

Giorno Giovanna

You were Giorno's older step-sibling, having there be a 5-8 year age difference between the two of you

You were well aware of your father's abuse and did what you could to protect your little brother

Of course, your father didn't take too kindly to your behavior and it only made your punishments worse

One night, your father took out most of his anger onto you and it ended up killing you

Your soul latched onto Giorno, wanting to keep on protecting him even in death

You were there for him through everything and you were happy that he was able to find better family through the gang

And even in the gang, you were able to find your own peace in a way

(mostly) everyone welcomed you with open arms and it was a nice change of pace from talking to only Giorno for the past 10 or so years

Pannacotta Fugo

You were an older sibling, praised by your parents and used as an example for Fugo to follow

He never really resented you because of it though. You were helpful when he had the toughest lessons and treated him with the care that your parents never gave

I can imagine Fugo accidentally killing you during one of his rages, you got too close and he lashed out at you

As if he wasn't freaked out and panicked over your murder, seeing your ghost wasn't any better

He ignored any note of your presence, leaving it up to some hallucination rather than a ghost of all things

It took him a while to actually accept the fact that you're still with him and it was really awkward for a while

It made his guilt about the situation worse tbh, like it's been too long that he can't really apologize for what he did to you

And I don't imagine you being too happy either. Spending your eternity with your murderer and have him deny your existence for a couple of months does hurt

It's just one of those cases where your relationship couldn't be repaired after death, leaving you both to spend each other's company with an awkward weight on each other's shoulders

Both of you were never well taught in emotions so trying to cope with something as strange as this is not likely.

Narancia Ghirga

You were Narancia's twin sibling

you were just as loyal as him so you didn't bat an eye when he proposed that you both take Polpo's test

It's not like he would do it without you anyways, you two were a package deal

What he didn't take in account was you not surviving the stand arrow

It really did break Narancia seeing you dead and then seeing your ghost, looking like nothing happened

I feel like you haunting him furthers his denial of your actual death. That it doesn't actually matter since you're still next to him and able to laugh like nothing happened

It would be a combination of you and Bucciarati to help him with his grief, but he was still joyful to have you around

Even though you couldn't interact much with the physical world, he still invited you to his math lessons with Fugo and treated you as a valid member of the gang

Guido Mista

You were Mista's younger sibling that haunted his apartment

He'll admit that it was a bit freaky dealing with you at first, but he managed to adapt to it pretty quickly

He was able to live his usual carefree lifestyle, the added money from being apart of Passione was used for making the house a bit more comfortable

He felt bad that you couldn't leave and tried to make it more bearable

Plus he did it as an apology for all the times you cleaned up the pigsty that is his room

He also enjoyed that you were also free home security

He's made a couple of enemies in his time and having someone who can't be injured through typical means was helpful

He always enjoyed the occasional stories you told of the intruder's terrified faces at the fact that their guns and knives had no effect on you

But even if you were already dead, he'd ask for the faces of the idiots who disrespected and tried to kill to you.

Just because you're dead doesn't change the fact that you were still his family and he needed to teach those losers a lesson when you can't do it yourself.

Diavolo

Oh my god I'm so sorry for you

Listen, this man was not above attempted murder of his own daughter to hide his identity. You would've been one of his first targets

When he'd see that you never actually died, he would use whatever he had in his arsenal to get rid of you

But of course nothing worked, having to come to terms that you were a ghost

I don't think this could make his paranoia worse because technically you are gone and you can't go outside without him/Doppio, it's just a great inconvenience

He usually acts like you don't exist, yelling at you if you were to interact with the mafia boss

To Doppio you were only known to be a close friend of the boss and nothing else

He would happily chat with you, blissfully unaware that he was talking to a corpse

I think being anywhere near Diavolo in this state is a fate worst than death

Being around such a dark and negative energy already isn't good for the living, imagine how the dead feels

Plus not to mention the rough period of occasional murder attempts, all in new ways for Diavolo to get you gone for once and for all

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo's bizzare adventure golden wind #golden wind #golden wind x reader #platonic x reader #platonic headcanons #bruno bucciarati x reader #bruno buccerati #giorno giovanna x reader #giorno giovanna #pannacotta fugo x reader #pannacotta fugo #narancia ghirga #narancia ghirga x reader #guido mista x reader #guido mista #diavolo x reader #jjba diavolo

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rowanwhitethornisbae · 3 years

Text

Faking It Chapter 4

A/N: This Chapter takes place in like an hour which was not my intention when I started but here it is anyway. I really like this one and I think it leads perfectly into the rest of the story. Enjoy! CW: Swearing

Faking It Masterlist

“Get up right now!” Aelin yelled at her cousin, her body hovering above his sleeping form. “Aedion I have a math test first period that I'm going to miss.”

She grabbed the pillow out from under his head and smacked him with it. Her moron of a cousin just groaned and rolled over, muttering something indecipherable under her breath.

“Pleaseee Aedion.” Aelin whined, fully aware of how desperate she sounded. Aelin wasn't exactly a natural at math, and really needed to do well on this test if she was even going to pass.

“Fuck off.” He grumbled, and turned back over in bed. He had spare first period, and didn't need to be at school for another hour and a half. Still, he’d promised her over dinner last night that he’d take her in. Aelin had woken up about ten minutes ago and got ready quickly, fully prepared to be driven by her cousin.

She called Lysandra’s phone, only for it to go straight to voicemail. Without wasting anymore time, Aelin chugged the remaining half cup of coffee, needing the energy boost, and left the house. She knew Aedion would feel guilty later, but it was too late now for his future apologies to matter.

Aelin had gotten all of half a block, when she realized that she was still wearing Doc Martens. There was no fucking way she was going to be able to walk the five miles to school in these platforms without dropping dead. Just then, as Aelin fully prepared herself to collapse on the ground and fake an illness, a car pulled up. Aelin recognized the beat black vehicle, and the small dent in the front from days prior.

Rowan Whitethorn rolled down his window slowly, as if he was still deciding whether or not to drive away. “Want a drive?”

She looked him up and down, than glanced down the road at the miles stretching out before her. Was getting mocked and condescended to really worth a math grade? Aelin continued to walk down the street in answer.

Rowan groaned and rolled the car forward, keeping pace with her easily. “Just get in the car.”

Aelin had heard those words from him before, in an ironically similar situation. Against her own wishes, a memory surfaced. She tried in vain to push it out, but it was no use.

18 Months prior, Aelin Galathynius had been walking down this same street, a bottle of vodka in hand and her cheeks stained with tears. It had been a month since the car crash that claimed both her parents lives. In all honestly, Aelin was less of a wreck than she would've expected. She knew who she owed that fact too, but Rowan Whitethorn was currently across town at a football game with his friends. He didn't care. No one cared.

So here she was, drunk and sobbing as she walked unsteadily down this empty suburban road. Every once in a while she’d trip and her momentum would spin her around, sending her back in the same direction she’d come.

Aelin didn't know how long she'd been walking back and forth for, but it must have been a while. The sunset that had torn the sky into strips of different colours was gone, replaced by the blackness of night and a tiny sliver of a crescent moon.

The alcohol must've numbed her body because when she looked down, Aelin was shocked to find that her feet were bleeding. She wasn't wearing shoes, and pieces of rock and dirt had scratched away at her skin. Aelin found it so funny that she’s forgotten shoes, that she leaned over and started laughing. Deep, wrenching sounds that had her leaning over her knees for support. When she was done laughing at nothing, Aelin continued her stroll down the road, still ignoring the raw and bloody skin of her feet. If she could handle losing both her parents, she could handle some blisters.

Thats how Rowan found her. Silent tears rolling down her face, an empty bottle of vodka in her hand, bloody feet, and a terrifyingly empty smirk etched onto her pale face.

She didn't notice him pull up this time, too consumed by her own grief. She did however, hear his voice. Like an anchor in the sea, she felt the tug deep in her soul.

“Aelin.” He had said, pain lingering behind his every word. She had found it funny at the time that he was in pain. Both his parents were alive. What he could possible have to be upset about. She only realized it days later, after the breakup that had destroyed what was left of her.

He had been in pain because he loved her.

She hadn't answered the man in the car. Just kept on walking blindly down the street, bloody footprints on the stone behind her.

“Let me help you Aelin.” He paused. “Just get in the car.”

When she hadn't, he’d pulled up right there in the middle of the road and gotten out. He’d pried the alcohol out of her hands and held her against his chest until she had no tears left to cry. Then, so gently that it snapped something in her chest, he’d picked her up and taken her to his car. She was nearly passed out when they arrived at the hospital. The doctors had patched up her feet, removed a small piece of glass that had gotten in her heel. Rowan had stayed overnight with her, and when she awoke in that hospital bed, hungover and in pain, the sight of him sleeping in a tiny chair beside her bed had begun to heal her.

“Come on Aelin. You’re going to be late for math class.” He insisted, and she snapped out of the unwelcome memory. His voice conveyed that this was her last chance to accept his offer.

Finally, she stopped. Although a late slip was better than being ridiculed, another failed math mark was not. She sighed and walked around to the other side of his car. Something like surprise flashed on Rowan’s face, but it was gone in an instant.

“Thanks.” She said as swung the passenger door shut.

Rowan simply nodded and pushed down on the gas. They sat in silence for a brief moment and Aelin crossed one leg over the other.

“So,” Rowan began, clearly trying to break the tension. She supposed it was a good idea if they were going to do this whole fake dating thing. “Are you ready for the test.”

Math was their only class together, luckily, and the only thing they really had in common. It wasn't a shock to her that Rowan would use that for small talk.

“Um I studied a lot but I don't really understand any of it.” Aelin shrugged, suddenly wishing she was better at math. “I guess I'll just try my best again.”

“What’d you get last time you tried your best?” He asked.

Aelin winced. “58 percent”

Rowan gave her a look without turning his head from the road. “What’s your current average.”

“I’d rather not.” She started fiddling with her hands. She really, really, did not want to give Rowan another reason to make fun of her.

“Come on.” He pried further.

Aelin was fully prepared to lie, so it surprised even her when the truth escaped her lips. “47,″ she paused, “point five.”

Rowan shot her an incredulous look, finally turning his head fully. “How is that even possible, your marks were high eighties in sophomore year.”

“You tutored me.” She admitted without really thinking. “It made sense when you explained it.”

She knew it was the wrong thing to say when he stiffened, his fingers tightening on the wheel. A few seconds later, they pulled into the parking lot.

“We’re here.” He told her, opening the door.

Aelin waited until Rowan was halfway to the school to say, “I can see that.”

Groaning, she started making her way to class. Luckily, Aelin didn't see anyone she knew. She used the few extra minutes that Rowan’s drive had saved her to run over formulas in her head. She knew that she’d completely forget how to apply them as soon as she picked up the test, but it didn't hurt to know.

The classroom was full when she got there, and Aelin took her normal seat at the back. In all the commotion with Rowan, Aelin had completely forgotten that she also had this class with Chaol. Her first with him since the breakup.

She tried not to look in his direction, a feat that was made impossible when he stood up and walked over to her desk.

“Hey Aelin.” He said, his hands braced on her desk. She didn't like how short this arrangement made her feel.

“Chaol.” She said, nodding her head.

“How are you doing?” He asked.

Aelin groaned internally and dared a glance over at Rowan. He sat two seats to her left, and was watching her and Chaol with a blank face. Swallowing, Aelin smiled up at her ex-boyfriend. “Fine.” She purposely didn't reciprocate the question.

“Cool cool.” Chaol chewed on his cheek in a way that had never bothered her before, but she now found infuriating. “I was just wondering if you’re planning on going to Dorian’s party this Friday.”

Ahhh. So that’s what this torturously awkward conversation was about. She gave him a shallow nod. “I think so. Why?” She added the last word as an afterthought.

“No reason.” Then he took a long sigh. “I just think it might be awkward if I end up hooking up with someone and you’re there.”

Aelin’s mouth fell open. That could not have been something he actually just said. She nearly laughed at the absurdity of his comment. “Don’t worry about me.” She said sarcastically. “Hook up with all the girls you want, I know I will.”

He went slightly pale, but still spoke in a teasing voice. “You’re going to hook up with girls?”

Aelin couldn't help but laugh and Chaol smiled with relief at her response. Out of the corner of her vision, she noticed Rowan’s eyes darken. Chaol was just about to turn away, when she stopped him.

“Chaol,” He stiffened slightly, as if expecting her to yell at him. “I have a question about the politics of the football team.”

He looked confused, but relieved all the same. Chaol leaned on her desk again, bringing their faces uncomfortably close.

“Would an assistant captain be able to pick someone to try out for the team.” Her voice was quiet enough that she knew Rowan couldn't hear.

“Yeah,” Chaol answered, “If an assistant captain finds someone that they think would be a good fit then they are allowed to set up a tryout without needing permission from the captain.”

“Thanks.” She said, pulling her pencil case out of her bag in a sign of dismissal.

Chaol gave her a curt nod, and deciding not to ask further about her questions, went back to his chair.

Minutes later, the teacher handed out the tests, set the timer and told them to begin.

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

Rowan could tell Aelin was struggling. It was obvious from the frustrated look in her eyes and the slumped posture of her shoulders. She was chewing on her lip and looked quite honestly on the verge of tears. Rowan knew she wouldn't cry in class, she’d always preferred to wait and suffer alone. But the odds were that Lysandra would find her in the bathroom during lunch, locked inside a stall.

The thought of her in pain had never really bothered him before. He’d been too consumed in his hatred of Aelin Galathynius to really mind. But now, after she’d thawed through a little bit of the ice he regarded her with, the thought was nearly unbearable.

Rowan Whitethorn had never cheated on a test in his entire life. There was really no need to when he possessed a natural knack for academics. Shit just made sense to him, it had always been like that. So now, as he ever so slowly reached for his phone from his jacket pocket, his heart was positively racing.

The teacher was at the front of the class with his head down, grading papers. Still, Rowan felt like the man had to be able to hear the sound of Rowan’s heart beating against his chest. Once he had a solid grip around his phone, he slipped it silently out of his pocket.

His hands were sweaty, and Rowan silently begged the gods not to let him drop it. He carefully grabbed his test and propped it up as a shield, making it look like he was just reviewing it. Sitting in the back row meant there was no one behind to him to snitch, and he trusted the four people that sat to his right enough. With his phone on silent, Rowan quickly took three pictures of the test pages and sent them to Aelin.

He lingered for a moment on the chat, their last texts being from 18 months ago.

Aelin: Im really fucking sorry Rowan. Can we still be friends?

He’d left her on read and five minutes later, she’d text again.

Aelin: I need you in my life still.

There were typos in his next message, his eyes too blurry with tears to see straight.

Rowan: You should've thouht of that first. Don't call me. Don't text me. I fucking hate you Aelin. I nver ever want to speak to you again.

She’d never responded, but true to his word, they hadn't spoken since then. Until three days ago.

Pushing that from his mind, Rowan hit send on the pictures. Already done with his test, he used this time to watch Aelin.

Her hair was down, and she kept tucking it behind her ears every few moments. Browa furrowed, she bit on her lower lip in a way that had his hand tightening around his pencil. With his eyes on her, Rowan saw the exact moment that her phone vibrated in her pocket. She looked left and right, and he turned away before she could make eye contact with him, and then turned back to her test.

She did almost the exact same thing he had, using her test as a shield and pulling out her phone. She clicked a few things and then her mouth fell open. There were too many emotions on he face for him to pick out. Relief, shock, joy, surprise.

Her head jerked in his direction and this time he was too late to turn away. Their eyes met and the way she looked at him had the rest of the class fading away. His heart rate sped up yet again, and there was nothing between them but wasteful space. He couldn't look away from her if he tried.

Luckily, she looked away first, making him feel quite foolish. She began to copy his answers down, clearly making sure to get a few wrong as to not get caught. Although it seemed an eternity, it took Aelin all of two minutes to change 90% of her answers and pocket the phone once again.

Rowan released a long breath and felt himself relax again. They’d actually done it. He felt a strange sense of pride, uncomfortably similar to the way he’d felt when him and Aelin were dating. When they broke into an abandoned beach house to jump off the balcony and into the ocean.

The bell dismissed them and Rowan jumped up from his desk, eager to get out of class before Aelin tried to talk to him. Still, he should've known that evading Aelin Galathynius was utterly useless.

He had barely gotten to his locker when she caught up to him. He was pulling books out and didn't look her way.

She leaned on the locker beside his - Lorcan’s - and stared at him. “Why’d you do that?”

He just kept picking out books. “I don't know what you’re talking about.”

She snorted and Rowan felt a blush rise on his cheeks. “Don't play dumb with me. Why’d you help me cheat.”

Rowan was quickly running out of books in his locker. “No thank you?”

She gave him a soft smile. “Thank you.”

He just nodded and finally turned to face her, slamming his locker shut with more force than was necessary.

He was fully prepared to leave when she spoke again. “Shall we go to lunch?”

For the second time in who knows how long, Aelin Galathynius snapped the last bit of his sanity. He flipped them around, so her back was pressed up against the lockers and he was hovering above her. He braced both arms on each side of her head and brought his face close to hers. He could feel her rapid breathing on his cheek and see the way that gold ring in her eyes swelled with fear. He watched as her nostrils flared as she took in his heaving chest. He considered himself lucky that she didn't turn her head to peek at his shaking hands.

“Aelin.” He said, his voice laced with venom. It was then that he realized this was the first time he’d spoken her name in nearly a year and a half. For a second, he lost the ability to speak. But then she made the smallest movement as if to escape his hold, and he regained it.

“I don't want to walk to lunch with you. I don't want to trade answers with you. I don't want to speak to you. I don't even want to look at you. I am doing this for me and only me. We talk when it is completely necessary. Other than that please, just leave me the fuck alone. You are nothing to me and I do not care.”

She didn't even flinch as he spoke. Almost like she knew exactly what he was going to say. There was no sign of hurt in her eyes, just ice cold emptiness.

“Why?” She asked. The word was so quiet that he nearly missed it.

“You cheated on me Aelin.”

There it was. The truth that neither of them had been willing to discuss. He had loved her so much that he was completely consumed by it. But she’d slept with Chaol anyway. He never understood why and she never bothered to explain.

She opened her mouth to say something when someone cleared their voice beside them.

“What's going on?” Lorcan asked, Fenrys beside him with his eyes wide.

Rowan stepped back from Aelin as if he’d been burned. She didn't move though. She stayed there against the lockers looking up at him with a crestfallen expression on her face.

“Nothing.” Rowan said harshly, looking right at Aelin. “Nothing’s going on at all.”

She nodded her head, murmured an apology, and disappeared down the hall.

He watched her go for a moment and then slammed his head against the locker, trying to drown out the mindless sounds of a high school hallway and fight the growing urge to cry.

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

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jemmahazelnut · 3 years

Text

Classmates

Summary: In this Modern AU Laxus and Freed are classmates but at first, they don't really get along. 5+1 style fic. [Freed/Laxus]

Links: AO3 - Fanfiction

I tried to write about a love born in school. I hope I’ve kept them in character enough even though they are in a different context (and they are younger). I hope you like it :)

Classmates (or 'Five times Freed and Laxus argued at school and the one time they didn't')

1-When Laxus tries to be kind

It had been a while since Laxus had noticed that boy with long green hair and, he had to admit it at least to himself, it intrigued him a little. Perhaps because of that strange color in his hair, so in contrast to his rigid way of behaving, perhaps because he was so different from all his classmates. So, they were all troublemakers while that guy was pretty calm. Okay, Laxus had also noticed his ass, but he would never have said it out loud. In any case, it was precisely because of his attitude that he was intrigued. As if he believed himself superior to anyone, even the professors themselves.

Laxus observed professor Brandish Myu's test the following week and made up his mind, reached out and patted the boy on the shoulder, who turned a little surprised. The blond handed him the paper.

“What’s that?” the green-haired guy asked. Laxus snorted.

“Next week's test. That bitch Myu does it the same every year, because she doesn't want to work. There are all the correct answers there” he replied. The boy looked up at him, and Laxus noticed how peculiar his eyes were. They weren't blue, they were just a deep blue, and the right one had a darker spot. Laxus would have called them beautiful.

"It's called cheating" the boy said dryly, without taking the paper. Laxus arched an eyebrow, and wondered what the fuck was wrong with that guy. Anyone else would have accepted it, at least not to have to study. Maybe he really was one of those nerds who hated cheaters and didn't let anyone copy.

"With that bitch you’ll never get top marks, no matter how hard you study" Laxus warned him then. Maybe that guy didn't know that teacher well yet.

"I'll get top marks and won't cheat" the confident boy said. At that point Laxus gave up. If he wanted to waste time and study, let him do it. He had grown tired of being kind. So, he put the paper on the table.

"As you like, you'll regret it" he muttered.

"No. I won't” the boy retorted and turned back to pay attention to the lesson.

Laxus was right, however, when the teacher gave the grades, Freed -Laxus had found out his name- took B+, while Laxus A. The blonde pointed this out to him, and Freed badly told him that it was that bitchy teacher who didn't understand a shit. The point is that he not only said it to him, but also to the teacher herself and the blonde couldn't help but chuckle seeing how pissed off that guy was.

2-When Laxus underestimates him

In the end, Freed was convinced by his schoolmates that he would join the basketball game. The boys were still choosing how to divide into the team, on the one hand there was Gerard as captain, on the other that idiot Laxus. That guy was nothing but a pain in Freed's ass. He could also admit that he was not very smart to refuse that sheet -to himself, obviously he would never have told a soul- but in any case, it was the professor's fault if his grade was only a B+. His test was perfect, it was the teacher who didn't understand a shit. But of course, that didn't interest Laxus, and every time they saw each other he brought up that story, just to make him nervous.

In any case, at the moment Freed was waiting to figure out which team he should go to.

"Choose Freed, he's good" Bickslow was saying to Laxus, who stared at him skeptically.

"That little guy?" he asked and Freed felt the irritation rise and his cheeks flush with anger. Like hell he was little, Freed would have shown it to him. "He's just a nerd, he's probably never played a team game, I choose Gray" Laxus decided. Freed became even more annoyed, and when Gerard chose him, he was more than happy. He didn't want to be on the team with that windbag anyway, and it would show him how wrong he was to underestimate him.

The game began and Freed wasted no time. His height was actually a limit compared to other guys, especially that blond one, but that certainly didn't stop Freed. He was fast and exuberant, he kept going from one side of the pitch to the other, more than once he had managed -with great satisfaction- to steal the ball from Laxus and take it to the other side to make a basket. He basically played as a playmaker, and when his team won, Freed smiled in satisfaction. It was presumptuous to think it was because of him, but it certainly had made a difference and blowing the balls under Laxus's eyes had been very, very satisfying. That's why Freed turned to Laxus at the end of the game.

"You got beaten up by a shorter nerd than you" he teased. Laxus tensed his jaw, obviously irritated and stung.

"Tsk, thanks to your mates, not yours" he growled nervously.

"Really? Because I counted the baskets, and I scored four more than you. Not to mention the countless times you've gotten the ball stolen from under your nose. If you play like this, I suggest you review your technique” he told him with an air of superiority and a smile that, he was sure, would have made the blonde even more nervous. Laxus could not argue and Freed walked away from him, knowing that he would throw him back for the rest of the year.

3-When Laxus has to endure him

Laxus couldn't believe it. He should have guessed it, he really should have. Who else could the math teacher pair him with? With Freed Justine of course, nerd par excellence with excellent marks in every single subject. And since Laxus absolutely had to catch up on his bad grades, he was forced to put up with that presumptuous little fellow who wasted no time telling him how ignorant he was. And as much as Laxus had tried to be patient until now, he had had enough now.

"You have to go on for a long time, or will you explain to me how the fuck to solve this problem?" he growled irritably. They were just wasting their time because of his chatter. Freed rolled his eyes, as if he were the one who must be exasperated there. It was Laxus who had been putting up with his complaints so far, what the fuck.

“Haven't you figured it out yet? I gave you a lot of things to think about” he snapped.

"Actually, I've only heard complaints" Laxus muttered.

"You weren't listening" Freed reiterated, and re-explained a few passages. Laxus forced himself to listen to him and finally figured out how to fix that damned problem. Satisfied he completed it. A half smile was printed on his face, he had taken less time than expected, now he could go. He started to get up but Freed tapped the pen on his arm.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked him.

"At home" was the obvious answer.

"Do you realize that we’re only at the beginning? There are a lot of topics you need to catch up on. Sit down and focus” Freed told him. Laxus stared at him in shock. He was joking, right? He had spent twenty minutes listening to him, and another ten minutes solving that exercise. He wouldn't stay there a second longer.

“That will be enough to get a good grade. I understand everything” he said quietly.

"No" Freed persisted in saying "We’re only at the beginning, what if the teacher asks you about trigonometry? Sit down now. If you don't get a good grade, it will weigh on my credits, and I'm not going to make my situation worse because of you” he snapped irritably.

"Fuck it" Laxus snapped, surrendering. He didn't even know what Freed was talking about, he had never been careful in math class. Partly because the subject was boring, and partly because the teacher made it even more boring. "Just stop being an annoying know-it-all" he snapped at Freed, who gave him a dirty look.

"It's not my fault you're ignorant" he retorted right away. Laxus put his hands through his hair, knowing full well he would go mad.

4-When Laxus has to protect him

Freed hated bullies. He especially hated Torafuzar and Tempesta, two moron who thought they could do what they wanted just because they were big and thick. Which was also Laxus, except that Laxus, in contrast to them, was much more handsome, kind and -even if he still made him nervous- Freed almost liked him. In any case, it was really not the time to think about the study partner. No, since those two had now only targeted him because he was gay. Okay, maybe Freed had instigated them a bit, telling them that they were probably impotent and that with violence they were trying to compensate for the fact that they had a tiny dick. He had been an asshole, okay, but Freed felt justified as those two started insulting him for his long, colored hair.

So now Freed found himself between two guys who are taller and much more muscular than him. That didn't stop him from still having the poisonous tongue. He wasn't stupid, he knew the two of them would hit him, but he was confident that they didn't expect to have to deal with someone who had trained in hand-to-hand combat. And that actually helped him, he managed to dodge a punch of Tempestar and thrust one into his stomach. The taller boy doubled over, and Freed quickly turned to the other idiot. What he hadn't foreseen was that he grabbed his wrist and twisted it so much that he let out a moan, and then knocked him to the ground.

Shit, he had underestimated them, and now he found himself dealing with two guys much bigger than him. Before Torafuzar could hit him again, Freed grabbed his leg and dropped him from behind with his ass to the ground. Then he tried to get up but Tempestar punched him in the face. And fuck if it hurted. He felt dizzy and for a moment considered the idea of running away. He really thought that despite his pride, because he wasn't stupid, but he didn't have the time to do it. He saw Tempestar hit his head against the wall, and only after that did, he realize that it was Laxus who hit him.

The blonde looked really pissed off for some reason, and he started hitting the two boys.

"What the fuck do you want?" one of the two moron snapped.

"Beat the living hell out of you, asshole" Laxus growled. Torafuzar grinned.

"And I guess you think you can do it even if there are two of us, Dreyar" he mocked.

"A kid half your height has beat you two a pulp. I don't think I'm going to have any problems" he challenged them. The two glanced at each other as Freed stood up beside him, assessing the situation. He didn't have to think about anything though, because the two boys, after spitting on the ground, walked away. Freed turned to Laxus.

"Kid half your height?" he repeated offended. Laxus stared at him puzzled.

"A ‘thank you’ is enough for me, you know" he told him.

"I don't have to fucking thank you, I'm not as short as you insist on saying, and in any case, I was doing it alone" he retorted. Laxus raised an eyebrow.

"It's unbelievable, not even after get hit you can lower your head" he said in amazement. Freed stared at him in annoyance. He knew that Laxus had helped him, but he was pretty sure he would be able to escape from those two idiots without any problems.

“Thanks” he forced himself to say between his teeth, Laxus widened his eyes but Freed didn't let him speak. “Even though I didn't ask for your help. And let's be clear, they were two against one, it wasn't fair anyway” he specified. Laxus smiled in amusement.

"So, admit you needed help."

"I didn’t say this".

"No, but it's true".

"It’s not…".

“Oh fuck, stop talking, he's bleeding your nose. And go to the infirmary before you mess around” Laxus told him.

"I don't need to…" Freed began to moan but Laxus grabbed him by the arm before he finished the sentence and began dragging him down the hall.

"You are extremely annoying, has anyone ever told you that?" he made rhetoric.

“Many in fact, but…”.

"I'm not surprised".

“Do you want to stop dragging me and interrupting me while I speak? I can walk alone. And anyway, I'm not annoying, it's other people who can't accept reality” Freed pointed out, trying to ignore how hot and strong Laxus's grip on his arm was. He tried to free himself but the wrist Torafuzar had turned before him hurt and he barely stifled a groan. Laxus immediately let go and turned to him, his eyes worried.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, gently taking his wrist in his hands and approaching. Freed instantly tensed, feeling the strong scent of Laxus flood his nostrils and his fingers gently feel his pulse. A shiver ran down his arm and he felt a blush reach his face. No no no, he couldn't blush in front of Laxus. It didn't matter how handsome and thoughtful the boy was, and how close he was to him, and how deep-down Freed liked that attention. Freed swallowed hard and jerked away before the situation became more embarrassing. He turned around so as not to show his stunned expression.

“Hell no, you can’t hurt me. I just twisted it” he said, hoping his voice didn't sound strange. Fuck. Fuck. Why was he getting so excited? Laxus put a hand on his shoulder and new shivers of excitement ran down Freed's shoulders. No, no. This wasn’t good. Freed pulled away quickly. "And stop it, why don't you mind your own business instead of busting my balls?" he blurted out.

Laxus snorted. “You know what, make do. I’m not surprised that you’ve been beaten with the tongue you have” he told him badly and turned away. Freed sighed in relief, finally starting to breathe normally again. As much as he hated admitting it, he liked Laxus's closeness more than he wanted to admit. He put his hands to his face and realized that his nose still hurt. He really had to go to the infirmary.

5-When Laxus wants to kiss him

"And as if that weren't enough, now I find myself wasting an entire afternoon that I could have used to study the new chapter of history, only to find myself here cleaning a fucking shit room with the most annoying person in school" Freed was saying. Laxus was now used to his background voice, it accompanied him most of the time, since they had been studying together for quite a few months. Freed actually did not speak constantly, on the contrary, there were moments in which Laxus also had fun with him. But when he was angry, he started with those monologues so long that they seemed to have no end.

And that was one of those moments, as they were in punishment together. It was Laxus' fault of course, and the blonde had no problem admitting it. He had dragged Freed into trouble for him because it seemed funny to make him do something forbidden. In particular, the two boys had gone to the roof and Laxus had tried to get Freed to smoke. After listening to a long monologue from his friend -he could now consider it as such- about how bad smoking was and how stupid smoking was, in the end -Laxus still didn't know how- he managed to convince Freed to take a drag. Obviously, the boy immediately coughed, reiterating how stupid it was and that he would never do it again, but Professor Clive had caught them and put them to clean up a classroom in the school.

At one point Freed kicked the garbage can causing it to fall to the ground and scatter papers. Laxus looked at him in shock.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

“I'm sick of being here. You should be here, alone. You dragged me into your follies!" he exclaimed "Now I have a demerit, do you know how much it will weigh?" he asked and Laxus rolled his eyes.

"You decided to follow me" the blond pointed out. "Anyway, if you do that, you only mess up the classroom even more" he commented.

“At least help me. You've been there for twenty minutes doing nothing” Freed snapped.

“Why, you instead? You've been complaining for the same time” Laxus retorted. Freed gave him a dirty look, but then he snorted and began to work. Laxus was lost watching him wondering when they got along more. Sure, they often argued, but they spent just as much time having fun together. It wasn't the first time Freed had followed him to do something stupid, it was fun to have a partner to bullshit with. Especially if that mate was Freed. They enjoyed bullshitting assholes, and now they had even begun to see each other after school.

The last time Laxus had taken his grandfather's moped, and had done a few laps with Freed. His friend had taught him to wheelies, or at least, he had explained the whole theory to him -suffering about the physics of the engine, part that Laxus no longer remembered anyway- and then it was the blond who tried. To make himself cool, he had tilted the scooter more than it should, and eventually they overturned. Luckily, they weren't hurt, but Freed had put all the blame on them. After arguing about that, they found themselves laughing and trying again, with more caution.

Yes, Laxus was having more fun than he had thought with that boy. And, strange and uncomfortable, he found himself all too often watching him. He liked how Freed brushed his hair off his face when he studied, or how he looked curiously at anything he didn't know, the way he nibbled his pen when he was agitated, or the way he smiled with satisfaction when he won a match against him. Indeed, Laxus was in too good a mood around him.

Even now, he was glad that Freed was with him, even though the boy kept muttering softly about how unfair that punishment was, and Laxus was sure, it wouldn't shut him up in any way. When Freed started, there was no way to stop him, by now he knew him. Who knows, maybe if he had kissed him, he would finally close that mouth. The idea didn't seem bad at all. At one point Freed turned to him.

"Are you going to help or not?" he blurted out. Laxus found himself blushing slightly, realizing he'd gazed at him for too long. He shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

“I was hoping you did everything” he said, avoiding looking at his lips. Freed threw a cast on him.

"Work" he ordered.

"And you stop messing up the classroom even more" Laxus retorted, taking the chalk off the ground and approaching the blackboard and, inevitably, to Freed, who always put him in awe with that intense gaze. Damn it in his eyes, they were so peculiar that he took more time to look at them each time. Better than looking at his lips, Laxus thought. Okay, he definitely had to stop thinking about weird things.

“In any case, you should serve most of the punishment, so you will clean most of the room. If you were wondering, from that corner over there to... " Laxus couldn't take it anymore, he pushed himself forward and placed his lips on Freed's, who initially jumped and widened his eyes. Laxus almost feared that he wouldn’t respond to the kiss, but after a few seconds the boy parted his lips and Laxus pushed himself even more towards him. He shook his hands on Freed's hips, pulling him against him and felt his friend's fingers tickle his neck. He was more beautiful than he had expected, a little uncertain on the part of both of them, sweet, and incredibly electrifying.

When they broke apart, Freed was silent for the first time, red-faced and wide-eyed. Laxus would have made fun of him if it had been another moment, but in that instant, he felt the same way. Embarrassed, surprised, excited. Freed had reciprocated. Without thinking twice, he pushed Freed towards the wall and kissed him again, this time more intensely, making their tongues collide and running his hands over his friend's body. Before long he felt too excited, with Freed's hands on his shoulders it was impossible not to be. God, he was freaking out completely. They broke away panting and flushed again and stared at each other for long seconds.

"W-what ...?" Freed stammered. Good heavens, he had managed to silence Freed Justine. Laxus grinned, although he felt high, he liked to see his friend in those states. Especially if it was his fault.

"Finally shut up" he commented. Freed's face became even more red if possible. In a short time, however, he narrowed his gaze again, although he was no longer credible as usual given the blush that colored his cheeks.

“You know, you just kissed me. I think I may be surprised, especially considering…” Laxus kissed him again, not sure whether to shut him up or because he wanted to. Damn, it didn't matter, those kisses were dizzying him and the more he had, the more he wanted. When they broke apart a third time, the blonde didn't stray too far from Freed. That closeness was all too tempting, and having Freed with his back to the wall thrilled him too much.

"We should clean the room" Freed murmured. Laxus raised an eyebrow.

"Are you seriously interested in that now?" he asked him. Freed seemed to think about it for a moment, then placed his hands on Laxus's chest and pushed him back badly, so much so that the blonde felt disappointed. He didn't have time to think about anything however that he found himself with his back against the desk.

"No, I don't care" was Freed's response, who immediately put a hand through the blond's hair and forced him to kiss him. Before long they both forgot the punishment.

1-When Laxus allies himself with him

Freed didn't think Laxus would trust him that much. But he did. Indeed, if Laxus had been caught stealing a moped not his own and voluntarily swiping it against Professor Brandish Myu's car, he didn't know what would happen to him. But he trusted him and Freed had no intention of betraying him. In any case there was little to worry about, Freed had thought of everything so that the blame would fall on those assholes of Torafuzar and Tempestar. Yes, the plan was all his. Well, almost everything. He had to admit that Laxus had contributed, but in any case, Freed was keen to point out that most of the credit went to him.

It all started when Laxus found himself with the scooter completely destroyed. Obviously, it had been those assholes of Torafuzar and Tempestar, who had done little to deny it. Indeed, they had boasted about it like never before. Laxus' first instinct had been to go beat them both, but Freed had stopped him in time, before he got suspended. And so, he had come up with a plan to take revenge. The plan included Professor Brandish Myu only because Freed hated her, and so he would kill two birds with one stone. They would just have to steal the keys of one of the two mopeds and swipe it against the professor's car, then leaving the evidence there. Perfect. Everything was perfect. Freed just had to keep the janitors busy and make sure no one came out, a pretty easy task for someone with his gab. In fact, when he felt the phone vibrate in his pocket and saw the message from Laxus he smiled.

“Laxus <3: Done! ;) "

Yes, Freed had put the little heart next to his name, but the blonde didn't have to know. He greeted the janitors, who in any case adored him for his kind and polite face -all facade, as Laxus said- and went up the stairs, returning to the first floor and opening the security door.

"Those assholes will have a nice surprise" the blond grinned.

"I hope you did a long scratch" Freed commented.

"Oh yes" Laxus smiled. Freed chuckled. He couldn't wait to see the scene.

And the scene came. Laxus and Freed were in the parking lot when the professor approached the car. Freed was quite curious what his car looked like, but he didn't lean over to avoid arousing suspicion, and Laxus just watched the two assholes walking towards Tempestar’s scooter. But when they were there, the professor's scream attracted everyone's attention.

"You stupid degenerate kids!" she exclaimed to the two assholes, who stared at her worried, but also pissed off. Because they knew they were framed. Freed and Laxus enjoyed the scene a few meters away, while all the other students stared too. "If you think you can pass the year, you’re very wrong, I will crush you, right?" the professor threatened them, while she looked at her own car that, in fact, Laxus was really committed to ruining.

The blond glanced at Freed, who was watching the scene strangely in silence. He put a hand on his shoulder and leaned slightly towards his ear, lowering his voice.

"Hey, are you feeling guilty?" he asked him worried. Freed turned to him and giggled.

"Not even a little" he replied without any doubt.

"Then why are you so silent?" Laxus asked puzzled. Freed watched the two boys.

“Oh nothing, I was thinking about how many assholes I have yet to take revenge. So far, I’ve reached seventeen people, but I only have revenge in mind on ten of them. Do you have someone to take revenge on?" he asked him. Laxus smiled in amusement.

"Hell, you're a bastard".

"Is it really a surprise?" Freed asked.

"No, actually no" Laxus said, taking Freed's hand in his and walking towards the bus stop. "So, who’s the first?".

#freed justine #laxus dreyar #fraxus #fairy tail

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libralita · 3 years

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Fate: The Winx Saga Unedited Ramble

Alright so I finished the first season of Fate: The Winx Saga and it was pretty fucking dreadful if I’m being honest. Let’s get into it.

First, let’s talk about the production quality because it was lacking in some weird areas. The audio mixing was surprisingly bad in a few places. Most notability when characters were talking over the phone. Every time Bloom speaks to her parents over the phone the voices on the other end are so loud. And most of the time when a character is talking to someone over the phone, their voice over comes in a bit softer with a filter to make it sound poorer quality. The audio was crisp and loud. There was one funny scene where Bloom is on the phone with her parents and she’s outside and there’s a bunch of background noise and her parents are in a quiet house. When it cuts to Bloom’s parents with Bloom on the phone you can’t hear the background noise but when you cut to her you can hear the general outdoor sounds in everything. Also whenever pop songs could come they were so loud. I would always have to turn down my volume because they would be louder than the normal speaking voice. Now for the sets. They were fine? I guess. Generic castle. Generic house. Generic forest. Fine. The costumes were uh…really awful. Mostly because you have the cartoon to compare it to where you had fashion designers design the outfits and you could tell, all the girls were so fashionable. A lot of the outfits were crimes. Terra’s and Stella’s were especially god awful.

And now, I guess I’ll go through the episodes and point out the problems as I see them. Episode one, I have a lot to say because the problems of the show become evident very quickly. So, first the dialogue. The original show had lame slang, especially with Musa, but my god some of this shit was painful. The first instance is when Bloom accuses Sky of mansplaining, so first of all it’s really great to see my childhood icon being sexist. Great. I love it. Second, she isn’t even using the term correct because by definition it is a man must explain to a woman a concept that she already knows in a rude way. Bloom states before this that she doesn’t know what a Specialist is so it’s not something she already knows. The only line that got a snort out of me is when Bloom says “Gryffindor. Explains the judgement.” Now the roommate situation. They totally moved Terra and Aisha because they wanted more drama. Terra is a ball of anxiety and wants to be friends with Musa, Musa’s an empath and can’t deal. Bloom is naturally gifted and a bit of an…well the show wants us to think she’s a free spirt and a rebel but she’s an idiot. Aisha is smart but has to work for ever bit of magic she gets. (despite that one line where she saws she flooded her school because of a math test but whatever) Another thing is that they say guns don’t work on the Burned Ones but if swords do then guns do. It’s stupid.

A great theme of this show is that everyone needs to calm down. As someone who’s lived in a suite like with this with four/five other girls, you’re not going to be best friends with your roommates the first day. Calm down Terra. Back to bad lines. Speaking of calming down, Bloom’s mom takes away her door (Sidenote: Whoever wrote “Don’t you feminist with me. This basic bitch’ll break out her bullhorn and her dissertation and take your ass to school.” Needs a good slap) and so Bloom is so enraged by this that she…nearly kills her parents by burning the house down. Fucking brilliant. That is the thing that enrages her. That. Fucking moronic. Also Bloom’s parents are on the floor but there’s a clear pathway that they can just walk through that Bloom walks through. This could have been solved if you had Bloom walk through the flames because fire fairy Speaking of people needing to calm down Terra is just absolutely insufferable. Riven calls her fat and she her response is to choke him and when he calls her out on this she smiles at him saying “nice to see you again” or something. Fuck off Terra. Attempted murder not acceptable when someone insults you.

Alright, now to talk about Stella (and yes, we’re still on Episode 1) while I think Bloom and Flora were done the dirtiest, they massacred my girl. While I don’t think Stella is the most complex character, I discovered while watching this that I really like her in the original. I especially love the episode she gets her Enchantix and the episode she saves her father from Valtore’s spell. Both episodes are so beautiful and her character shines. She’s a bitch in this show. It explains why and I actually do feel bad for this Stella but my god, my Stella would never. Which might as well be the title of this show, Fate: The Winx Would Never Saga.

Few final problems for the first episode: First they call Bloom a changeling and that’s not what changeling’s are and it’s very distracting. Find a different word. Second, Bloom’s house does not look Californian and probably isn’t. Also if Bloom didn’t want to lose Stella’s ring, then she should have worn it on her fucking finger. Now onto episode 2.

So, another problem with this show is Beatrix, while she’s one of the most interesting characters on the show, the fact she barely interacts with the girls is stupid. They should have just put her and Bloom in the same room together. Then Beatrix could interact with all the girls. Problem solved. But no. However, I actually kind of dig Beatrix’s relationship with Riven, I remember liking it in the original as well when it was with Darcy. Maybe I just like evil couples. Oh and magic has changed. So now there’s five elements Water, Earth, Fire, Air, and Mind. And you use emotions. And seeing Stella tell Bloom to think of negative emotions hurts my soul because I remember the episode where the girls go to Cloud Tower in season 2 and STELLA WOULD NEVER. Onto episode 3 and 4.

Okay so it’s revealed that Bloom was born in 2004 so that means these girls are 16, 17 in Stella’s case. To which I say bullshit. Now, onto Queen Luna. I don’t think she had any lines in the original series, however I will say QUEEN LUNA WOULD NEVER. I hate that Stella has a shit relationship with her mom. I hate that Queen Luna is queen of Solaria. I hate that she’s the Queen of Light despite her name being Luna because she should the Queen of the Moon because that’s how it worked in the original but no. It’s dumb and I hate it. Though, I will say that her treatment of Stella did make my heart hurt. New appreciation for this imposter Stella. One other thing is that Beatrix’s story is the most interesting. Aster Del was cool.

Episode 5 is when I realized that there were only 6 episodes of this series instead of 8 so…this is the penultimate episode and where shit gets real bad. I don’t like seeing Musa having sex, I think I was on my phone when Stella was having sex but seeing Musa with her bra just made my childhood weep a little. Also, how the fuck did Musa not know Stella was there? Also, I kind of like the scene were Stella opens up to Musa but I would have liked to see Musa say “I’m an empath, dummy, I know these girls aren’t judging you.” Speaking of stupid, Bloom. While Farah not telling you the truth about stuff was dumb, you breaking Beatrix out is massively moronic. And then the show decides to make my childhood weep again by having Bloom drug Sky. Thanks sho w, seeing this happen to my childhood OTPs is fucking great. And you know what? I try to hate this show but then it has a soldier facetiming Marco saying that the Batallion is dead and that she has a broken leg. Then she starts running away from the Burned Ones while hobbling with her “broken” leg and the camera stays on her. It’s…it’s a special show.

The show briefly mentions magical convergence and don’t fucking dare. And then…the characters brains magically go bye-bye. First Bloom is a ding dong for leaving the drugged Sky face down. Then Terra, Musa, and Stella are absolute ding dongs for giving Bloom back the key to break Beatrix out. At first I thought they were fine with allowing Beatrix to murder Dane and then Stella just fucking pushes her into the trap and it made it worse. You don’t fucking know that won’t kill her, you ding dongs.

Onto the finale. Aisha gets shit for being the only one who isn’t a ding dong. “Hope the brownie points will keep you company when you have no friends.” My soul. Bloom becomes really fucking confusing because she doesn’t trust Farah or the other staff but then she just randomly trusts Rosalind. And then she points this out that it’s weird that Rosalind wants her to trust her. And then Bloom goes to save her friends. Funny moment: Stella loses signal, she clearly needs to switch over to the plan that one soldier had where she could face time in the middle of a fucking forest with perfect quality. Then back to Bloom where she confronts Farah and says “What if Rosalind isn’t crazy? What if she had a reason to lie?” And she’s just…an idiot because she doesn’t see how that logic can be thrown right back at her with Farah.

Terra continues to be an ass to Musa. Like she just demands that Musa take away his pain and I understand the Musa needs to open up and get past her baggage. However, Terra does it in such a bitchy way that I would have probably slapped her. Also the show pretends that Terra was helping Sam when she did nothing but hold his hand while he writhed in pain. Also, also you clearly have sedatives in this world, fucking use them.

So Saul “killed” Andreas which is stupid on two fronts. Number one, Saul says to at least Sky that he died in a battle but no one ever questions which one. You’d think they’d find his body on the battle field. Number two where the fuck did Andreas’ body go? Did Saul not care? Fucking stupid. Also Andreas raised Beatrix. Interesting. A little…Mortal Instruments but I’ll allow it. Cool reveal.

Then…the things. Uh, while I’m glad that this show about fairies actually has fucking wings for one scene and they’re pretty cool looking with the fire and almost scale like. However…there’s no magical costume which is bullshit.

Finally, Farah’s neck is snapped and that just kind of the final blow to my childhood. So…overall. This was pretty shit as both an adaptation and just as a story. There were a lot of plotholes and stupid things.

#Fate: The Winx Saga #Winx Club #Netflix #bitter

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roselen-mylady · 4 years

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In Another Life

Bucky Barnes x reader ° part one

Waiting 88 years to find your soulmate? It was cruel. But it was a cruel fate Bucky would have to face whether he accepted it or not. Bucky was a tortured man all his life and he wasn't even granted the solace of having his soulmate at his side. All he had was the promise of one in another life.

They were separated by two different times.

But the pain in their lives were connected. Y/n had been alone ever since she could remember. All she could depend on was the soulmate that was destined to be at her side. Yet when the snap occured she lost him.

And Bucky never got to meet her.

32332 days, 1 hour, 6 minutes and 23 seconds.

Surely that wasn't right.

"What does it say, Buck?" Steve's voice cut through his confused daze. Bucky held out his right wrist letting Steve observe the outrageously long number of days his poor friend would have to wait. Steve's eyes widened and he took hold of Bucky's arm, trying to see for himself.

Bucky had been too dazed to do the math but the alarming number caused him to fall into despair as he dropped his arm numbly.

It was his 18th birthday and two minutes ago he had been just as excited as most people were during their coming of age. But as he stared at the countdown on his arm, watching as the seconds slowly ticked by, he couldn't help but feel hopeless.

"That's like 80 years." Steve gasped, realizing after the fact that his statement probably wasn't the most helpful. Most people didn't even live to see 80, let alone wait that long for a soulmate. Was it some sick joke? Was he destined to be alone?

Steve couldn't even find words to uplift his friend's spirits, making them fall into an upsetting silence. They sat there for a few minutes before Bucky stood from his chair with a soul crushing expression.

"I think I'm gonna call it a day." He said, unsuccessfully hiding his tearful gaze. Steve stood reluctant to leave but Bucky was insistent. He was never one to be weak in front of others, especially not one he devoted his every waking moment to protecting.

Unsurprisingly, the celebration between the two friends ended and Bucky managed to find himself alone for the rest of his birthday. What was supposed to be a joyous day had quickly soured as he mourned the loss of someone he hadn't even met.

Did he do something wrong?

What made him deserve such a cruel fate?

•••

It took years for Bucky to somewhat accept his countdown and he had developed a habit to cover it up. He was able to almost forget about it even if only for a while before he eventually needed to expose his wrist. It was a horrible feeling knowing he would most likely die before meeting his soulmate. Even with medical advances, the odds were against him.

Steve found that while most days Bucky was alright and things seemed normal, he still had bad days. Steve tried his best to distract Bucky on these days and avoided the subject of soulmates all together even when his own countdown appeared. Of course Bucky had been able to force a smile and express his happiness for his friend but Steve knew it wasn't real.

He wasn't sure when Bucky started to move on but he remembered it was sometime in their mid-twenties. He had been ecstatic upon hearing Bucky so cheerful after so long being depressed. But Bucky's methods weren't the best or healthy for that matter.

Bucky had decided that even though he'd never find his soulmate, it didn't mean he had to be alone so he started to become a lady's man of sorts. Oh, how Steve wished he hadn't.

He couldn't exactly object to his friend's behavior, it was fairly common for men to date the way he had and it wasn't like Bucky was inappropriate in his relationships. Yet rather selfishly, Steve hated the idea. He knew his friend's behavior was only a way of coping with his countdown but part of him still felt that Bucky's countdown meant something. The idea made Steve ashamed but he was a firm believer that fate and soulmates were definite and that Bucky would find her.

Perhaps it was that guilt he felt that kept him from saying anything about it when Bucky appeared with a new girl on his arm each time. Eventually Steve grew used to being the tag along and any opposition he felt faded away.

Once he was used to Bucky's flings he wondered why he didn't try to stick to one girl. He must've cared enough about at least one of them to want to start a real relationship. But he realized first hand why Bucky had made an effort not to get too close.

"He's my soulmate, Bucky!" The girl shouted, throwing down the picture frame she had been holding. Steve flinched at the sound of shattering glass, feeling embarrassed to be caught in the middle of the couple's fight. Inside the frame had been a picture of Bucky and the woman smiling while holding one another. It was horribly ironic as Steve looked to his friend, his heart wrenching at the devastated expression on Bucky's face.

"Soulmates are a lie! It's not fate! It's not destiny! It's some idiotic hoax we all let control our lives!" Bucky yelled back. The girl fumed at his comeback, her face clearly expressing her anger.

Steve couldn't blame either side. People had been raised to believe that their soulmates were tied into their lives forever and whether the relationship was romantic or platonic you could never escape them. He couldn't wait to meet his own soulmate and start a life with her much like the poor girl before him wanted. But Steve knew that Bucky's situation was to blame for his resentfulness not because he actually believed what he said.

Because what no one knew except him and Bucky was that before he got his countdown, Bucky wanted that life too.

But it didn't stop her from grabbing her bag and storming off toward the door. "You're only saying that because you'll never meet yours!" She screamed, hitting him where she knew it would hurt most before slamming the door behind her.

It was agonizing watching his friend let go of the one girl he actually wanted to stay. They were good together, Steve knew that much but the girl had found her soulmate and Bucky was helpless to stop her from throwing everything they had out the window.

Bucky had gotten horribly drunk that night and Steve would forever remember his slurred words as he gave Steve a short and bitter piece of advice.

"Soulmates only cause pain and suffering. Don't ever let yourself fall victim." Bucky choked, bringing the liquor bottle back to his lips before wiping his tear stained cheeks.

Steve wanted to tell him it wasn't his soulmate's fault and not to blame her. It was the girl's own fault for so mercilessly ripping out his heart for another man. Soulmate or not it was heartless and yet Steve couldn't help but feel in a way it had been Bucky's soulmate who was to blame.

For the heartbreak he saw in Bucky's eyes that night weren't for the loss of his girlfriend. They were for the missing soulmate he knew he'd never find to complete him.

•••

Shortly after that night, America entered the second World War and Bucky had enlisted as many men in his country had.

"It's for our country." Bucky had explained rather patriotically and while Steve felt the same for his country, he couldn't help but feel that Bucky had only become involved as another distraction.

Steve tried desperately to follow in his footsteps, his motivation split between his inherited patriotism and dedication to looking out for his friend as Bucky had for him. And after months of trying he got his wish in a more unconventional way, becoming the famous Captain America.

Yet unbeknownst to Steve, tragedy had struck Bucky again overseas and he was captured after an unsuccessful attack in Azzano. Strangely the idea of dying hadn't seemed as terrifying to him as it had the others. Whenever he thought of his soulmate, his death came to his mind along with it and he was almost numb to the thought, as sick as that sounded.

"Stop." Bucky begged, leaning his head against the cold metal bar. His plea had caught the attention of the others in the cell with him and they stared at him, thrown off by the statement.

"What?" One of the men asked. Bucky rolled his head to the side lazily, looking at him. He knew he couldn't be mad at them for making conversation using the one thing they all had in common but he couldn't help it.

"Stop with the soulmate talk." He said gruffly. He turned his head back, staring up at the grated hole above them. The men were silent at first trying to respect their Sergeant's request but one bold soldier found himself unable to leave it alone.

"Would you care to talk about yours?" He questioned. Bucky shot him a short glare at his snide remark. It was a younger soldier, one Bucky had known wasn't one for rules but hadn't had too many problems with before then.

"No." Bucky growled, trying to get the kid to back off. He was much too tired to deal with the arrogant young soldier but he knew the kid wouldn't stop there.

"Why not? She dead or something?" He asked. The other men quickly snapped at him for his insensitivity but Bucky was already on his feet. The soldier watched carefully as Bucky paced over to him, a glint of fear in his eye as Bucky stood before him.

As a leader he wasn't new to asserting authority among the soldiers and whipping some into shape. But in their circumstance he found he didn't have the will to do so, instead letting out a long sigh as the others stared at him.

"No. But I will be." His voice was soft, just barely loud enough for those around him to hear. The soldier said nothing more to him even as Bucky volunteered himself to be taken away, sparing his soldiers even if only for one more day.

The idea of soulmates had left Bucky bitter and he cursed the universe for having dealt him such a bad hand. Soulmates were supposed to give people hope, a reason to carry on in the miserable scheme of things. But he had been deprived of that from the beginning.

He found that he could no longer fight the emptiness that had grown in his heart for years from the absence of his other half. So he warmly welcomed whatever HYDRA had planned.

But rather than torture or death he was met with Steve, yet not the Steve he had left. No this Steve was much bigger and stronger and Bucky already knew he was never going to get used to it. Once escaping, Bucky soon came to learn of the supersoldier serum and how Steve was now America's hero. And it didn't take much convincing on Steve's part to get Bucky to join the Captain's team of men as they sought out and destroyed the HYDRA bases.

Bucky would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy fighting alongside his friends as they took out a significant branch of the German forces. Unlike his soulmate, fighting the good fight gave him a purpose and he was able to finally accept his unfortunate countdown, no longer feeling anger or sadness toward it. He didn't really feel anything towards it.

Or so he had thought.

He allowed himself to share it with the others, something he had only done with Steve. It was rather entertaining listening to their brainstorming and for the first time he laughed about it. It was ironic laughing at his misfortune but he felt entitled to do so.

"What if you meet her in the future?" One of them questioned suddenly. The statement had rattled him so much he hadn't even known which had suggested it.

"What?" Bucky mumbled, stunned. The idea of meeting someone 78 years in the future had never even seemed possible to him and he certainly wouldn't have allowed himself to hope.

"What if you meet her in the future? I mean, if Steve can be a superhuman who's to say time travel isn't in the near future." Dum Dum added.

Bucky fell silent, processing the words carefully. He didn't want to give himself hope in finding her but there was some logic behind his statement. What if fate hadn't meant for him to never meet her? What if it was just going to take a bit longer than most?

And with that small bit of confirmation from his heart, for one blissful second he let his mind imagine her.

He thought of the color of her eyes or the style of her hair. Did she like animals? Did she bite her nails? Was she funny? Did she like the snow? Could she dance? He almost smiled thinking about teaching her to waltz.

Steve watched with anxious eyes as Bucky stared at the ground, his smile slowly fading as he thought more.

Was she out there somewhere believing the same as he did? Did she feel lonely too? Did she think about him? Would she love him?

A part of him felt that she would. Even though he resented the idea of soulmates he knew he loved her more than he felt was rational. It was an indescribable feeling, loving someone you knew nothing about and he would've argued he didn't if he didn't feel so depressed by knowing he'd never meet her. He loved and mourned her all at once and he knew deep down she was the only one who would understand how that felt. He knew she would love him too even if the only thing connecting them was their mutual loss of one another.

"I think we should call it a night." Steve announced, not wanting them to say anything else that might hurt Bucky. They agreed and walked off toward their tents with drunken giggles and taunts. Steve went with Bucky to his tent though it was a silent walk. They sat inside on his cot for a good while before Bucky built the nerve to speak.

"Do you think she loves me?" Bucky questioned suddenly. Steve hesitated before replying, unsure whether to play into getting Bucky's hopes up.

"Yeah. I think she does even if she doesn't know it yet." Steve answered truthfully. He couldn't help but hope for his friend's happiness. Even though it seemed impossible, it didn't stop him from believing that one day Bucky might find his soulmate.

Bucky nodded keeping his eyes on the ground. Steve took that as his cue to leave and he gave Bucky a quiet goodnight before heading off to his own tent.

Bucky fell asleep shortly after that but was abruptly awoken sometime in the early hours in a cold sweat. For the first time in years, he had a dream. It left him shaken to the core and before he could even process it, he had begun to cry.

In his dream, he saw the woman he had believed he'd never meet. By the time he had woken up he could only remember a blur of her but it was enough to give him hope that maybe, just maybe one day in another life he'd finally be able to see her. To hold her close and tell her how long he had been waiting for her.

But even his new found desire to find the woman behind the face couldn't save him from his fate that cold, devastating day.

•••

His time at HYDRA came back in dizzying fragments but he remembered them finding him at the bottom of the frozen canyon, blood trailing from his torn arm. He supposed they thought he was unconscious because they began their procedure right away. He felt every torturous second of having the remainder of his limb removed and replaced with a metal version.

He must've finally slipped from consciousness because when he had come to, he had control of the arm and he instantly used it to choke the man closest to him. They drugged him to get him to stop and reluctantly his grip on the man loosened as his body went numb.

He didn't know how long he had been frozen for or exactly when he was frozen again but he knew every time he came out of cryostatis, someone died. With being the new fist of HYDRA, he assassinated important figures who might oppose them and while most were still foggy to him, he vividly remembered killing Howard Stark and his wife.

During the times he was out of the ice he struggled to remember who he was or what he was doing. He was a soldier and every part of his identity had been scrubbed clean from his mind. But there was one part of him they could never erase and he recalled staring at the countdown every chance he got. He supposed it was the only piece of himself he had to hold onto and though he couldn't remember what the numbers had been the last time he was thawed it still gave him hope that he had a purpose other than to kill.

"How many years are in 23,725 days?" He had questioned someone numbly. The HYDRA scientist closest to him had taken pity on him, answering his question quietly as to avoid getting in trouble.

"About 65 years." They said shortly. He nodded silently, not even noticing as someone stormed into the room making the scientist cower knowing he'd done something he shouldn't have.

However Bucky had been so satisfied with the answer he didn't even fight as they shoved the rubber piece into his mouth and forced him back. Those simple numbers were the reason he was thrown into the blender so often but it didn't stop him from asking whenever he got the chance.

Of course no one answered him, not after what had happened to the last guy but even his simple curiosity was enough for them to tear apart his mind like a discarded puzzle that needed to go back in the box. Even years after being freed of HYDRA he couldn't remember most of the things they had done to him.

It went on like that for decades and sometime during that he stopped asking about his countdown, finally becoming the mindless soldier they desired. Not even the idea of his soulmate could remind him that he was human and he hadn't questioned their cause for a long time. That was until Steve came along.

Reminding Bucky of who he was wasn't an easy process, most attempts ending with him becoming hostile, even feral due to years of brainwashing. But soon the memories became too strong and even frequent brainwashing wasn't able to stop him from remembering parts of his past life. And after his final fight with Steve he realized staying with HYDRA was no longer an option but neither was going with Steve.

So he went underground, trying to protect both himself and everyone around him. It was only a matter of time before Steve found him again, leading to the catastrophic fight between Avengers at that Berlin airport. After the final fight between Steve and Tony he realized the only way to keep Steve and everyone else safe was to go back to cryostasis. Thankfully Wakanda had supplied a way for him to do this, though Steve was naturally reluctant.

"You sure about this?" Steve questioned. Bucky smiled, having never been more sure of anything.

"I can't trust my own mind. So, until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head I think going back under is the best thing...for everybody." He sighed, looking down, guilt washing over him. He had done so many terrible things, most of which he didn't even remember. He couldn't inflict himself on the world again.

"Besides, maybe when I wake up my soulmate will be waiting for me." He offered with a playful shrug. Steve laughed, putting his hand on Bucky's shoulder.

"Yeah, well if she is, chew her out for keeping you waiting for so long." Steve replied. Bucky laughed, shaking his head. He remembered the hate he once felt for soulmates but whether it be his fragile mind or just the fact that the numbers on his wrist were almost normal looking, he no longer felt angry.

Instead he felt something he hadn't felt in a really long time.

He felt optimistic.

"She'll be worth the wait."

•••

He was taken out again once his mind and arm had finally healed enough for him to feel like himself again. Unfortunately his soulmate hadn't been waiting for him when he woke up but he was content with waiting a little longer. And with the help of Shuri he made a life of farming and solitude in Wakanda while he did so.

Much of his time out in the green fields were spent allowing his mind to run wild about her. He had never let himself become excited about his soulmate since it seemed so hopeless before but now his wrist wore a more plausible countdown. Looking forward to it was justified and even expected now that he was so close.

The numbers had decreased drastically in the 73 years his mind had been lost and it now read a fair number of 1825 days. Once showing Shuri the countdown she calculated the exact second he'd meet his fated soulmate but he could only remember it was sometime in October of 2023. While the year sounded like something out of a book he realized he had actually lived to 2018. The impossible thing he had told himself he'd never be able to witness was only 5 years away and he felt euphoric knowing he only had to wait a little bit longer to meet her.

But his happiness didn't last long for the King of Wakanda himself came to Bucky with a new arm. He already knew what T'Challa would ask of him and he sighed, looking down at the black Vibranium arm likely made for him by Shuri.

"Where's the fight?" He questioned, resignation clear in his tone. A part of him had known things were too good and that something would happen to change that but he had naively wished it would happen after finally meeting his soulmate.

But the universe had planned to make him suffer one more time and he was woefully incapable of fighting it this time.

•••

The battle against Thanos's forces had been harder and crazier than any fight he'd been a part of before. He hadn't even grown used to the advanced technology Wakanda contained and yet there he was fighting aliens alongside a talking raccoon. His years of being a soldier of HYDRA came in handy as he held his own against the horrible monsters that invaded the once peaceful land of Wakanda.

And when Thanos had been hit in the chest with the ax that was larger than life, he found he was relieved. In that short moment he decided this would be his last fight and that he would dedicate every moment from that point forward to finding his soulmate once and for all.

He didn't care if he had to spend the remaining years searching the far corners of the world. He would find her.

But he hadn't realized how far things were from over until the snap.

Tragedy struck Bucky one more time that day, only he hadn't been around to witness it. He was the first of many to be taken from the world at the hands of Thanos.

But the countdown continued.

Part two

120 notes · View notes

lnarizakis · 4 years

Text

if ghosts could even love

masterlist

pairing: yamaguchi tadashi x fem!reader x tsukishima kei

foreword: hi! this piece was definitely out of my comfort zone, but really fun to write! this is an angsty guardian angel au. it is another attempt at angst since the only thing i’m pretty much decent at is fluff. so here i am, continuing to practice angst! this is also one of my first attempts at “aesthetic formatting,” so please go easy on me, hahah. thank you to @doughnuts-5ever for beta-reading! i hope you enjoy!!

word count: 1.6k

look out for: themes referring to death, mentions of suicide and manga spoilers, unrequited love, angst

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Warm air hit his face, and he was instantly met with a blinding light that shines even through his eyelids that he has to squeeze his eyes more shut than they already were. He couldn’t breathe, but he felt as free as an angel flying in the sky. Perhaps he was one. It seemed like a dream—to be up in the heavens, lying on the clouds; but when he opened his eyes ever so slowly, the pink and white and purple and yellow surrounding him like a flurry made him realize that he most definitely was not on Earth, but maybe, just maybe, he was in Heaven.

“Welcome to Heaven,” a voice boomed in his head, but it didn’t ring in his ears, shaking his being like all his mortal fears did when he was still alive. He’s...dead? But his soul felt so alive, he couldn’t possibly fathom that he was actually dead.

“Your good intentions on Earth did not go unnoticed,” the voice rang again. He looked around for the source of the message, but all he could find within the vast space of clouds and sky was himself— or, at least, what he thought was himself. He attempted to look down at his feet, but there were no feet in sight. It was just his soul, the empty ghost of what was once a former pinch server, captain, student, and best friend. “You are allowed to look over one person on earth for the rest of their life. You must have choose wisely; you are to watch over this person for the rest of your life. Who shall you choose?”

Without hesitation, he spoke out loud (if ghosts could even talk), “My best friend, Tsukishima Kei.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

A flurry of bright colors covered his entire vision, and they turned darker and darker as they mixed with one another. The blizzard vanished before him, and he stood in front of his best friend, who sat at the edge of his bed. The lights of his bedroom were turned off, and through the closed blinds of the single window he could see that it was nighttime.

The ghost of a former friend leapt towards Tsukishima, in an attempt to hug him, but passed through his body like the spirit he was. There was certainly no way he could make contact with him at all. Tsukishima leaned forward, hands covering his face to mask his pained expression. As he groaned into his palms, the door to his bedroom slowly creaked open, revealing the shadowed figure of his older brother.

“Kei, are you okay?” He made his way towards his younger brother, only to be stopped by a stern “Leave.” Kei didn’t even turn around to look at his brother’s retreating figure.

“Tsukki, I’m right here,” the ghost called out. He was met with no reply—he was only a soul, after all. Tsukishima coudn’t possibly hear him. From behind his bedroom door, both Kei and the ghost could hear the older brother tell Kei that Tadashi’s—whoever that was—family had planned for his funeral to be the following week. A funeral? The soul made his way to reside next to Tsukishima’s hunched form, comforting him in any way he could.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

On the day of the funeral, Tsukishima showed up in a loose black suit and a tie. His head hung low, not wanting to partake in any second of this moment. The ghost thought he looked nice. As he made his way towards his best friend’s grave, Tsukishima made eye contact with a girl around his age whose tears for the deceased had already stained her cheeks for everyone to see. She turned towards Tsukishima, and the spirit who accompanied him felt a pang of familiarity in all the corners of his otherworldly body. Something about her just looked so, so familiar. Her name was on the tip of his tongue (if ghosts could even have tongues). There was no way for him to remember who she was.

“Hi, (L/N),” Tsukishima said, walking towards the girl. She wrapped her arms around his torso, but he made no movement of hugging her back. She sobbed into his chest, heaving out words she didn’t know she was saying. From behind the tear-stained girl, the mother of whom the ghost suspected was Tadashi joined the two and held out an envelope in front of Tsukishima.

“It’s for you,” she commented, as Tsukishima accepted the letter. The girl, whose name the ghost learned was (L/N), let go of her hold on Tsukishima and stood by him, watching him open the letter. He pulled out a sheet of paper that looked like it was impulsively ripped out of a math notebook on a lonely Thursday night. The handwriting looked familiar to the ghost, as if he had written out the message himself, but he had no memory of writing out a depressing suicide note like that. Tsukishima’s eyes slowly scanned the letter in front of him, but it was hard to read the ink towards the bottom of the paper that began to mix with the salty tears that dropped from his chin.

(L/N) held out her own letter, telling Tsukishima that she received one from him as well. She allowed him to read it, and the contents of it shocked him. His eyes widened, not believing a single thing Tadashi had written or her. The ghost’s best friend turned towards (L/N), who still looked ethereal as ever despite her puffy eyes and ruined makeup. She choked back a sob as she nodded, squeezing her eyes shut to keep more tears from letting out. Tsukishima looked at the ground, mumbling out, “I never knew.”

She said it was okay.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Several days later, it seemed like Tsukishima’s life returned to normal. In fact, it seemed livelier than usual, like an array of colors lit up his whole world. Maybe it was because he started dating (L/N), whom the ghost had come to know as (Y/N), brightening up his darkened canvas with the new warm colors in his life. Maybe dating her was his way of coping with his loss.

It hurt the ghost terribly, for her beauty had stirred his ghostly heart to begin beating once again. The ghost could see the way her laugh brought shades of yellow into Tsukishima’s life, and how her smile shined a pure white wherever she went. Whenever she hugged Tsukishima from behind to surprise him, or whenever she grabbed both of his hands to show him her support, shades of pink and red were splattered onto the canvas of his life. It seemed to the ghost that because of his death, a new beginning came for Tsukishima.

New feelings (if ghosts could even produce the merest of feelings) also rose within the ghost himself as he too began to fall in love with (Y/N). These feelings, though, were so familiar despite only having known her for several days; it was like he had been in love with her before. He felt so at home with these feelings—it was like falling in love with her was what he had always wanted; what he had longed for as an empty soul.

What the ghost had come to realize was that he was Tadashi and that he used to love (Y/N) while he was alive. He didn’t know what to do with this new information—or perhaps old information, and that he was to inevitably learn this—but he knew what to make of it. Tadashi had to understand that he never told (Y/N) how he felt, resulting in these feelings of his still burning alive even after his death on Earth.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

(Y/N) clung to Tsukishima’s side just like how a similar someone did to him while he was still alive. It was almost like she was a replacement for him. She was so constantly around him that it seemed like Tadashi was not only watching over Tsukishima, but also (Y/N). He observed her every quirk and learned all of her expressions. Tadashi knew just how in love with Tsukishima (Y/N) was, but the boyfriend himself couldn’t see it.

Tadashi could vividly remember one rainy Thursday afternoon, an instance in which he was so pained to be so in love yet so out of reach for (Y/N). Through the open blinds of the one window of his bedroom he could probably count each rain droplet that was stuck to the glass in the time the two were cuddled up on Tsukishima’s bed. He was fast asleep, tired out of his mind from the busy morning he had. (Y/N), though, was awake but slowly falling into a deep slumber in the warmth of his arms. Tadashi could remember her eyes—oh, her eyes—that were so in love with the boy in front of her, and he knows that if he were still alive he could give her the same kind of affection that she gave him. It hurt knowing, and it hurt that he could only imagine.

It hurt Tadashi’s soul seeing (Y/N) so in love with Tsukishima. It hurt knowing that he was in love with his best friend’s girlfriend. It hurt how he could never tell (Y/N) he loved her (if ghosts could even fall in love). Even while he was still alive. Oh, how he loved her while hew as alive. She made him feel as free as a bird up in the sky and as alive as a raging fire whose sparks crackled and flamed up in the night. It was so ironic how now, as an angel so free up in the heavens, he felt trapped inside a cage. Trapped, because he could never escape the longing he felt of livign someone who could never love him back, and the suffocation he felt knowing that he could definitely treat her better.

Tadashi laughed (if ghosts could even laugh). How selfish.

#haikyuuwritersnet #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #tsukishima kei #tsukishima #kei tsukishima #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #kei tsukishima x reader #yamaguchi tadashi #yamaguchi #tadashi yamaguchi #yamaguchi x reader #yamaguchi tadashi x reader #tadashi yamaguchi x reader #ummm so yeah sorry i killed yamaguchi :(#if there are some parts u would like me to clear up lmk #cadekagi

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kurosakikai · 3 years

Text

. xx2 . Lost Soul

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Heavily modified from an incomplete rp with @mysteriousshopkeeper

Kisuke wasn't sure what on earth was going on. He'd heard some loud, albeit childish, yelling, and assumed it was merely some kids playing games together until something shattered.

His focus now thoroughly shattered along with it, he takes Benehime in a hand and stalks outside.

"... Kai-kun?" Kisuke says, startled. The boy blinks up at him, a hand brought to a cheek. There's a dark red spot, and Kisuke isn't sure if he's furious on the boy's behalf or worried.

"Hi, Urahara-san," the boy says, smiling. It's marred by the potential injury, and Kisuke kneels down to gently check the damage.

"What happened?" he asks, quiet. Kai-kun gives a sheepish smile.

"Would you accept 'I got lost' as an excuse?" The boy says, cheeks flush with a little embarrassment.

Kisuke raises a skeptical brow. "I'm sure that's only half of the story, young man," he says dryly, and Kai-kun sighs, looking a little despondent.

"That's what I thought," he admits. "Sasha and Andre were being bullied again," he admits, and Kisuke has to search his memory for a recollection of their names.

"Ah yes, Sado-kun's little ones," Kisuke recalls, having been in Mexico at the time Sado-kun had requested his aid to gain custody of such young little children. "What happened to them?"

Kai-kun shrugs, blushing a little, and Kisuke shoos the little boy into his shop, glancing around to see what was broken.

Thankfully, it looked like nothing.

"Some of the kids from the junior high were bothering them, pushing them around and trying to yank at their hair," Kai admits, and Kisuke makes a note to make sure Sado-kun was told immediately.

Ichigo-kun too.

"I see," he hums, and the boy gives him a shy look.

"Please don't tell Papa?" He asks, and Kisuke levels the boy with a flat look. "Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease?" Green eyes turn pleading, even as the boy obediently sits himself down on a comfy armchair Kaien had frequented before his death, seemingly drawn there despite the several other, closer chairs he could have gone to.

Kisuke's breath catches just a little. Kai-kun, swinging his legs, didn't notice, instead peering around the shop itself curiously. His hand is still on his face, hiding the worst of the damage, and the man gently tugs at the boy's hand. It doesn't budge, the boy looking stubborn.

Maa. Just like his papa, it seemed.

"Kai-kun, you know your father will be upset if I don't," he says, and Kai scowls.

"That's what I'm afraid of," the boy says unhappily. "I know Papa - he's super overprotective." Kisuke thinks about that. Given that the boy had rather recklessly thrown himself into protecting the older twins Sado-kun had adopted, Kisuke felt some protectiveness was well deserved.

"How is that little glass house of yours?" he teases gently, and the boy scowls mulishly. "Now, let me see the damage, and you can tell me, Mister Spy-In-Training, what you're doing here."

The boy's cheeks puff, and he's strongly reminded of Jinta, pouting over him daring to show compassion.

Oh the Horror.

"Now Kai-kun, you can't hide forever." he teases, pokes the boy's nose until he relents.

My goodness. The welt was pretty nasty, and Kisuke could see now, what had shattered. Thin lines cut across his face, and looking down, the boy's hand was also rather damaged as well.

"What did they throw at you?" Kisuke says flatly, and the boy winces.

"Bang-flashes in a glass soda bottle, " he admits quietly, looking shamefully down at his hands. Kisuke almost hisses. That mixture was probably responsible for the marks on his hand as well as his face.

"Kai-kun, listen to me, right now." the boy looks up, and he holds the boy's hand. "You do realize that if they had done this with anyone else, that child could have died?"

Startlement crosses his face. It must have not even crossed his mind. Inhumanly durable, he would have to guess, just like his father. Sighing, Kisuke gets to work, bandaging the little boy's hand and making sure there was no glass in the wounds. He wasn't sure if Kai knew about Shinigami yet and Rukia hadn't enlightened him during their brief conversation after he'd met Kai-kun that first time. He'd ask Ichigo on the phone.

"... Sorry," Kai-kun mumbles, swings his feet, and Kisuke simply pats the boy on the head.

"Just think about it a little more, okay?" He chides, gentle, before flicking the boy's nose. Kai-kun squeaks, offended, before giggling a little at the surprise attack.

"Now, when your father comes to pick you up, or I go to drop you off, either you will tell him or I will, is that understood?"

The boy wilts, but nods obediently enough, and just to make the little munchkin smile, he ruffles dark hair.

"You don't want them going and hurting anyone else, now do you?" he questions, and the boy gives him an offended look.

"No!" Kai-kun protests, and Kisuke raises a brow. "... fine," he mumbles, looking a little embarrassed. "I'll tell Papa..." pouting, the boy curls up on his seat, looking awkwardly like Kaien, when the man had taken a nap on this very same couch. He even curled his legs the same way.

To distract from that very unwelcome thought, Kisuke fishes a lollipop from his haori's pocket.

With a pat - and a lollipop for being such a reasonable child - Kisuke straightens, wandering over to his phone and dialing the clinic.

"Kurosaki Clinic, this is Ichigo speaking," Ichigo's voice is as welcome as ever, and Kisuke beams - it really had been too long since he'd spent any significant time with Ichigo.

"Maa maa, I seem to have located a lost little boy," Kisuke says cheerfully, and hears Ichigo suck in a breath. "He's safe and sound, at the moment, but I wanted to know if you wanted me to drop him off, or if I could expect your lovely self visiting," Kisuke says, chipper.

"My son's fine?" Ichigo says warily, and Kisuke sighs, offended.

"Would I hurt a little one?" He complains, and Ichigo is suspiciously silent.

"I mean, you did raise Ururu and Jinta," Ichigo concedes after a very long silence, and Kisuke grins, glad that he'd admitted such aloud. "I suppose you can bring him home - I've got some stuff I need to do, and I'm sure Kai has homework he'd prefer to do in peace and quiet, rather than in the middle of our inventory," Ichigo says, tone dry. "Call again in an hour, and I'll let you know if you can walk him home or if I'll have to pick him up."

"Do you want to talk to him?" Kisuke offers, hears a huff of laughter while Ichigo signs something on his end.

"Am I that predictable?" Ichigo asks, resigned in his amusement. Kisuke chuckles.

"Heavens no, but I remember being a parent, Ichigo. Even though I trusted Tessai, I was a nervous wreck when I first left him alone to babysit those two." Ichigo laughs, sounds a little startled as he does, and Kisuke preens.

"Thanks for that." It's quiet for a moment. "I'm guessing you see the resemblance."

Ah yes. There it was. At the quiet, almost forbidding tone, Kisuke has his answer to the question he'd held in his head for the three weeks since he'd last seen Kai-kun.

"It's certainly uncanny, but Kai-kun is a sweet child." The implications were not lost on Ichigo, who hums a placid-seeming agreement.

"Good. However, if you call him Kaien more than once in my son's hearing, consider yourself a dead man," Ichigo threatens seriously, and Kisuke sweats a little. What a short leash, my goodness. Then again, given Kaien's legacy, perhaps a little vicious, parental affection was in order. "I really am in a bit of a hurry, but if I can talk to Kai, I'd appreciate it." At Ichigo's words, Kisuke smiles.

"Kai-kun, your father wants to talk to you." At his call, the boy perks up, having pulled out his homework and put it on the table, apparently already aware of his father's schedule.

A good spy in training would know these things, Kisuke thinks with a grin, watching the boy scurry over to the phone and happily greet his father.

"Hi Papa!" The boy says happily, and the boy's expression is serious as he listens to whatever his father is saying, nodding along and giving little 'uh-huhs' and 'mm-hmms' as he does so. At Kisuke's look, the boy wilts a little. "Okay Papa - when I get home, I have to tell you some stuff," he says, and Kisuke ruffles the boy's hair. "It can wait, really." Muffled talking from the other end, and Kai looks a little panicked. "Wha - no, Papa, seriously, you don't have to stop inventory for it!"

Ah. Surprisingly overprotective, Ichigo. No wonder the boy wanted him not to tell. Deftly, Kisuke pulls the phone out of Kai-kun's hand.

"It's been dealt with, for the moment," Kisuke says cheerfully. "Your son will be fine for an hour, and if you'd like, you can come here and hug your son all you like."

Silence.

"If my son is badly hurt..." Ichigo's tone is dark, and Kisuke shivers a little.

"He's fine. He's as durable as you are. And besides, weren't you just begrudgingly praising my parenting less than ten minutes ago?"

"...Tch, fine." Ichigo gives an annoyed sounding grumble. "But I want names, and you better have them for me."

"Sure, sure," Kisuke says, cheerful. "I'll get your favorite tea brewing, how's that sound?" A huffed laugh.

“Now I know I’m predictable. Sure, sure. I’ll see you when I get out of inventory. Please put Kai back on,” Ichigo requests, and amiably, Kisuke does so, gives the boy a little wink. Kai-kun beams at him, takes the phone back and exchanges fond goodbyes before hanging up the phone.

“Thank you Urahara-san,” the boy says shyly, and chuckling, Kisuke ruffles that mop of hair again.

“It’s my pleasure Kai-kun, but my goodness, you were not kidding when you said your father was overprotective,” Kisuke chuckles, escorting the boy back to the table. “So what are you doing, little one?”

“Math,” the boy says, disgusted with it. Kisuke snorts, unable to help himself. Kaien had never disliked math, he recalls fondly. In fact, Kaien had tested out of it in the Academy, along with the classes required to fill out the paperwork.

“Don’t like math?” he asks, and Kai gives it a stink eye.

“Math shouldn’t have letters in it,” he grumps, and Kisuke snorts laughter.

What a precious child. Chuckling, Kisuke folds himself down next to the little boy, before offering him a quick hair ruffle.

“How about this - once you’ve done all of them, I’ll get you some tea sweets and tea, and check your answers.” The boy gives a disgruntled little mrrrp noise, but dutifully pokes at it, grumbling the whole while.

How cute. Chuckling, Urahara allows the grumpy boy his due, grabbing a teapot and setting it up, tin of tea sweets to the side while the boy tackles his math problems.

It’s quiet, for a good twelve minutes, before the boy puts his pen down, radiating accomplishment.

“May I?” He asks, and the boy eyes him - before offering his homework to Kisuke. In return, Kai-kun begins to sip his tea. He takes Kai-kun’s pencil in a hand, and gingerly marks the incorrect answers, circling where the little one had gone wrong. “And if you could, please text Sasha and Andre - Sado-kun will want to know who is harassing his little ones.”

Kai-kun doesn’t even look up as he tartly replies, “You mean Papa wants to know because he wants to throttle them with his bare hands.”

… It’s an increasingly good thing he doesn’t drink tea when Kai-kun speaks. He chokes a little on his scandalized laughter, but concedes with a grin.

“You know your father terrifyingly well,” Kisuke says, and Kai, in the middle of snacking on his second tea sweet, gives an absent nod as he texts one of the twins.

“I love Papa, but he’s really predictable like that,” Kai-kun remarks. “He’s lucky I love him lots or I’d throttle him instead.” Chuckling, Kisuke allows the little one his grumpiness, refreshes his tea and takes another one. Another moment, and Kai-kun speaks, “The Amagi gang, apparently. They’re supposed to be a small-time yakuza group. According to Sasha, they’re offended because their papa doesn’t pay them protection money.”

“Oh?” Kisuke asks, and in answer, the boy offers him his phone. My my, photos and everything, how thoughtful of the little ones.

“They told Uncle Chat already, and he promised not to tell Papa as long as I tell him first.” The boy grumpily glares at him. “You guys are all mean,” he says, and Kisuke simply snorts, fetching his tablet while the boy takes back his paper, grimacing at the wrong answers and dutifully correcting them. “Can I learn sneaky spy things from you yet?” the boy asks a little while later, and Kisuke laughs, still in the process of researching the small-time gang that had dared bother Kai-kun.

“What do you want to know?” He asks, amused. The boy finishes his homework yet again, and Kisuke takes it while he waits.

“How do you demoralize jerks so they don’t try to go after you in the first place?” The boy asks, and Kisuke raises a brow. “Sasha and Andre are my friends,” he says, looking annoyed. “I don’t like that a small-time bunch of thugs can go after them and think they got away with it.”

“I am going to sic your father on them,” he points out, and the boy scowls at him.

“And? Because it’s not me, or Sasha, or Andre, they’ll come back anyways, because they think we can’t protect ourselves, and we need an adult to come save us,” the seven-year-old says mulishly.

… ouch.

“Do you know how to defend yourself?” Kisuke asks, and Kai-kun shoots him a look.

“Papa freaks out when I get a papercut, and Momma cried the last time I bumped my knee. You think either of them would let me voluntarily go somewhere to fight?”

Oh my. Now that was certainly a bit of bitterness. Reaching out, he ruffles the boy’s hair and gives him back his homework, now error free, to tuck it away.

“You know they want to keep you safe,” he chides softly, and the boy scowls further.

“I know they do. But I’m a person, not a doll,” Kai-kun says bluntly, and Kisuke makes a note to talk to Ichigo about it the moment he arrives.

“Even so, please be gentle with them. You know, when I first had children I was all aflutter. I don’t think Ururu or Jinta stuck their noses out of my house without me knowing until they were at least ten or eleven.” The boy’s face is horrified.

“I have to deal with this for four more years?” he says, and Kisuke chokes back a laugh.

“Tell you what. If you behave yourself, I’ll talk to your Papa when he comes to pick you up, and see if I can have you come to me after school for some defense lessons, okay?” The boy scowls, for a moment, but at Kisuke’s earnest expression, the boy sighs, and nods his head.

“Fine, Urahara-san. Good luck,” he adds grudgingly, and goes back to his tea and sweets.

Once his hour is up, Kisuke dials Ichigo again. He gets dial tone, and blinks. Hanging up, he goes to dial Ichigo’s cell.

“Great timing,” Ichigo’s voice is dryly amused. “I’m right outside. Was about to knock, too.” Huffing a laugh, Kisuke hangs up and goes to the door.

The years have certainly treated Ichigo well. His hair was messy and tousled, reminding him distinctly of when Ichigo had completed his training in the Dangai, and it seemed, he’d grown another inch or so since they’d last met face to face nearly a decade ago. A pair of attractive black spectacles donned his face, and he was dressed in a white shirt and slacks, with boots rather than the typical doctor’s slippers.

“Ichigo-kun!” Kisuke beams, wrapping the young man in a hug that Ichigo accepts, smiling wryly. “Come in, come in!” Ushering the man in, Kisuke glances over at Kai-kun. He can see immediately, how Kai-kun perks up, a sudden radiance passing over his face as the boy gets to his feet and all but launches himself at his father, Ichigo giving a surprised laugh as he catches his son around the waist and spins him around before lifting him up to one hip.

His scowl has been replaced with a fond smile, though it quickly fades at the scrape on Kai-kun’s face, and the bandage around his son’s hand.

“Little one, what happened?” He asks, and Kai-kun’s cheeks flush, embarrassed.

“Urahara-san already knows,” the boy mumbles against his chest, and Ichigo gives him a sharp look, to which he smiles, flaps his fan towards the tablet sitting innocently on the table. A small nod, and Ichigo looks back down at his son, who is quivering in distress.

“Kai, tell me,” he says softly, his son looking down in embarrassment, “Why won’t you tell me who did this?”

“Cause you always have to save me,” he says, mumbling into his Papa’s chest. “You used to beat them up yourself, and they left you alone, but you’re always saving me instead,” Kai says, distressed.

Ichigo’s eyes soften. “You’re not even nine yet,” Ichigo says softly, bouncing his son gently until the boy looks at him. “Before then, granmomma kept me safe, you know.”

Kai-kun blinks, before looking up at him, suspicious.

“Really?” He sniffs, and Kisuke decides that he doesn’t need to listen any longer, giving the two their peace while he goes off and handles a few other matters.

It’s nearly fifteen minutes before Kisuke hears Ichigo call for him, and they’ve migrated to the comfortable couch Kai-kun had absconded with earlier, the boy squeezed tight against his father and looking content with the world. Ichigo’s fingers are scratching affectionately at the top of his son’s head, Kai-kun puddled next to his Papa in clear bliss. How cute!

Amiably, Kisuke takes a seat across from them, sets his fan down.

“So you want to teach my son self-defense?” Ichigo starts, glancing down at Kai-kun, who ignores them both, pushing his head up into Ichigo’s hand like a particularly greedy cat.

Kisuke can’t help but coo at the sight. Ichigo, too, melts at the sight of his only son’s joy.

“He’s just like you, you know,” Kisuke points out dryly. “Won’t stand for injustice if he can prevent it.” Kai-kun mumbles something, and Ichigo stops to look down at him suspiciously.

“If Papa gets to protect people, so do I,” he grumbles, before nudging up against Ichigo’s hand. “Paaaapa, more head scratches.”

“What are you, a cat?” Ichigo teases his son, and the boy gives him a little glare. Easily enough, Ichigo does so, however, clearly fond of his little boy. Kisuke watches indulgently, even as Ichigo heaves a little sigh. “I don’t like it,” he prefaces, before looking down at his son’s bandaged hand, his once trademark scowl reappearing as he observes his little one. Kai-kun looks pleadingly up at him, and he heaves another, heavier sigh. “But I’d much rather you learn to keep yourself safe than to watch you come home scraped and bruised because someone’s taking out my legacy on you. Three times a week, and no more,” Ichigo tells his son sternly, and the boy lights up. “But you can only help out in the clinic once a week.” The boy pauses, looks at him accusingly, and Ichigo raises a brow.

“But healing people is important Papa!” he protests, and Ichigo flicks his forehead.

Kai-kun squeaks, offended.

“So is you getting rest, and relaxing, and doing your homework,” the father remarks pitilessly. “That’s the terms - take ‘em or leave ‘em.” The boy pouts at him, and Ichigo raises an eyebrow, unwilling to budge. Eventually, Kai-kun wilts, aware he was fighting a losing battle.

“Fine,” he huffs, smooshing his face against his father’s stomach. “Meanie,” Kai-kun says, and Ichigo’s eyes sparkle with fond affection.

“Be happy I’m not making you tell your mother,” Ichigo says, and the little boy freezes.

“No, no, it’s perfect, please don’t make me tell Momma I’m begging you,” the boy yelps, to Ichigo’s amusement.

And Kisuke’s. Watching them brings a small smile to his face, and Ichigo plants a kiss to the top of his head.

“Pack your stuff, cutie,” he tells his son, and the boy does so, hefting his bag and finishing his tea before trotting off to go put his shoes on, bidding Kisuke a cheerful wave goodbye. “You find them,” Ichigo says darkly, “The ones who hurt my son, before I do, Urahara.”

“Of course, of course. Should I expect the Godslayer?” He teases, and Ichigo gives him a flat, unimpressed look before relenting.

“Depends on what you find out about those bastards,” Ichigo says, standing up and dusting his hands off.

“I was meaning to ask, but does Kai-kun know anything about Soul Society? He lacked the noble graces I would have thought Rukia would teach him.” Ichigo, in the middle of putting on his jacket, pauses.

“What, like formality lessons?” The shopkeeper raises a brow.

“Did Rukia and Byakuya never tell you about the fact Kai-kun is set to inherit the Kuchiki estate should Byakuya die?”

Ichigo’s brow twitches. “No,” he grits out, and Kisuke winces. “I’ll talk to them after Kai goes to sleep,” he says, irritable. “And no, not yet. Kai-kun can see ghosts, but so far, we haven’t told him much. He was too young for anything but basic reiatsu control exercises, and I didn’t want him practicing somewhere a Hollow might consider him a tasty snack.”

“Ah yes, an improbable chance, given that there hasn’t been a single Hollow in Karakura since you became the Godslayer,” Kisuke says dryly.

Ichigo doesn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed.

“My city,” he says simply, and Kisuke supposes for Ichigo, it really is that simple. “Good night Kisuke. I’ll come by with Kai in the morning to talk to you about his lesson plan.” Cheerful, Kisuke waves a goodbye, beaming.

“Of course!” he chirps, cheerful.

Ichigo pauses one last time, and Kisuke raises a brow.

“Pass the warning on to Tessai and the others, about Kai. And let Yoruichi know if she flashes my son even accidentally, she better dig her own grave or I’ll put her in one.”

On that terrifying note, Ichigo leaves, taking his son with him.

Kisuke looks at his home, and gives an awkward little sigh.

“Maaaa. Ichigo-kun really is out to put me in an early grave,” he bemoans, standing up and dusting himself off, though he cannot hide his excitement.

It’s been far too long since the Shoten has heard the sound of tiny feet.

#BLEACH #URAHARA KISUKE #KISUKE URAHARA #ICHIGO KUROSAKI #KUROSAKI ICHIGO #KAIEN SHIBA #SHIBA KAIEN #. oo2 . STORY #BLEACH FANFICTION #STORY

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platypanthewriter · 4 years

Text

A Strategic Proposal 1/6

Renamed from Indecorous Proposal

Part One/Part Two/Part Three/Part Four/Part Five/Part Six

“Hey,” William Hargrove III asked, leaning in close. “So which of my many virtues did you fall for first?”

“Oh, no,” Steve laughed, sticking to the point of the thing, which wasn’t Billy’s gleaming curls, golden tan, soft smile, or the way his muscles filled his soft-looking linen shirt. “You need to refuse.”

William--Billy, Steve remembered--blinked at him, his wide grin fading. “What?”

“Refuse the offer of marriage,” Steve repeated, ignoring a pang of guilt, and trying to look under the tent flap for any nosy people’s shoes.

“...refuse the offer of marriage,” Billy said again, turning away to pour himself a drink.

“That brandy is for celebrations,” Steve sighed. “It’s expensive.”

“Why did you make me an offer of marriage,” Billy asked, after throwing back the whole, albeit small glass.

“I needed to convince Her Majesty I wasn’t ailing for love of her—”

“So you have need of me,” Billy said, to the glass. “I can help you—”

“I’m surprised she believed me, honestly,” Steve hissed, waving his arms. “We’ve barely met—”

“...we’ve met,” Billy said. “Several times, do you not--we were at school together. We danced at her coronation. I was in the hunting party that went north, we rode together for weeks—”

“That was you?” Steve frowned at the wall, trying to remember anything other than his heart feeling like it was slow-roasted as his queen married another. Billy poured himself another drink, and Steve grabbed his shoulder. “Look, do the honorable thing, just leave—” his head snapped sideways with the force of Billy’s fist, and he staggered, more startled than hurt. He stalked back to Hargrove, raising a hand to strike back, then halted, as Billy leaned heavily on the little table for brandy, and took a long shuddery breath.

“I told everyone I would accept,” Billy laughed, tossing back his second brandy. He sat heavily right on the ground. “They’ll—”

“Why would you...” Steve sighed, and Billy shrugged, his eyes downcast. “Eugh,” Steve groaned. “You’ll have to say you changed your mind. Tell them I’m unmarriageable.”

“Everyone said how lucky I was,” Billy laughed again. “They told me how polite I ought to be. I’ll never get another offer like this, after all--Sir Steven Harrington, friend and protector to Her Majesty—”

“If money is your concern, I can ease that particular problem,” Steve bit out, and Billy made an odd noise in his throat, staring up at him.

“That--that was not the difficulty,” he said hoarsely, his smile going a little feral. “No.”

Steve began, guiltily, to wonder whether Billy Hargrove had some kind of dream he was quashing--to guard the queen, perhaps. Something Steve’s offer would have enabled him to do. “I didn’t--I didn’t mean to trick you,” Steve sighed, leaning back against the table, and Billy laughed for a third time, his gaze on his outstretched boots. “Why would you even think I was in earnest?!”

“I apologize for my lack of humility,” Billy said, smiling, and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, and took another. “I’ve half a mind to accept anyway.”

“What?!” Steve whispered. “No! You can’t marry me for--for no reason!”

Billy’s smile widened, but he didn’t look happy. “You shouldn’t lie about some things, you know?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Steve growled back, grabbing the glass from Billy’s hand as he waved it, shrugging. “Why would you even—”

“How’s it going in here?” asked Her Royal Majesty, Queen of the Cities on the Wheel, Nancy, Steve’s ideal love, walking into the tent. “I hope you know your own luck,” she told Billy, raising her eyebrows.

“Wait,” Steve said, “Wait, wait, ah—”

“Of course I’ll cherish him,” Billy laughed, looking less like he was smiling, and more like he was baring his teeth.

“Don’t be an idiot, man,” Steve breathed, and Billy smirked. Steve shot him a glare with all the fury he could summon, hoping to leave a pile of ashes in the man’s chair.

“You’re willing to sign, then,” Nancy said to Billy, unfurling a gilt scroll with a narrow-eyed glance between them.

“I hope my esteemed beloved isn’t jumping before he looks,” Steve hissed.

“I’m sure such an honourable knight has only my happiness in mind,” Billy shot back, his smile widening, though his hand shook as he dipped the pen in the inkwell.

“Perhaps we should...walk together...a moment—” Steve waved a hand at the door of the tent, half frantic, half determined to get Billy Hargrove alone, to throttle him. “Before making any rash decisions—”

“Don’t question your good fortune,” Nancy told Steve, her eyes softening. “You are loved by many.

Steve stared at her smile, remembering how relieved she’d looked when he’d told her he loved another--that she wasn’t breaking a love for the ages in her marriage for peace. She’d looked too relieved, he’d thought, staring up at ceilings over the months, and she looked it again now, pressing his fingers around the pen. He looked over at Billy, who was pouring another drink--and then back to Nancy, his first love, and, he suspected, his last.

He signed the contract.

Nancy clasped his and Billy’s hands together, and pushed them out of the tent to a rousing cheer--to Steve’s horror, his entire cacophony of squires had assembled, along with his fellow knights, and what looked like Billy’s family, and a whole entourage from the woman Nancy was marrying for the good of the country. Everyone cheered, and he smiled, for them.

“This is...fast,” he hissed to Nancy, out the side of his mouth, and felt Billy’s grip nearly crush his fingers.

“I would have thought that’s what you wanted,” she whispered back. “You’ve kept this awfully quiet. If you want the pomp and circumstance, we can do a ceremony when we reach the capital.”

He did the math. “Six months,” he said, his shoulders relaxing. Surely, he thought, he could find a way to wriggle out in six months.

“It’s official, of course,” she said, smiling as though he’d find that encouraging, and his heart plummeted like a rock down an empty well. “Signed and witnessed by the queen. You’re husbands. Would you like to go to your rooms now?” She leaned in, her grin going mischievous. “They overlook the gardens, not that you’ll likely spend much time on the balconies.”

Billy laughed, rubbing his eyes, and Steve wondered wildly what he expected to get out of the arrangement--court standing, perhaps. The ear of the queen. In his rush to ease her mind, he thought numbly, he’d probably introduced a traitor to her court.

“I will be sure to appreciate the roses,” Billy told her, smiling at her around Steve. “Pretend with me, my love,” he hissed at Steve, who sighed, and smiled.

“Give me a few rounds of combat with her, at least,” Billy hissed, as they walked across the grounds.

“What?” Steve asked, alarmed.

“Let me win you. Let me try,” Billy whispered, banging their shoulders together, and Steve bit his lips together and nodded, rolling his shoulders in a shrug.

“There’s no other knights in this tournament,” he sighed, and Billy slid their fingers together, squeezing.

“Then I have a fair chance,” he whispered back.

Billy drank that night until Steve wondered whether he’d drown. He was so soused Steve half-carried him to their room under the wary eye of Her Majesty, her stony-faced beau Barbra of Holland, and their bard, Jonathan Byers.

“Is he...well,” asked Steve’s love, as the man he was now bound to in soul and body tried to start a fistfight with a suit of armor on the wall.

“He’s happy,” Steve gritted out, certain of that even if he couldn’t imagine why a man would marry someone unwilling, and then act as though he was, in fact, the injured party.

“He wanted you to ask him to dance,” remarked his queen, glancing his way, and Steve groaned.

“Which I did, if you’ll recall, despite Robin’s return with news.” He’d done his best to play the role--leaning close as Billy rambled, returning sloppy kisses to his hair and ear, and even hand-feeding the drunken creature morsels of food when he’d dropped his knife under the table.

Billy had drawn Steve’s fingers into his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut, and Steve had had to yank his hand back and stomp Billy’s foot hard under the table. Billy had only leaned closer, licking his lips as he ran his fingers up Steve’s thigh, and Steve felt a chill, suddenly, as the air of the Great Hall hit the sweat running from under his hair.

That night, Steve fully intended to slam a door in Billy’s face, but he ended up pinned against it, Billy’s bulk heavy against him, Billy’s mouth hot and insistent when Steve was tired and cold.

Steve let himself be pushed back on the bed, let urgent, shaking fingers strip off his clothes, and clutched at Billy’s curls as they tickled his thighs, Billy’s hot tongue flat along the underside of his cock. He covered his face as he came down his new, unwanted husband’s throat, his eyes stinging in the knowledge that somewhere else in the palace, Nancy was relieved.

Billy pulled back once Steve had come, scooting to sit on the side of the bed, and Steve fought off his exhaustion, sniffling back tears, to wave him over.

“Come here,” he said, beckoning.

“Always fair, is Steven Harrington,” slurred Billy, his laugh a little bitter, and Steve rolled away, sighing.

“Don’t, then—”

Billy’s weight slammed into his back, nearly rolling Steve onto the floor. “No, no, do as you will. Have your way with me—” he trailed off, biting his lips together as Steve rolled on top of him.

“Will this do?” Steve asked, gripping the man’s prick, and Billy nodded, staring up as Steve rubbed his thumb over the tip. Billy’s hips rocked up, his eyelashes fluttering as he moaned, and Steve felt some small satisfaction as he worked the interloper in his bed into shuddering pleas. Once he was finished, he climbed off, and went to wash his hands, blowing out the lamps and crawling back in to lie along the edge of the bed. As he began to drift off, he felt a soft brush at his nightshirt, and then a stealthy squirm up behind him as Billy settled to breathe against his shoulder.

Steve readied himself to throw a stray arm off, expecting an attack for long minutes after Billy’s breathing had steadied and slowed. He sighed, turning his head against the pillow. Why did he force my hand, he thought, dimly furious under the wet weight of knowledge that it didn’t matter who he married, if it was not to be one he loved.

He didn’t know much about the Hargrove holdings. He hadn’t felt he’d have to learn. He’d find they were short on money, he suspected, or favor, or had a scandal in the family. He almost hoped for the last--it seemed more human, somehow, to trap someone in a marriage to save a family reputation than for simple greed.

The next afternoon, Steve began to remember who Billy Hargrove was. He was deliberately annoying, dragging Steve’s attention away from Nancy--and Steve let him, turning when he felt a presence at his shoulder, and listening to whatever half-baked tirade Billy began to get his attention. ‘Began’ was the key word, because when Steve turned to listen, and asked questions, Billy trailed off into anything that came to mind, his smile startled. He was obnoxious and out of place, but when Steve’s mind strayed to his queen, it was a balm to hear Billy Hargrove in his ear, his warm breath incorrectly identifying game birds.

“Do you hunt at all,” Steve laughed, his cheeks sore from the unaccustomed smile. “Badgers do not fly.”

“Tell me everything,” Billy whispered back, his smile soft as he watched Steve lean against the stone wall of the stables, unsteady with mirth.

When Billy mumbled to a halt in the training yard, his whole mind on Steve’s hands in his, Steve began asking questions back--details on the ridiculous-sounding stories Billy had begun, to make Billy’s eyes and smile widen in surprise.

“Tell me more of this lamia,” Steve would whisper, as Billy licked his lips, gazing at Steve’s.

“A--a horrid. Beast,” he stumbled, then laughed. “There are records. It slaughtered four towns, and cracked the bones of many children before I slew it.”

At this, none the wiser, Steve had pulled him closer, whispering, “A feat indeed,” against Billy’s lips. After that every time Billy spoke he described a stronger, faster, more brutal monstrousity, until Steve began to recognize the look, and knew to cup the back of Billy’s neck and kiss him ‘til they ran out of breath.

When they were silent in attendance at functions, and Billy would reach over to tuck Steve’s hair behind his ear, Steve mouthed ‘Thank you,’ to watch Billy’s eyes widen, and his grin grow smug.

As the days turned into weeks, Steve began to consider trusting the man who had refused to release him from marriage, and eventually he sought news from Robin.

“I haven’t heard much,” she said, frowning over at Steve’s husband, who had stripped his shirt off after sparring, dumped a bucket of water over his head, and was turning this way and that in ridiculous postures, glancing at Steve.

“There must be something,” Steve said again. “I begin to think my humble savings and respect were his only goals, but if it be worse—”

“You think all of...this,” Robin waved at Billy, shivering, and watching them, “--is pretense?”

Steve sighed, put his hand to his mouth, and whistled to watch his moronic husband laugh.

“...if it be a show, it is a good one,” Robin said, wrinkling her nose.

“I would like to believe he is...odd,” Steve tried, squinting.

“Mercurial?” she suggested, laughing.

“To agree to marry a stranger,” Steve nodded, and Robin frowned at Billy again. “If he is...of inconstant mind,” Steve said softly, “--if he is...fickle, it does not inspire trust.”

“...no,” she sighed. “No. You are...confident his...admiration is feigned?”

“I…” Steve considered the boy he remembered in the man before him. “He was a bully, in school.”

Her gaze at Billy sharpened, and she leaned her head close to speak.

When they parted, Billy dashed up, tossing his arms around Steve’s neck. “How does fair Robin?” he asked.

“Gathering intelligence on you,” Steve told him, and Billy let go, then ran to catch up to Steve’s gait.

“Why?” he asked.

Steve snorted softly. “Why would you insist on marriage to one who dislikes you, and asks only for escape?”

“Why make an offer of marriage to one you despise,” Billy asked, slamming their shoulders together. “You can’t think this was some sort of plan.”

Steve dropped an arm around him, squeezing him close. “I never despised you,” he muttered, stumbling at the awkward way he held Billy against him, but he didn’t let go, and Billy didn’t squirm away.

When they closed the door to their rooms behind them, Billy was pink-cheeked, his gaze wandering from Steve’s lips to his eyes.

“May I kiss you,” he asked, “--though neither of us are drunk?”

“You may always kiss me,” Steve told him, realizing it was true as he pushed his husband against the door, at ease with the familiar warmth of Billy’s moustache and warm muscles in a way he’d never been in Her Majesty’s arms. There was no tension with Billy, only heat, and their throaty laughter as they tried to disrobe without lifting their fingers from each others’ skin.

They made it to the bed, finally, rocking against each other as the bells sounded for midday. When they finished, as ever, Billy flopped across Steve’s chest like a fish--limp and clammy--but his smile was so smug and bright Steve allowed it, sliding his fingers through Billy’s sweaty curls.

“How did you come to pick my name,” Billy whispered, turning his head to kiss the edge of Steve’s hand. “Surely there was someone you...admired, at least—”

“I needed someone she didn’t know,” Steve sighed, and billy nodded, aware as ever that the everpresent ‘she’ in Steve’s head was his queen. “Someone she’d believe I knew.”

“And you wrote the school?” Billy asked, laughing. “Dear Harrow, please supply a list of suitors for one Steven Harrington—”

“When I claimed to be--unbothered,” Steve laughed, his stomach sinking at the memory, “--when I suggested there might be...another, one I had hesitated to make my feelings known towards out of—”

“My name was mentioned,” Billy sighed. “Not by you.”

“By several people,” Steve agreed, remembering Sir Hagen’s rolled eyes, and his squire’s teasing. He stroked his thumb along Billy’s cheek, in hopes of lifting his shuttered expression.

“And you wrote,” Billy laughed hoarsely. “Lies, to trick me.”

“I didn’t!” Steve cried, grimacing. “My love letters are read aloud to laugh at, usually, I didn’t think I’d win your heart.”

“They were laughable,” Billy agreed, his eyes wet, and Steve punched his shoulder, then squeezed him tightly, and kissed his ear.

Steve was grateful, guiltily, that it had been Billy. Billy Hargrove, loud and brash, earnestly ready to return a love Steve had never felt. “I’m sorry to have hurt you,” he whispered into Billy’s curls.

“I never thought I’d hear from you again, after the ass I made of myself in school,” Billy laughed. “Let alone an offer of marriage.”

Perhaps he could grow to be satisfied with Billy in his arms, Steve thought, kissing his husband until the man returned nearly to clay in his arms, and then rolling him to make...love, Steve thought, watching Billy curl around his hands, panting. “I--I am glad to—” Steve began, and Billy looked up, hazy-eyed, then moaned under Steve’s mouth. “I am relieved it was you,” Steve murmured against Billy’s neck, and Billy laughed, but his face heated under Steve’s kisses.

“I am glad you never read the replies to my letters,” Billy whispered, smiling.

“Why?” Steve asked, wondering whether they were still at the bottom of his wardrobe where he’d flung everything that arrived during the queen’s endless series of marriage ceremonies. Billy leaned up for a kiss, and Steve reminded himself to dig out the letters, now months old. “I think I will love you,” he told his husband, who made a weird noise mid-kiss.

“Don’t take on an impossible challenge,” Billy mumbled, sighing. “You can’t help seeing the truth of me, any more than I could resist riding to you on the strength of a few dishonest letters.”

“No, I--I am beginning to, I think,” Steve told him, lifting his husband’s head to frown into his eyes.

Billy bit his lips, searching Steve’s face and smiling a disbelieving and unsteady smile. “I won’t hold my breath,” he whispered, and Steve groaned, and stuck out his tongue.

Robin pulled him aside again after he gave up on pushing around the remains of a late dinner. “He was...badly treated at home,” she said. “Passed over for honors. His training was...biblically harsh.”

Steve’s heart leapt, and he remembered the letters--Billy was a better liar than he was, he suspected, but there might be truth in them, if what Robin had found was all there was to find.

“He would be valuable as a dissonant,” Robin said. “He may be bitter. Thank you for bringing this to our attention.”

“He is, some,” Steve acknowledged, giddy with the news that Billy might be exactly as he appeared, and in love with him.

“He used your proposal as an escape strategy,” she emphasized, and Steve nodded, dismissing the alarming images of Billy with ties to hostile countries, or a secret background in assassination.

“I knew it was something,” Steve assured her, proud, and she punched his shoulder so heavily he staggered into the wall.

“He pretends affection,” she hissed, and Steve bit his lip, thinking, then shook his head.

“No, he feels some...warmth, towards me,” he said, remembering Billy’s cautious smile that morning as Steve pulled him in for a last kiss.

“Some...warmth,” Robin repeated, and Steve waved her away, running down to find Billy in the training yard, with designs of knocking him in the mud, and washing him thoroughly later.

Part One/Part Two/Part Three/Part Four/Part Five/Part Six

#harringrove #Knights in love #can't write what I want so have this thing #whatever it is #platypan

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constancecunningham · 4 years

Text

Safe as Houses || Constance & Remmy

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: Gallow’s End Estates

PARTIES: @whatsin-yourhead & @constancecunningham

SUMMARY: Shaken by her actions at the docks, Constance goes for a walk, but she isn’t alone. Remmy makes a proposition.

CONTAINS: Brief references to past abuse.

Remmy had a decision to make.

Life was still moving and they’d been standing still so long. It was time to decide if they were going to keep moving, or if they were going to stay still. Sure, they had forever, but that didn’t mean the people around them did. And forever wasn’t even guaranteed, was it? As long as slayers and hunters existed, nothing was guaranteed. Not that Remmy blamed them, but they had to accept the fact that even if they did nothing wrong, even if they presented no threat, did nothing bad, there would always be people like Alain who would cut them down anyway. Though he had agreed not to go after them until they hurt someone for real again, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t change his mind again. Or that someone else would come along who wasn’t willing to compromise. There were too many variables in forever, that was the one thing Remmy knew was true.

And so, it was with that in mind, that Remmy found themselves strolling through town, coming upon old places that they’d found comfort in in the past. Mooseventure, Al’s, the Commons...and lastly, the Bend. And the awful, dirty, shitty apartments they’d first lived in when moving here. And while the place had been just horrible, they’d met two of their very best friends while living here-- Blanche and Nora. And while Nora was off doing...who knew what, Blanche was still here. Still fighting. And Nora was around, she made sure maintenance came to the house to keep it in working order for the residents that did still live there, even if they were undead. They deserved a nice place, too.

It wasn’t until Remmy got closer to the building that they realized the person they’d seen standing out front wasn’t standing at all-- they were hovering, just above the ground, and Remmy could see straight through them. A ghost. Thoughts of Nadia flooded their head and Remmy hesitated a moment before they realized, again, that they recognized this ghost. She had been the ghost sitting next to Remmy on the bench in the park that day-- the day Morgan had died. This ghost was Constance. Remmy would never forget her face.

They walked up towards her nervously, but kept their demeanour calm. “You’re um...you’re Constance, right?”

Constance had fewer and fewer places left to her where she felt safe. Everywhere she explored, there Morgan was and there her rage blazed, weakening her grasp on her own soul, narrowing her vision to the size of a pinprick. And yet the sun rose and the sun set and she could not sleep. Perhaps, all this considered, returning to the outskirts where she had been born and the woods where she had played alone. Constance glimpsed the gray sunlight cut and scattered like flour through the many branches. She imagined that the sun remembered her, the trees remembered her, and the creatures she cared for and buried and the treasures she was so afraid to lose she buried them too and touched them not at all until they were useless--those must remember her too.

Drifting forwards, she explored further, searching for the way back home. Or what she had called and cursed as home. It had to be right around--

Oh.

Constance was no fool. This world had no love for brittle things like the excuse of a house she had been born in. No markers or ruins signified the life of her or anyone else she had crossed paths with. And yet, there were still ruins before her. Chipped and peeling print, exposed bricks of gray rock, falling shingles, a faint drip of a leak, somewhere. It almost brought a smile to Constance’s face, to know that this world, and this spot, was one still riddled with leeks. Inside people were cold, they cried, they hated, they starved. And most likely, no one would remember them any more than her. How to think of such a miserable life, now rendered into multiples like some catastrophic math riddle. Was it cursed ground? Was it her, or just the twisted bend of this world and the wickedness of the people who moved it?

She heard a voice call her name and turned. She knew the face, but its place didn’t come to her at once. “...Good day,” she said curiously. “You’re solid, real solid. I don’t have many of those that know my name. How are we--” And then it came to her. That day at the beach. Constance stiffened. “If this is another one of Morgan’s blessed stomping grounds, I can take my leave without being threatened,” she said. And she should leave, if this was true. She was so weak, and so angry. She wanted Moran’s death to be something precise, even elegant. She couldn’t manage that if even looking at the woman riled her to snapping light bulbs.

“What? No,” Remmy said, shaking their head. “It’s not-- it’s not. This is uh-- I used to live here.” They motioned to the apartment building down the way, as ragged and decrypt as the houses surrounding it. This had nothing to do with Morgan, and Remmy found it all the more quiet when they realized that, too. They turned to look back at Constance. “Why are you back? You know she-- she wants to hurt you, because of what you did, what you’re...doing.” They weren’t sure what to feel yet, only that they knew they could sense a deep sorrow coming from the specter, and the idea of one of her closest, best friends wanting to harm someone simply to harm them. That wasn’t the person they thought Morgan was, but it terrified them, deep down. And they weren’t sure if it was the thought of her hurting someone or the thought that Remmy hadn’t known her capable that scared them more. “It’s not safe here for you.”

Constance grew more confused. For people who were determined to align themselves with the Bachman family, Morgan’s friends demonstrated a strange amount of concern for her. “I never left,” she said carefully, waiting for the subterfuge to reveal itself. “I saw her bleeding on the street, and there was so much noise I thought even you wouldn’t hear how I screamed with relief. I was sure I had never done anything more perfectly. Did you know that there were only two other casualties? I regret them as sins and doubtless I will be punished eventually, but all those machines, all that glass and noise and screaming, and she was gone by her own doing with only two more people caught in the crossfire.” Constance’s voice softened, wistful. “And I thought, I want to stay to see the moon and the stars and a new sun, in a world with no more survivors of the Bachman line. And I saw it. And then I thought, alright, that must be enough now. Only I didn’t fade. And I think I’ve tried rather hard at it, but no one I ask can tell me the secret, because if they had it, they wouldn’t be here still. But here we are. I can only think that some part of me suspected the truth all along. I did nothing perfect. I only made her into more of a monster.” She went quiet, regarding the strange figure again. “I don’t care about being hurt. And I don’t care about what she wants to do. I want what I asked for.” What was so very hard to understand about that? “Why is this not safe? If you’re not going to beat me with iron or tell her where to find me, why wouldn’t I be safe? Why is it any concern to you in the first place?”

Remmy wasn’t good at this part. There was a struggle going on in their heart and it made them feel sick. Morgan was their best friend, they should be on her side for this-- but Constance was clearly suffering, too, and even if she’d been the one who’d put Morgan’s death into action, did she not deserve a chance at forgiveness as well? If Morgan got that chance, why not her? Simply because she was a ghost? And so young. Younger than Remmy. Younger than Nadia. Remmy wiped at their one exposed eye. “What’d they do to you?” they asked quietly, ignoring everything else for now. “The-- the Bachmans. What made you so...sad?” And they chose the word carefully, pausing for a long moment before saying it, because it was a very particular feeling they heard in her voice. It seemed like such an innocuous word, but Remmy could find no other to describe it. The sound was so familiar, so close to their heart. “It’s not safe because...when people want to hurt you, it doesn’t matter who you are or how you feel, they’ll do it. And it’s just-- it’s just another cycle of violence. Why does everyone wanna hurt each other so much? Why does anger have to be the emotion we respond to? Does anyone really think making someone else hurt fixes anything? Makes anything feel better?” They sniffled again. “It’s my concern because I don’t want to see you hurt. You or Morgan or anyone. I’ve had enough.”

Constance rolled her eyes and turned back to look at the building that had replaced her family’s house. She felt nothing as she drifted through the world, but she could feel the despair coming from this place. “Why do you care?” She huffed. “It was tragical, and foolish, and I lost everything. Even before I cast the spell, I had nothing left but myself. And handkerchiefs worth of objects I had on my person, but those were worthless, too.” A picture. A phony charm. Some cornbread. A flattened penny. The paper she’d used to make her plan with Agnes. A baby’s rattle would have been worth more in comparison. “My father said I was born melancholic. And cruel. He said a great many things, but perhaps he was right about the way I was born. It is difficult to come to an end such as this and feel as though you were not fated to pain from the start. And if you cannot understand a feeling such as mine, if you have never needed to see your pain paid back threefold, if you have never needed to feel a name and a line burnt out by time once and for all, I should think you wouldn’t want to taste it.” But the figure persisted, and Constance wondered if they knew Blanche Harlow as well. “Morgan is my only missing piece,” she said. “And my worst, for of course it should be this way,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “It used to be that you couldn’t walk half a mile without running to a Bachman relative, or Bachman owned land, or a Bachman friend. And now I have one fiend of a woman so small, she’s practically the size of a child. I think I’ve accomplished a great deal. I’ve changed the world. If that was your only wish, and you’d paid for it with your self, wouldn’t you risk paying again to see it done? To be finished, and have your wish come true?”

“I don’t know,” Remmy answered honestly, “I just do. I can’t help it.” And they couldn’t. And the more they thought about it, the more they realized they’d always felt this way. They’d always had a bleeding heart, hadn’t they? Even when they were a child, so angry and lost and scared, all they’d wanted was to help other people. Taking the fall for things that weren’t their fault; letting others use them if only to make themselves feel better; helping others even when they were struggling themself. Remmy had always felt the pain of the world around them and wanted to help-- it had just taken death for them to realize that. Swallowing, they looked square at Constance. “No, I wouldn’t,” they finally said, once Constance was done speaking, and was looking at them for some sort of validation. “But that’s just me.” They knew everyone, everything was different. “Doing that will just turn you cold, you know. I-- I understand how you feel. Maybe not entirely, but I do, on some level. I grew up with nothing. No mom, a deadbeat dad, poor as shit...and queer, to boot. People all told me I was never going to be good for anything. That all I did was bring others pain. I was trouble. I wasn’t worth it.” They swallowed, clearing their throat of the tears that threatened. “But they were wrong. Because...they don’t get to decide who I am and what I’m worth. I get to decide that. And-- it took me a long time to figure that out, but I did. And it’s true for you, too. What do you even gain by killing Morgan? By destroying a family line? Whatever pain they caused you-- it was so long ago. Morgan is so far away from whoever really hurt you, the pain you cause now just starts a new cycle of pain and violence and-- why would you want that? Don’t you want peace? Don’t you want...to be happy?”

The story the figure told was so familiar, Constance couldn’t bring herself to trust it. Perhaps someone had written about her, perhaps her death had meant more than one more miserable, nameless body in the woods. Which was more plausible? That some misguided record and put down the details of her cruel existence, or that this stranger, this person who had screamed and cried over what Constance had done would possibly understand her? “You don’t understand anything about me,” she said stubbornly. She drifted away from the building, away from this...person. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m trying to conserve my energy and be stable! A solid like you wouldn’t understand that either.” She wanted them to go and leave her be. A world that ignored Constance was painful but it was at least familiar. And perhaps if she stomped on her feelings enough she could find the words to explain how hopeless she truly was, and how little she had left beyond her wish. She bound herself to it that night, however many moons ago. Constance wasn’t sure if she would know how to let go until it was finished, even if she was mad enough to ever want to.

“Yeah, I do,” Remmy insisted, following after her. “Life treated you like shit-- you never got anything good and happy. And then when you finally did, it took it from you, right? It tore everything away, including yourself?” They went around her-- remembering how Nadia had said she didn’t like being ignored and walked through-- and stopped in front of her. She could easily phase through them, they supposed, but it was the act that mattered, right? “If you really think you’re the only one that’s ever suffered, you’ve got a big reality check coming, Constance. I died, too, you know,” they said, crossing their arms over their chest. “Alone and afraid and only after watching the rest of my world be destroyed. The only difference is that I woke up solid and you woke up transparent. That doesn’t make you any less of a person, or-or any less worth being given a chance. Maybe-- maybe you’re still here because this is your second chance to do better, to be better. To be...happy. And don’t-- don’t tell me what I do and don’t understand. I understand a lot more than you-- or anyone-- thinks.” And they were tired of everyone thinking they didn’t. They were tired of being pushed aside.

“If only I had truly been here this long,” Constance said bitterly. “If I had really been here this long, I might have finished my curse before your wretched friend was ever born. But when I bargained myself, I went…” Constance didn’t know the words for what had happened to her. There was nothing like it in any scripture she had ever read, Christian, Pagan, or otherwise. “It was like sleep, but it wasn’t. I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know that my house was trampled like it never mattered, or that there were huge petrol beasts coloring the air or that a girl can get made fun of for wearing a dress now, that was a stupendous treat to discover while I was visible. By the heavens, I wish I had really been here for so many years! I would know what to do with this nothing body better!” She was getting upset again. Lights behind her were flickering, screaming strange, buzzing, artificial screams. “I...woke up...in a circle. When she brought me here,” Constance said carefully, voice trembling. “To hurt me. I died and then I...was there, and I had lost even more than I knew how to reckon for. And I don’t think I’m the only one who’s ever suffered. I just think I’m willing to do something about it. I wasted my power when I was alive, mostly, but I won’t make that mistake again. I was a witch beyond measure, and even in death I can rebalance the scales. If there’s anything being in this wretched era has taught me, it’s that time bends long and slowly. Maybe you don’t see the point in what I’m doing or what I want, but maybe the stars and the trees will, maybe the lives that can grow without so much destruction or meddling. And I will know. I’ll know I didn’t just take it, or give up or ‘get over’ it.” She sighed, and realized what a fool’s gesture it was. “I don’t know if I am a person. I don't feel that way all the time, and however I try to be better, whatever I touch so far has turned to destruction and hut, and not even that which I intended. I think my soul is...strange, at best. But I do appreciate...whatever it is you are trying to do. There are not many kind people here. It is good to know they continue to exist, however few.”

“Morgan isn’t wretched,” Remmy said quietly, “and neither are you.” They were quiet for a long while, not flinching when Constance made the lights flicker and screech with electric hums. They looked over to the decaying apartments, then back to the spirit, and felt another tug at their heart. “She didn’t summon you to hurt you, you know,” they finally said. “She just wanted answers. To why her life was always falling apart, to why she wasn’t allowed happiness. You can...relate to that a little, can’t you?” They didn’t know what they were searching for in any answers from Constance, but they knew that she was trapped in a world that she wasn’t allowed to escape, suffering more pain. Remmy looked at her with eyes full of sorrow. “This world is-- scary, yeah. There’s a lot of not good things in it, but...there’s a lot of good, too, you know. You just haven’t...seen it yet. I could show you, if you want,” they wondered if she was even still listening, “if you’d give me the chance. Not everything here is destruction and meddling, like you said. And...certainly none of it is because of one person. Cursed or not.” They paused, biting their bottom lip, before continuing. “You are a person. Maybe different than the kind of person you remember being, but...you’re still a person. Just as much as me, or anyone else. And I think...I think maybe your soul is just a little lost. And I don’t think you deserve to be hurt just because of that.”

Constance couldn’t cry or rail at the stubbornness of this person, not without destroying yet even more of the world, and she did not want to rush to disappoint herself or Blanche even further. But it was all she could do to keep herself from it. She wanted to laugh, or fall over from the incredulity of it all, but feared the impact of that feeling as well. Could a shade such as she disrupt the world from delight? Had such a thing ever happened before? “What manner of creature are you?” She asked, shaking her head. “You know better than many what I am capable of. What I have done. ...What is it you really want from me?”

“I don’t...I don’t want anything from you, Constance,” Remmy said back, shaking their head again. “That’s not...I just want to help you. I know you’re probably alone and afraid...and I know how that feels. I don’t want anyone to have to feel that way.” They mumbled, hands digging into their pockets. Constance wasn’t safe, just drifting out among the general population. There were hunters and exorcists and mediums everywhere. She was already having such a hard time even keeping her spirit body together. It reminded Remmy of some of the ghosts they’d seen wandering the old haunted mansion. Slowly, an idea struck them. “Hey, you, um-- you said you’re having trouble staying stable, right? Figuring out this...spirit thing? What if I had a place for you to go? Where there’s other ghosts and it’s safe. No one can hurt you there. Would you come with me?”

The idea of such a place had never occurred to Constance. She couldn’t imagine it in her head, except as some euphemism for a ghost prison. They didn’t make human proof vessels, only salt and iron lines that tore her apart for trying to exist. But this...whoever they were, were so persistent. Surely if this was some jest or a trap, they would be worn out by now? Or would they? Constance had learned the hard way how persistent a lie could be. Perhaps this was how they proved their loyalty to Morgan, by luring her into a trap.

Constance hesitated for a long time. She should know better than to believe in...oh, so many things. But she said, “Tell me where it is and I will find it on my own. I can find out if it’s what you say it is or not. Who are these ghosts who trust you anyway?”

“Right, yeah,” Remmy said, nodding slowly once Constance finally spoke. “It’s um-- here,” they motioned for her to follow them around the building to where the horizon broke and on top of a small hill sat the mansion, off in the distance, beyond the cemetery. “It’s that house there. I, um-- used to live there, actually. When we moved in, there were already ghost residents so we just sorta...let ‘em stay. Didn’t seem fair to make them leave, you know? We had to establish ground rules and stuff, but we made it safe. For us and for them,” they explained. “We’re all just people. I think they...liked being seen. I would sit with them, even the ones that didn’t talk. It felt nice...to be needed by them.” They paused, went quiet, then looked over at Constance one last time. “Come whenever you want, no obligation. But...it’s safe there. I promise.” And even if it wasn’t yet, Remmy would make sure it was.

#safe as houses #wr remmy #wr chatzy #wr remmy chatzy #abuse tw

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cathyparrlyn · 4 years

Text

We’re all just mirror shards

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Hey everyone! It’s No One here, or perhaps you now know (if you have read a certain lovely, beautiful, baby tief’s post) that my name is Maddy. It’s great to finally post this next part, first update of 2020! Woo!....

Yeah, I know, it’s been a while. I’m sorry for that, but not only am I working on future chapters and a special writing project (some of you might have already heard about it, oops-), but like, school. Ugh. But don’t worry, I have plenty of content to give you guys, so I shouldn’t fall too behind with my updating schedule!

I want to shoutout two people today. First off, one of my writing friends, @justonemoretheatrekid who is super sweet and has helped me with my bi panic, so thanks friendo! I enjoyed chatting with you! :3

I also want to give a special thanks to another one of my writing friends, @toomanyfamdom for not only helping me edit this sucker (legit the only reason I was able to post today. Bless her soul for putting up with my comma crazy piece.), but also for being the sweetest and best baby in the world. She makes me a proud mama. :3 love you baby! And thank you for not joining in on the “(censored name) for the pole” chant. I know how much you like to troll me tho, so I guess will see what happens next time. Lol. <3

Also, good news and bad news!

Good news! This chapter has the “read more” option! Bad News! It cost me all the pretty and colorful fonts. ;-; Also, it won’t let me edit my draft from my iPad now as I did the function on the computer. So like... I can’t fix it. :(

So now I have a dilemma. Which should I use, the read more function or the colorful and pretty fonts? Please reply down below if you have a preference. Anyways, enough with my long ass author note!

Without further interruption, the chapter! Woo!

Word count: about 2,212 words.

Warnings: Cursing, bullying. (Also, Anne being a useless lesbian gremlin and Cathy being a bi disaster. OWO UWU)

Enjoy~

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Part 11

Annie Boleyn

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…………………………………......Recap………………………………………

“Sorry about that, I’m just so fucking tired of bullshit,” Anne muttered, snapping Cathy out of her thoughts.

"Huh?"

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Cathy was a dumbass. She had to be. How else could she have fucked up so badly with her words? They were her thing! But with Anne, all she could muster up to say was ‘huh?’ Huh! Ugh, she just can’t with herself right now.

What’s worse, this is serious. Anne looks like she needs someone to talk to, Cathy can be that person, but not if she’s a disaster.

Parr wants to be there for Anne. She craves to develop their relationship, for them to get closer. To be able to share inside jokes and small smiles with each other. To have long conversations and calling each other late at night just to rant because they know the other will listen. For the comfort of knowing that she does, in fact, matter to Anne.

Right now she felt farther away from her goal than ever. Looking up, she saw an indescribable look on Anne’s face, the only thing she could note was the fear in Boleyn’s eyes as she held herself. An uneasy feeling washed over Anne as she realized she might have said too much around Cathy. She was nervous. Cathy couldn’t believe it. Anne was scared of her own opinion, and that worried Parr. Boleyn was speechless, not knowing how to respond. It was painful to see this side of her. Yet Cathy couldn’t help but stare. This new side drew her in, and Parr couldn’t stop herself from questioning more and more about who Anne really was. And what could have possibly happened to the Boleyn girl to make her feel so mortified that she couldn’t even express her own feelings.

Now Cathy was scared. She couldn’t just stand there and wait Anne recover on her own. No, Catherine wants to help her, she needs to help Anne.

So with a deep breath, Cathy had made her decision to keep moving forward with the conversation. She refused to make Anne start things, this time she’ll make the first move. For Anne’s sake.

“Hey, are you alright? I’m here for you if you want to talk about it.”

“No, no. It’s stupid, just, please. Forget about it.”

Cathy felt as if she was stabbed in the heart after hearing that statement. Anne was amazing, smart, talented, and said some of the most interesting things Cathy has ever heard. And here she is now, saying that her feelings are stupid.

Cathy doesn’t know who made her feel like this, but they are going to pay for it. Yet, that is for another time, right now Cathy has to focus on comforting the Boleyn girl.

“Hey Anne, we’re friends right?”

“Well, yeah, I would like to think so.” Anne tentatively mumbled. She expressed a blatant insecurity that Parr would reject the idea. But why?

Parr wanted to further analyze this side of Anne and try to figure out what might have happened to her, but she couldn’t. Not right now, when Anne needed a friend. No, especially now since Anne needed a friend, someone to be there for her, to reassure her things were okay. That is what Parr needed to be right now. Her friend.

Cathy smiled, bumping their shoulders together. Hence, grabbing Anne’s attention as Parr stared at her with a look that Anne wasn’t used to seeing: patience and love. With a gentle squeeze reminding Anne of their connected hands, Cathy let the Boleyn girl bask in the show of affection. Anne deserves to enjoy this moment, to feel comfortable with her own thoughts. What’s more, she deserves to have someone to listen to her. Cathy can very well be that person. All Catherine had to do was prove that she would and could be there for her. So she spoke up, determined to help Anne no matter what it takes.

“Then there you go. Your opinion matters to me, Anne. As your friend, I don’t think this is stupid. Not one bit. So please, don’t feel afraid to talk to me. You have a wonderful voice, and I truly think it should be shared with the world.”

Cathy observed as Anne stared at her in shock. A blush formed on Parr’s cheeks as she noticed a sudden change in the Boleyn girl. Tension had quickly left Anne’s face and was now replaced by a small, soft, genuine, and breathtaking smile. Really, Cathy could go on about the beauty of Anne’s smile, but she was rather focused on something else. It was way more important than her feelings. Gratitude, that’s what Anne’s expression conveyed instead of the fearful look she wore mere seconds ago. Anne gently squeezed Cathy’s hand back, returning the affection as she pulled Cathy in so they could be in closer proximity. The action cause both girls heart to race as they were lost in the moment, staring at each other in a comfortable, knowing silence. Both were thinking the same thing.

She does see me.

Finally after taking a few deep breaths, Anne was the first one to break the silence.

“Thank you, that… that really means a lot Cathy.”

“Of course Anne. Do you, um... Do you want to talk about it?” Cathy gingerly asked.

Anne looked down as she contemplated what to do. After a few seconds of thinking it over, she slowly nodded her head.

“Alright, I’m here to listen whenever you ready.” Parr, acknowledging that she was looking down, squeezed Anne’s hand again. Cathy hopes it would reassure Boleyn that Parr planned on being there for her. Seeing that Anne had mustered up the courage to look up at Catherine and start her explanation, Cathy thinks it’s safe to say that it worked.

"Ok, so, our generation is stupid, right?” Anne started off.

“100% agree, continue please.”

“It’s just, no one cares about others' stories. Make believe or real, every story matters. Yet we cast them aside and hold an egocentric viewpoint that mentally and physically tears others down. And I’m so fucking sick of it!”

“Of the kids in the halls?” Cathy hesitantly asked.

“Of basically everyone! They all piss me off! Like, no one even understands why I read, the majority of those people don’t even think I can read! I’m nearly eighteen, for Christ's sake! How would I be in an advanced English class if I couldn’t read?”

“I don’t know, kids are stupid.”

“I know, but… you’re the first person to understand this and believe me…”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Anna won't shut up about how I can't do math, Kitty doesn't like poetry and always whines about me speaking ‘gibberish’ when I rant about it, and the rest of the school thinks I text shit like, 'dat waz fun' smiley face, winky face, kissy cat." Anne rolled her eyes. "It's just..." she pursed her lips, then looked at Cathy and gave her a small smile. "It hurts after a while, y’know. So it's extremely refreshing to finally talk to someone who appreciates writing."

"I totally get that." Cathy nodded.

"Really?" Anne stared at her as if she had two heads.

"Yeah... actually, at my last school, I was teased for reading so much," Cathy elaborated honestly. She doesn't know why, but she felt a need to tell Anne this. It was as if that Boleyn girl elicited a strong desire for Parr to talk about herself. She wanted to know all about Anne, and for Anne to know all about her.

Even if it was about her embarrassing loser past. It's not like she can escape it, only accept it and move forward.

"What the hell is wrong with this generation? That's stupid!" Anne groaned.

Well, at least Anne agreed with her about the matter.

"They called me novel nerd," Cathy bluntly stated.

"... Fucking Alliteration." Anne said after muttering what Cathy assumed was French swear words. She then pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Yeah." Cathy bitterly laughed.

"Want me to fight them for you?" Anne offered, holding her fist up and pretending to punch the air to show she was being serious.

"No, but thanks... it's just like you said earlier, it's nice just to be comfortable enough to talk about these things with someone and know that they respect it." Cathy smiled at her.

Anne lifted Catherine's hand up a bit and gently stroked it.

"Cath, I got you." The gentle action caused Cathy to blush. Anne then looked up with a spark of mischief. "Let's run away to live in a library."

Cathy couldn't help but let out an unlady-like snort. A bit embarrassing, yes. But luckily for Catherine, Anne adored it. She couldn't stop herself from adoring it even if she tried.

"Sounds like heaven." Parr grinned, finally managing to calm her laughter.

They both stared at each other for a few seconds in silence, but after those few seconds of silence, they burst into a laughing fit.

Catherine then looked up at Anne. Something caught her attention about her suggestion. The way she referred to something, or rather, herself.

"Cath, Huh?" She raised an eyebrow, looking Anne over in a teasing manner.

It's time for some playful payback.

She noticed how Anne flinched, and for a quick second, looked embarrassed, but it quickly washed away and was replaced by her usual confident expression.

"Oh, yeah. I just think it's cute and, um, it suits you. Is it alright if I call you that?" Anne asked.

Cathy couldn't stop the dorky smile that was spread across her face. Just hearing Anne give her a nickname just like how she had given one to Katherine, warmed Cathy up inside. She was growing closer to Anne each second and her interest for the girl continued to grow.

"Sure, but only if I get to call you nicknames too!" She agreed.

"Go for it, you got two slots."

Catherine pondered for a second. What should she call her?

Catherine couldn't help but giggle at the first thought to come to mind.

"Okay, first one has to be gremlin."

Anne's smile dropped and her eyebrows furrowed.

"You know what Cath? Fuck you." She huffed, a small pout was plastered on her face. Ergo, causing Cathy to burst into a giggling fit.

After a few seconds of giggling and admiring Anne's pouty face, Cathy managed to calm down.

"Okay, um... Next is.... hm."

It took Cathy a few seconds as she looked Anne up and down. She didn't actually need to check the girl out, she just wanted an excuse too.

The action, however, had caused Anne to blush.

Then it hit Cathy. Her lips quirked up at the idea for what to call the Boleyn girl. Sure, it was simple, but so was Cathy. So it’s fine. No, Parr will do one better.

It was perfect.

"Annie," Catherine said, squeezing Anne's hand and beaming at her with a warm smile.

Anne's happy expression fell after hearing that. Cathy noticed the change in expression.

"Um, is everything alright?" She asked.

"H-huh? Oh, um, yeah. It's swell." Anne nervously looked away.

Cathy stared at her worried, but Anne refused to show any sign of pain. Instead, she just gave Cathy a fake smile and avoided eye contact.

There it is again. The change in expression, the change in tone, the change in the atmosphere around her. All of these changes thickened the air and added to the mystery of Anne Boleyn.

Who was she?

Just a second ago, she was all bubbly. But with just a single name, she instantly became a timid sheep. She wore nervous, wide eyes that were surveilling the surroundings as if she was watching out for a predator, fearing for her life. However, the only other person there was Cathy.

She did that. She did this to Anne Boleyn. She doesn't know how, nor why, but she did it. An god, did it feel awful.

Cathy could only do what she thought was right at the time, to check on the girl.

With a gentle squeeze initiated by Cathy, Anne's eyes slowly looked up. Her breathing was a little heavy and her face was a calm, serious. Cathy's anxiety grew with each lurid second passing. Finally, after making it all the way up the excruciating trail, Anne's eyes met Cathy's.

For a brief second Cathy swore she saw the corner of Anne's eyes filling up with tears, and her skin was slightly paler than usual.

But it disappeared in seconds as she hastily swapped her expressions, as if she was trying to hide something. She... she was trying to hide herself.

Anne had put back on her mask, yet it was too late.

Her perfect image had already broke in front of Cathy, not that she planned on telling Anne that.

So with a heavy sigh, Cathy acknowledge that she needed to do something.

"Anne I-"

"Stop it. There's no need for that." Anne interrupted her in a cold tone, yet she still had a "smile" plastered on her face.

"Huh?" Cathy looked at her confused.

"Really Cath, I'm fine." She muttered loud enough for Cathy to hear her.

Cathy knew that wasn't the case. It most certainly wasn't the case at all. Cathy wanted to convey to Anne that she knew this, and that she wanted to help her. She wanted to stop right there, tell Anne it's okay not to be okay, perhaps even give her a hug.

But she didn't know Anne. They weren't close. Anne said it herself, they just met recently. And although Cathy was connecting with her, Anne might not be as into it. She doesn't know. Boleyn is still a mystery to her, one she has yet to uncover.

So how could she break through Anne's mask? She didn't have the right because she doesn't know her. At least, she doesn't know her yet.

"Okay. If you say so...." she reluctantly dropped the subject.

Mark Cathy's words, she'll read Anne's backstory one day. Cathy might cry, she might laugh, hell, she might not know what to think. But she knows that she'll be there for Anne when the time comes.

Until that day comes, this is all she could do for now.

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#parrlyn #parrleyn #anne boleyn #catherine parr #katherine howard #anna of cleves #jane seymour #catherine of aragon #six the musical #wajms #cathy is a bi disaster #Anne is a useless gremlin lesbian #I Just can't anymore #these two are the center of my UWUniverse #sad bi hours #Its going to get angsty soon

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

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In the Deep of It || Morgan & Mina

TIMING: Recent past

LOCATION: Dark Score Lake

PARTIES: @drowningisinevitable @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan considers death; Mina confesses a secret

CONTAINS: Implications of past emotional abuse

The ashes of the dead were indistinguishable from the dirt floating around the lake bed. Morgan spread them as evenly as possible, guiding the granules down to the moist floor and watching how they swirled as they settled through the murky water. When she was satisfied, she swam up to the surface, blinking the water away from her eyes. “Thank you for this, Mina. I know the whole squid situation wreaked some serious havoc, but this really does feel like a good place for them. You weren’t kidding about the number of bodies down there, and it feels--” She paused thoughtfully, leaning back to float. “It’s kind of restful. I don’t think I would’ve minded being here if I’d stayed dead. I just wish it was better circumstances that finally got us by the lake together.”

“It’s no trouble, really,” Mina said after the water left her lungs. She didn’t worry about Morgan judging her, but, all the same, she tried to keep up a more human appearance than she would if she’d been alone. She was still patchy with scales, and her hands here webbed and clawed, but she probably looked normal. From a distance. Probably. “I think it’s a good place to rest, too. It was… different, when the squid and those people were here. Even when I could come, it was because I had to, not because I wanted to or even enjoyed it.” Looking at Morgan, Mina mimicked the other woman, leaning back and allowing herself to float. “It wouldn’t be a bad place to rest,” she said thoughtfully, “though I’m personally rather glad you didn’t stay dead.” She was beginning to think that the older woman was one of the best friends that she’d had. One of the only friends she’d had, really. “I would have liked that, too. We can still get something for Deirdre, if you’d like, though.”

“Aaaww,” Morgan cooed. “So you could visit my mouldering bones?” She swam in a circle around Mina, turning over the strangeness of the water. She was hyper aware of the current every stroke of her arms created, of the buoyancy of the water, but she had spent so little time in lakes, she didn’t know how different it was supposed to be from a pool or an ocean except for how alive (and dead) it was underneath her. “I’m glad I’m not all dead either,” she said. “But it does feel like...like I’m not completely who I was before? On the one hand I’ve read enough psych theory and been through enough therapy to know that’s how trauma works to a certain extent, I’m also, you know…” She held up a hand for them both to examine its awkward death-pallor and the discoloration creeping into her nails. It was feeding day and she was saving her dinner for a meal with Deirdre. Morgan sighed. “But I am more here than I thought I was going to be at first. And would like to find something to bring her, yeah. Show me where the good bones are, and maybe after tell me some of the stuff that had you all stressed?”

Glancing at Morgan out of the corner of her eye, Mina rolled them a bit. “Yes, so I could visit your mouldering bones. What else would I do with myself?” Her eyes followed the zombie as she moved. Mina had to wonder how often Morgan was in the water. She remembered the older woman telling her that she would sit at the bottom of the swimming pool sometimes. That sounded horribly boring and a bit depressing, but she had no room to judge, seeing as how she spent most of her time in the water laying on the bottom of the lake bed. “You also don’t feel the same,” Mina said, finishing what Morgan was trying to say. She held up her own hand, scales and claws and webbing on display. “I think you’re doing a lot better than you could be. I can’t imagine that most people take being a zombie very well.” Pulling her hand away, she looked across the surface of the lake, anxiety prickling under her skin. “Right. I think there’s some better bones over there,” she motioned a bit to the right of them, “Old but well preserved. And, ah, yeah. I’m not as stressed as I was a few weeks ago.”

“Cry for my soul, write me a nice fae dirge so my tale will be remembered? Just, you know, the usual, right?” Morgan suggested, her eyes bright and mischievous with the game. Her smile turned thoughtful as Mina brought her own hand up for comparison. Morgan thought her nix friend was fascinating. She wondered how it felt to glisten the way the way she did, to take to the water like it belonged to her, if there was ever a time when her claws felt powerful. But it had to be hard, comparing something so different to a perceived human ‘default.’ “I guess it shouldn’t have to be a bad thing. I am different. It’s nice when someone’s able to tell.”

Morgan started to swim in the direction Mina had indicated, moving in lazy strokes. “The older the better,” she said, beaming. “And does not being as stressed mean you’re okay to talk about it? You don’t have to, obviously. I’m just wondering, maybe mildly worried.”

“I’d play you the saddest song I know on the piano,” Mina said, laughing. “Have the English department renamed in your honor. And the science department. And the math department. The whole school, even. University of Maine, Morgan Beck Branch.” She liked this, had never had this, this joking and laughing and spending carefree time with someone. It was almost easy, to put away years of training and conditioning and just… be. Almost. She couldn’t get past some of it. It was impossible to forget her upbringing, even when she had been spending every day trying to set it aside. “It shouldn’t be a bad thing. I’m learning,” she paused, considering. “I’m learning that.” But she followed after Morgan, trying to think of the best place to find old bones. They were heading the right way, she was sure of it. She’d fallen asleep one night in the lake and drifted this way, waking up and screaming when she saw human remains littering the lake floor. It had been… a lot, in the moment. It should be better, now that she was expecting it. “I can do really old.” She stopped swimming for a moment, considering Morgan’s words. “Yes? I mean, I’ve already talked about it, and, really, it was awful, but I think I could do it again.” She thought about Q’s reaction, his desire to “help” her, almost constantly. She could only imagine that it would be worse in person. “Please don’t be upset with me?”

“Don’t forget my statue,” Morgan said, giggling. “And one for you too, as my posthumous benefactor, obviously.” She rotated into an awkward backstroke so she could appreciate the look on Mina’s face. She hadn’t seen her this relaxed before, and wondered if it was literally being in her natural element or if things had really improved that much for her. She stopped when Mina did, looking at her thoughtfully. She didn’t know what to think of ‘awful but would do again.’ Were all fae so ready to hurt or sacrifice themselves for others?

“Hey…” Morgan swam over so they were close enough to touch hands. “Why would I be upset? Whatever’s going on, I’d like to help you if I can. If it’s about your dad’s visit, or something else, okay? That’s what friends do, right? We help each other.”

“Oh, obviously,” Mina said. She’d like to keep up this line of conversation, the lighter line of conversation. She didn’t want to talk about the fact that she’d made a stupid, stupid promise just in order to feel accepted. She definitely didn’t want to talk about how it was going to kill her. “I did something that’s-- that’s really, really dumb.” Mina laughed a bit, nervously. “I mean, my dad coming isn’t exactly great news, though I’m happy to see him! I mean, I would be happy to see him, but I--” This was actually a bit harder to do in person, especially when Morgan so obviously cared. Mina didn’t know… She didn’t know how to explain this. “I made him a promise that I don’t intend to keep and it’s--” she looked at their hands. “I just don’t intend to keep it. So, I’m having to, you know, deal with it.”

“Dumb…” Morgan repeated, looking puzzled at her friend. That didn’t really gel with what she knew about Mina, who was so anxious to the point of overthinking. She was more than capable in a crisis, even if it had cost her an abundance of trauma. “Okay. Still concerned, but not upset…” And then Mina explained, at least explained in the broad sense. “Wait, ‘deal with it’? Mina, couldn’t breaking a promise kill you?” It had only been a few words, but Morgan’s voice was already shrill with alarm, enough to worry the birds above them. Not upset. Right. “Okay! Still not upset, strictly speaking! More like mega concern? I mean, is there a way to wriggle around this promise? Is there a reason this is really worth risking your life for, Mina? Can I do something to save you? Or can someone else? Maybe there’s a loophole! Wording from promises is really critical, right?”

“Promises don’t always kill people.” Mina said quickly. “Breaking a promise is kind of an equivalent exchange kind of thing. The more severe the promise, the more severe the consequence of breaking it.” That made it seem like it wasn’t so bad, right? Even though it was actually quite terrible! “My dad’s raised a Fae child for years. Trust me, he’s well-versed in wording and making sure things stick.” She gave a shaky sigh. “It was dumb. I didn’t think so, at the time, but it was-- Reckless. It was--” Usually, being in the water helped calm MIna down, but this was really making it worse. “Horrible. It’s a horrible promise, and I shouldn’t have made it, but just wanted.” This was the opposite of calming, actually. It was even worse than talking about it with Q because at least with him she didn’t have to say it. He knew. “I wanted so bad to be accepted and welcomed and loved, and so I did it.”

“Oh, right,” Morgan said, not sure how much better she was supposed to feel about that. “Sometimes they just make you really sick or hurt. But if there’s no loophole--” Then Mina was stuck, either hurting herself or doing whatever it is she didn’t want to do anymore. Given who made her do it, Morgan could only imagine that it had something awful to do with violence and killing fae. As she listened to Mina explain herself, Morgan’s heart ached and broke. She brought her arms around Mina and hugged her gently, even as they began to sink a little into the water. “I’m so sorry, Mina. How bad is it going to be for you? Are you going to be able to survive? I can see if I can hide you at my house, or if we can get you out of town for a little while. You shouldn’t have to hurt like this just to be loved, or cared for. And you don’t, okay? You don’t have to do that. I promise.”

“I release you from your promise,” Mina said immediately, not wanting Morgan to be bound to something so abstract. If anyone knew the trouble of promises, it was Mina, and she refused to have someone bound to her. “It’s-- I’m--” she laughed a bit wetly as Morgan wrapped her arms around her, and it wasn’t from the water. “I’m so bloody stupid, Morgan. I’m so stupid.” Would her dad even be surprised when she failed him? Or would he just see a monster he tried to love but couldn’t, just like her mother. At least he wouldn’t have to kill her if she turned completely bad. At least she had that going for her… She didn’t want to die. “I promised I would kill a Fae, a humanoid one, one that could easily blend in with people, before he came back to White Crest, and I can’t. I can’t do it. I don’t want-- I can’t.”

Morgan continued to hold her, rolling her eyes and groaning as the nix released her from the promise she’d given freely. “You’re not stupid. You’re a person, and you wanted your Dad to be proud of you. You wanted to be loved. Everyone wants that, Mina. You’re not weird or weak for wanting what everyone does.” But that kind of promise--would fae magic really take a life for a life? Would it kill Mina? “And you know you’re not bad for not wanting to go through with something so awful, right? If anything, Mina, you’re too good. And we can find a way to do something about this. We can ask other fae for advice, maybe. We can...figure something out, so you don’t get too hurt. Don’t give up on yourself, please?”

“It’s stupid to make promises when you don’t know if you can go through with something,” Mina said. “I lied to myself for months, which, I mean, I can do that, even if I can’t lie to anyone else, most of the time.” She blinked back a few saltless tears, though a few trailed down her cheeks and mixed with the lake water that she called home. “I don’t feel good. I just feel like an idiot. I should’ve-- It’s not like doing it, killing someone, would change anything.” She felt overwhelmingly bitter. “It doesn’t change anything. I am what I am, for better or worse.” She hung her head, no longer looking at her friend. “I don’t know how to break this. I don’t think I can. And it’s-- I don’t want to die but I can’t-- I won’t. I-- This, it’s me, putting my line in the sand. I’m not going to kill anyone. I’m never doing that.” Mina closed her eyes tightly. “Even if it kills me.”

“I think everyone does that too, lies to themselves,” Morgan said sadly. “But I can tell you from experience that killing someone does make a difference. To how you feel, to how you are. If you ever, ever do something like that, Mina, it has to be something you really want or need to do. And even then--” Morgan squeezed her friend. “It does mean something, Mina, that you choose not to be a part of that. For some people, it can be everything. Who you are is so much more than just your species.” She pressed a kiss to Mina’as head. “Don’t give up yet. You’re still here. Maybe we can find a way. Stranger things have happened before. Come on..” She let them sink beneath the surface and separated enough so they could see one another and smiled warmly and took her hand, nodding what she hoped would be a reassurance. Gesturing onward into the depths, Morgan asked if they could swim together, if they could have more of death than just fear and dread.

“I think that’s the one thing all people have in common.” Mina was pretty sure about this one. Human or supernatural, there was something about lying to themselves that made people, well, people. “I’ve basically killed people. I’ve-- I’ve helped kill people, but I don’t want to do it myself. I can’t. It feels wrong. It’s not defending anyone or helping anyone if it’s just-- just murder.” She allowed herself to sink into the hug, though she didn’t know if she would ever get used to it. Her dad didn’t do hugs. Pats on the shoulder and ‘alright, kiddo’ was the way he showed affection, if he showed affection. She wondered, sometimes, if he ever cared about her at all. She fought with that thought sometimes. Not wanting to think about that, she nodded along to Morgan’s words. “Okay, okay, okay.” She took a few deep breaths as they sunk beneath the surface of the lake. Water and oxygen went in and out of her gills, and she tried to feel peace. Then, she followed Morgan deeper still into the lake. Though she still felt awful, she felt a lot better than she had before. And that wasn’t a lie she was just telling herself.

#in the deep of it #wr mina #wr chatzy #wr mina chatzy #emotional abuse tw #implied #wickedswriting

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olicitysecretsanta · 4 years

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Hi @redpensandhoodies! this is my little gift for you.

I hope you enjoy this story. It takes place in 2008, during the holidays. It’s an AU, mostly fluff with a side of feelings.

For clarification: Oliver is 23, and Felicity 20.

Thanks for reading!

By @lucyyh

The words that I could never say

(Gonna come out anyway)

December 20, 2008.

He trips over the words for the thousandth time in the last fifteen minutes or so, and with a groan of frustration, Oliver closes the book and hits the kitchen counter with it.

The loud bang, amplified by the silent loft, makes him jump a little, and he stays still, his eyes fixed on the stairs leading to the second floor, listening intently for any sound that could alert him that Felicity woke up with the noise and is coming down the stairs.

He knows it is practically impossible, but Oliver’s nervousness has been steadily growing every passing hour since this morning.

He doesn’t know how he will survive tomorrow.

After a few minutes where he doesn’t move an inch, he relaxes a little, now sure that Felicity is still sleeping peacefully. He opens the book again, trying to go back to reading, but he can’t concentrate on the words. They mesh together forming just one big pile of letters that don’t make any sense, not anymore.

Standing up, he goes and grabs a glass from one of the kitchen cabinets and fills it with water from the faucet. He drinks a few sips, washes the glass and leaves it in the dish rack. Leaning on the counter, he looks around the loft, not knowing what to do. He’s too wound up to even consider going to bed now. He’ll just lay there, looking at the ceiling and panicking over everything he has planned for tomorrow.

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he sighs and goes to sit on the sofa. Turning the tv on, he changes the channels for a minute, but he has no real interest in watching tv, so he just leaves it on and stares blankly at the wall behind the tv.

Logically, Oliver knows he has nothing to worry about. He is organizing this particular celebration for the first time, and he is bound to make mistakes. But the part of him that will do anything to make Felicity happy, wants every little detail to be perfect.

Hence why he is so stressed and frazzled.

“Hey,” her sleepy voice startles him, and he quickly turns towards the sound of her voice. She is standing at the foot of the stairs, rubbing her eyes to chase the sleep away. “It’s like three. You can’t sleep?”

He shakes his head in answer. “And you?”

“I had a stupid nightmare. For some reason there were kangaroos here in Starling, and they were just standing there, looking at me with their little, beady black eyes, waiting for me to move and attack me.” She shakes her head several times, as if she is chasing away the images of her dream.

“I will never understand why you are so scared of kangaroos.” She glares at him, and Oliver raises his hands in defeat, “they are cute!”

“They are not! They are big jerks who kick and punch you at the first opportunity they have.”

His lips turn up on a smile. “Felicity…”

“Do I have to show you the videos again?”

He groans, “Oh please don’t. I can’t watch anymore of those videos.” Felicity puts her hands on her hips and arches an eyebrow, waiting. He rolls his eyes, but dutifully says, “Kangaroos are evil, cunning little assholes and we hate them.”

Felicity nods satisfied and flops besides him on the sofa. She curls into his side, hugging his arm, her lips lightly touching his shoulder.

The intimate gesture makes a swarm of butterflies flutter wildly on his stomach. He is overwhelmed by his feelings for her and the strong urge of telling her once and for all that he is in love with her. But he can’t.

With a lump forming in his throat, he buries those feelings in the depths of his heart, too scared of ruining their friendship. Of losing her and watching her walk away from him for good.

She is too important for him. Oliver won’t jeopardize the place he has in her life, just because he couldn’t help but falling in love with her.

(He wonders if anyone who has ever met her has any chance of not loving her in some way.)

—-

He met Felicity over two years ago. He had flunked out of his second college a few months before, and his parents sent him to Boston hoping that if he was away from Starling and the lifestyle he had led until then, it would help him mature and with any luck, he would straighten out his life.

In truth, it wouldn’t have mattered. Oliver had a gift for getting himself in trouble, didn’t matter where he was or who he was with. The difference this time was that he wanted to change. He was tired of his playboy, trust fund baby façade. Of the careless boy who didn’t care about any one, who lived for the next party, or the next woman. Not one of those things (or those women) filled the void in his soul, that took away a part of his self-worth and identity every day.

He wanted to discover who he was and what he could achieve without his parents fixing all his screw-ups.

Boston provided a great opportunity to do just that.

It was easier said than done. He was applying himself on his classes, arriving on time and paying attention, but his parents had paid his way through high school, and now at college he realised he was behind in so many subjects that he was barely managing to keep up.

He had been close to giving up and accepting he was a failure.

His saving grace came in the form of a flyer, pinned on the notice board in the common room of his dorm building.

It was a list of students advertising their tutoring services for a variety of subjects. One particular name caught his attention. There was nothing special in her description. Just her contact info and a short list of the subjects she could help students with. It was just her name. In a list full with normal, typical names, her’s stuck out like a sore thumb.

He called her, later that day.

And that’s how he met Felicity.

At the beginning, Felicity was all business. She was there to help him, not to make small talk. She was never unkind or curt, but she didn’t treat him as if he was dumb either, so Oliver was okay with her requirements, even if he sometimes had to basically clench his mouth shut, so he didn’t blurt out any of the personal questions he was dying to ask her. (He had a lot.)

Oliver thought she was one of those people who just didn’t like to talk.

Boy was he wrong.

In their fifth session, she was explaining some things for his economics class, and while giving him an example, she said something about length and thickness, making a surprised laugh escaped his lips. She blushed hard and then started babbling, trying and failing epically to explain herself.

She stopped, eventually, embarrassment coloring her face. She told him then, the reason why she didn’t speak much was her tendency to babble. More than once, her ability to transform the most innocent sentences into innuendos as well as her rants, had driven away a student. There had been one or two that had gotten angry and said hurtful things that made her doubt if she should keep tutoring. So, Felicity told Oliver she understood if he chose to stop their lessons, and that she would happily recommend another tutor.

He had touched her shoulder, smiled and assured her he didn’t mind her babbles. He actually liked that she finally had talked about something other than math.

She furrowed her brow, told him that if she went off the rails he had to stop her. He agreed and she smiled, a big, beautiful smile that made his heart beat a little bit faster.

After that, they became friends.

Oliver discovered little by little, all the good traits of her character. Her strength, kindness, loyalty and honesty made her the object of his admiration and respect. The fact that she didn’t put up with his shit only strengthened their relationship. It was a nice change having someone who wasn’t scared of telling him when he screwed up, when he was being a jerk. It was even better having someone who supported him, and believed in him.

Along the way, he fell in love with her.

He can’t pinpoint the moment, he just knows it happened between studio sessions and quiet conversations over a cup of coffee. One day, Oliver realized his feelings for her had changed, and that was it. He never questioned it or tried to look for reasons why it happened.

He didn’t need to. Felicity always made things easy. Even falling in love with her.

——

“What are our plans for tomorrow?” her sleepy voice brings him back to the present, and he looks at the mess of blonde hair leaning on his shoulder.

“We could have brunch at one of the cafeterias close to the Starling Bay. After, I was thinking we could take Thea to the ice rink. She has been sending text after text badgering me about going there.”

“Well then, we must do what our little Queen requests.” She laughs at her lame joke, poking his ribs until she manages to make him chuckle. “And later?”

“You’ll light your Menorah, won’t you? We need to be back here before nightfall…and that is at like four.”

“I will, but later later? That won’t take more than one hour…are we planning to stay in?”

Oliver stiffens a little, suddenly at a loss of words. It’s ridiculous, how he can come up with a believable excuse, when he used to be so good at lying. It shouldn’t be this difficult when it is necessary if he wants to really surprise her tomorrow. “Movie night? I don’t feel like going out.”

Felicity looks at him suspiciously, making him squirm a little. He has never been able to hide anything from her and knows he will blurt out everything the moment she calls him out on his strange behavior.

He holds his breath, waiting for her to say something, praying she can’t see that he is about to freak out.

After a few seconds of intense staring, she sighs, rolls her eyes and shrugs. “Whatever you want. I will pick the movie though, because if I have to watch ‘Die Hard’ one more time, I will throw you out of the window, Oliver.”

“You can barely lift a box with a few books. I doubt you can throw me out of the window.”

“Hey!” She slaps his arm, but he barely lifts an eyebrow, “Ugh, your arms are crazy hard! Look at my poor hand, it’s all red!” She shakes her hand a little, murmuring about him and his ridiculously fit body, making him snort.

“Whatever. If I can’t throw you out of the window, I will hack your laptop and change your playlist to porcupine farts. And your cellphone ringtone.”

“No ‘Die Hard’ then, noted.” She nods happily, then turns her attention to the tv. “What are you watching?”

He looks at the tv, a little confused. “Nothing. I don’t even know why I turned it on.”

Felicity grabs the remote, turns off the tv. “Come on Oliver, let’s go to bed.” She stops, cringing at her words, “I mean, to our separate beds. I wasn’t implying we should share one…I’m not saying there’s something wrong with two friends sharing a bed! I wouldn’t be opposed-I, well, if we were in a situation where we have to share a bed…you don’t snore, I know that because I’ve watched you sleep…not creepily! You know that! It was that time when you passed out on the couch, while we were watching that horror movie, that was so lame, remember? I didn’t want to wake you, so you just slept through the rest of the movie and didn’t snore at all…yeah ok, there’s no way I can save this, I’ll just shut up now, yep.”

He laughs heartily, shaking his head. “Don’t worry ‘licity, I know what you meant. And you are right, we should go to sleep.”

They climb the stairs in silence, and he thinks that he wouldn’t have been opposed to sharing a bed with her.

————-

December 21, 2008.

He’s weird.

No, that’s a lie. Oliver is a dork, sometimes a little bit of a jerk, a huge sap, but never weird. He is acting weirdly, that’s a better way of describing how he has been behaving since yesterday. He is jumpy, looks at his watch every two minutes, speaks on the phone with someone in hushed tones, and talked with Raisa when they went to pick up Thea at the mansion, which is not exactly unusual, but the fact that he jumped a foot when she interrupted them, it wasn’t normal at all. He had started stuttering an explanation, but Raisa looked at the ceiling and said something in Russian. Oliver shut up at once, blushing so hard that even his hair was red.

They are at the ice rink now. Thea’s been spinning and making all kinds of pirouettes on the ice, while Felicity is holding one of the fences, refusing to even move an inch. She already tried, but she is a klutz and fell on her butt four times before she decided she was going to stick to the border. So now she is stuck here, watching with envy as Thea skates with an elegance and easiness she won’t reach, not in this life, or the next.

Someone swooshes past her, close enough to graze her jacket. She squeaks, tripping over nothing, desperately trying and failing to grab the fence to avoid face planting on the floor.

Luckily for her, Oliver arrives just in time, grabbing her waist and helping her recover her balance.

“You okay?”

“Yes, thank you for saving my teeth.”

He chuckles, and she stares for a moment too long at his face. She can’t help it, Oliver is so gorgeous she is actually surprised she doesn’t look at his face all the time. Of course, other parts of Oliver are worthy to stare at, like his abs, and his legs, and his…

“Get a grip you dumbass,” she scolds herself.

“Are you sure you don’t want to skate? It’s not difficult. I can teach you, and I won’t let you fall.”

“Ugh no, I will probably manage to make us both fall on our butts, or worse, we will end up face first on the ice.” He rolls his eyes. “Help me get there.” She points at the ice rink exit. I will take off the skates and rest my butt.” Scrunching her nose, she adds, “Does that sound weird? Yeah, I think it does. Maybe. Anyway, It’s true. My butt needs rest because it’s hurting, and I think I might even have a few purples already.” Without letting go of her waist, Oliver gently steers her to the exit. “Maybe I shouldn’t sit, if my butt is already bruising, it will only hurt more…” A woman passes close to them and gives her a disgusted look, making her blush in embarrassment. “Ok, I will stop talking about my behind.”

Oliver doesn’t say anything, probably because he is trying so hard not to laugh at her, the jerk. Finally, they get to the exit, and Felicity starts to untie her skates right there, instead of sitting on one of the benches, like Oliver suggests. Once she is free of them, Felicity looks for a place to sit, and once she is satisfied that her butt doesn’t hurt when she sits, she stretches her toes, groaning in pleasure.

“Be nice and bring me my boots?” She bats her eyelashes at him, and Oliver complies. He is back soon and helps her put on her boots. She blushes a little, the brush of his fingers making her heart jump on her chest.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna try?” Felicity shakes her head. “We’ll be here for another hour, I don’t want you to get bored.”

“Just one hour?”

“Nightfall Felicity. And we have plans for movie night.”

“I know. Are you sure you don’t wanna go out? Grab some drinks? I feel like having a drink.”

“Yeah-” He scratches his head. “I have a few bottles of wine at the loft, we can drink them.”

“Okay…” He is acting weird again. “I was in the mood for dancing too, hit the club…”

He stutters a little, and jeez, what is wrong with him?

“I don’t dance Felicity…”

“Well, I can go on my own..”

“No!” he says forcefully, and then takes a deep breath, plastering a cheerful (super fake) smile on his face. “We can go to a club another day, okay? I really want to stay at home tonight.” Before she can reply, he changes the subject. “Are you sure you don’t wanna try again?”

She gives him an annoyed look, “I won’t. I’ll just watch you guys twirling around,doing triple axels.” He rolls his eyes good naturedly. “And I wanna call my mom. We haven’t spoken since Thursday, and I wanna know how she’s doing, wish her a Happy Hanukkah and all that,” she flippantly says, but Oliver’s expression tells her he knows she isn’t feeling very festive right now.

“Ok. If you need anything…”

“I’ll tell you, don’t worry.”

He gives her one last smile and goes back to the ice rink.

She watches Oliver and Thea for a few minutes, joking around and teasing each other. It’s amazing how good their relationship is, even with the almost ten years of difference between them. Oliver always talks about his sister, “his Speedy” as he calls her. He loves her so much, and it shows in everything he does for Thea.

Thea loves her brother too. She adores him and thinks her brother is the best. Even now, as a teenager, she still shows her brother how much she admires and loves him.

(It’s not to say that she doesn’t teases him all the time. She does. Thea is always looking for new ways of annoying her brother. It’s glorious.)

Everytime Felicity sees them interact, she wishes she had a sibling. Growing up with a mother who worked more than sixty hours a week, resulted in her being a lonely child, whose closest friend was a computer.

Shaking her head, she takes her phone out of her jacket pocket, and searches for her mother’s phone number. Her finger hovers over the call button, wondering if she should call her now or later. In the end, she switches off the screen, and pockets her cellphone. She’ll probably cry if she talks to her mom, and she thinks it’s better if she does in the safety of the loft, and not in an ice rink full of people.

“Not crying in front of strangers, that’s a good new year’s resolution,” she repeats as a mantra, over and over again.

Still, a few tears roll down her cheeks.

—-

Felicity had plans for the holidays. Plans that involved her mom, too much fried food, and maybe some tv show marathons.

For the Smoak women, Hanukkah has always been their most beloved celebration. When she was little, Donna always took time for celebrating, asking for days off at her jobs, and making sure that Felicity enjoyed the holidays, even if they never had much.

Once Felicity started high school, it was more complicated. Donna knew Felicity’s dream was attending MIT, and even if she got a full scholarship (as Felicity’s teachers assured her she would), her daughter was going to need money for all the things the scholarship didn’t cover. So Donna got a third job, started working over sixty hours a week, and all but said goodbye to any vacation time.

It meant, too, that she couldn’t always be at home for lighting their Menorah, or having dinner with Felicity.

When Felicity went to college, it was even more difficult.

The distance made it hard for Felicity to go home during winter break. Plane tickets weren’t cheap, and with Donna working so much, it was a waste of money for her to travel to Las Vegas, and spend her days in an empty apartment.

This year was going to be different.

At the beginning of the year, Donna got a raise in one of her jobs, and since Felicity’s work as a tutor allowed her to earn good money, her mom didn’t need to work herself to death.

With that in mind, Donna told Felicity that they could spend Hanukkah together. She was going to ask for vacation time, and Felicity had enough money saved for the plane tickets.

It was going to be their first Hanukkah together in years.

Of course, nothing went according to plan.

At the end of November, one of Donna’s aunts died. She went to Illinois for the funeral, and to support Rachel, Donna’s favorite cousin, a shy, nervous woman that had spent the last six or seven years taking care of her sick mother, with no help from her other three siblings.

She was only going to stay in Illinois for a week, but soon that week turned into two, and then into three. Rachel was a wreck, and the fights between the siblings increased when they found out their mother had gifted the house to Rachel, at least three years before she died. If it hadn’t been for Donna, they would have walked all over Rachel, bullying her into giving them the house. When they realised they wouldn’t achieve their goal, they left, screaming at Rachel that she was a bad sister.

Things had calmed down then, but Donna stayed so she could help Rachel sell the house, since the poor woman didn’t think she could stay there anymore. She was looking to start anew in Florida, where one of her few friends lived, far away from her horrible siblings.

And just like that, Felicity’s plans went down the drain.

She told Donna she could travel to Illinois and meet her there, but in the state things were, Donna didn’t think it was a good idea. She was sad they were going to miss another Hanukkah, but she thought it was her duty to help her cousin.

So Felicity resigned herself to spend another winter break in Boston, alone.

Until Oliver invited her to Starling City.

She hadn’t hesitated in accepting, spending time with Oliver was one of her favorite things to do, and visiting a city like Starling, where some of the most important technology companies in America have their headquarters, it was a dream come true. She would hopefully tour a few of those companies.

It would help her soothe her sadness too.

She had her reservations though. His parents didn’t like her much, not since she had blurted out something about Mr. Queen’s ‘assets’ when Oliver had introduced her during one of their rare visits to see their son (she was talking about technology, not…other things). The dinner invitation they had so kindly extended was withdrawn with an excuse of wanting to spend time with their son, and she was left feeling horrified at what had come out of her mouth, and wishing for the earth to open up and swallow her whole.

(Oliver had been furious with his parents. He had refused to go to dinner with them, even though she had tried to change his mind. She was equal parts upset that he didn’t see how that would only make his parents dislike her more and touched that he had her back.)

Anyway, Oliver assured her they wouldn’t stay at the mansion, and they would see his parents only during the annual holiday party, and maybe at Christmas dinner. He had told her then, about the loft he had purchased during summer break, how he thought it was time he left the mansion and look for his own space, away from his parents’ expectations and demands.

“And they agreed to buy you the loft?” She knew he didn’t have access to his trust fund until his 25th birthday.

“Of course not. Mom lost it. Well, as much as she can lose it…”

“Then how?”

“Grandpa Queen left money for his five grandchildren. We could have control over the money once we turned 21.” They were waiting for their take-out in a crowded BBB, sandwiched between the bar and a group of obnoxious teenagers. “It wasn’t much. He said it was mostly for us to have fun and enjoy life before our parents dumped a shit ton of obligations over us.”

“He said that?”

“Word by word. He made a video with the will. It was hilarious. He told my dad to calm the fuck down and pull the stick out of his ass.”

Felicity burst out laughing, but she quieted down when some people turned to look at her.

“You didn’t follow his advice.”

“How so?”

“Well, you said he didn’t leave you much, and instead of partying or travelling around the world, you bought a loft…”

“I still have money left. The loft cost me…1.5? He left me 10.”

Felicity gaped at him. For an insanely long time.

“HE LEFT YOU TEN MILLION DOLLARS!?”

All the people in the diner had looked at them, some amused, others annoyed at her loud voice.

Embarrassed, Oliver cleared his throat, and asked her, “Are you coming or what?”

And she had come. To Starling! She wasn’t talking about any other type of coming…

Oh google, not even in her stupid memories could she stop the innuendos.

——-

He was acting weirder.

When they dropped Thea at the mansion, Oliver had run to the kitchen, had another secret conversation with Raisa, another strange phone call, and then dragged her out of the mansion, completely ignoring the maid who told him his mother wanted to talk to him. She tried to slow him down, but he kept repeating they didn’t have time, even if she told him, grumpily, that they still have time before nightfall.

“I don’t wanna drive without daylight.”

“Is not even 3:30 p.m, Oliver.”

“Yeah but there’s traffic.”

She looked out of the window. “It doesn’t seem like we’ll get stuck in traffic. ”

No answer.

“Oliver?”

“Mmm?”

“Why don’t you tell me what you are hiding?”

He tries to smile, but instead his mouth curves in a grimace. ”I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Are you kidding me? You’ve been tense all day. Every time I ask you something, you give me super crappy - even for you - explanations. You got all jumpy when I caught you talking with Raisa, and you run to another room every time your phone rings. The only possible conclusion is that you are hiding something.”

He purses his lips but doesn’t say a word.

“You are sooo hiding something, Oliver Queen!”

Again, silence.

“You know I hate mysteries!! They bug me. I will discover it and…”

“We are here.” She looks out of the window, and sure enough, they are entering the garage of the apartment complex.

Oliver parks the car but doesn’t unlock the doors. He looks at her, intensely, and she wonders what is going through his mind right now.

“I…it is a surprise. I’ve been planning it for a couple of weeks, that’s why I didn’t tell you. Please don’t be mad?”

There’s a mix of insecurity and hope in his eyes, one that makes her nod without saying a word. She has a lot of questions, but she doesn’t need to ask them. She’ll find out soon enough what this surprise is, and why he has been so nervous about it.

They get out of the car silently and ride the elevator in equal silence. She wants to reach out and squeeze his hand, give him some sort of reassurance that she won’t get upset, that whatever he did, she will love it.

For some strange reason, she can’t.

The elevator stops, the doors open, and they walk side-by-side to the loft. He stops for a moment before unlocking the door but doesn’t say anything.

Once the door is open, he motions for her to get in.

It’s dark inside, the dim lights of dusk barely illuminating the space. She looks at Oliver, who’s still standing at the door. He gives her a small smile and turns on the light.

“Baby!!”

The scream makes her turn around fast. Her heart pounding in her chest. Her mother is jumping up and down, in a tight pink dress and high silver stilettos. Tears spring to her eyes, and she barely has time to choke out an incredulous ‘Mom?’ before Donna engulfs her in a tight hug.

She cries then, big, fat joyful tears. Her mom is saying something, but she is too overwhelmed to understand her.

It takes her a few minutes to calm down and be able to talk.

“How? I-I thought…”

“I know darling, and I was planning to stay in Illinois until after the New Year. But he,” she points at Oliver, who’s still standing close to the door, “called me and offered his help. He arranged for someone to take care of all the paperwork and legal proceedings of selling the house, and helped Rachel settle in Florida. She’ll stay with her friend until she can get her own place.” Donna dries her tears with her fingers, smudging a little of her mascara. “Once Rachel was on her way, he bought me a plane ticket and told me he wanted it to be a surprise…” She opens her arms and screams, “Surprise!”

Felicity’s laughs reverberate on the walls. She hugs her mother and both of them jump a little until Donna stops and says between laughs that she’ll break an ankle if they keep jumping around.

Oliver clears his throat and takes a hesitant step in their direction.

“I take it you aren’t mad?” His lips curl in a small smile.

She shakes her head in answer, unable to give him a verbal response.

“Good.” He points in the direction of the big windows, “It is time already, isn’t it?”

There is a small table by the window, close to the door that leads to the balcony. On top of the table sits her Menorah, ready to be lit.

“Oliver…”

“Raisa made food.” She can see he is still nervous, “I was thinking on cooking myself, but as I wanted it to be a surprise, I asked for her help. That’s why we were having ‘secret conversations’.” There’s a pause, where he seems to think for a little while what he wants to say. “Are you happy?”

Her smile gets bigger, and she nods. “I am. Thank you, Oliver.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” He hesitates for a moment, and then in a whisper he adds, “The only thing I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

He is looking at her intensely, an open, vulnerable expression on his face. It hits her then, and she wonders how she never noticed before.

Bringing her mother, making sure they can celebrate Hanukkah together, and all the little things he has been doing to cheer her up was his way of telling her he loves her.

She realises then, that he has been telling her he loves her, for a really long time.

In that moment, all the fears that have kept her from confessing her feelings for him, disappear.

How can she be scared of loving him, when he loves her as intensely as she loves him?

She wants to tell him that she loves him. That she has loved him since the first time she saw him in the library and he asked her if she was willing to help him. That her love only grew as she got to know the kind of person he is. How his courage, kindness, generosity, and thoughtfulness makes him a better man than the one he thinks he is. The best man she has ever met.

She wants to tell him that and so much more.

But not now. She’ll tell him later, when they are alone.

She grabs his hand, and walks towards the Menorah, where her mother is already waiting for them.

She doesn’t let go of his hand while Donna lights the candle, or when she says the blessings.

She doesn’t plan on letting go for the rest of the night.

She hopes they won’t let each other go, ever.

—-00000—-

Finito.

—

Sorry for the lack of Tommy! he wouldn’t cooperate!

#arrow #olicity #olicity secret santa #goodbye olicity #submission

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