#Jokes aside I am glad that my silly comic gave you a laugh that helped distract you from the tummy hurt. I hope you are feeling better! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miraithislife · 4 years

Text

Miraith Part 3 <3 (little long oop)

“Did you...ever have a family...?” She asked in a soft, curious voice. Wraith had been nestled warmly by the fireplace in Mirage’s private condo. It was filled with pictures, collectibles, and posters of him, of course, along with all of his trophies and medals from the Games, fan mail, fan art, comics, and practically anything else related to him.

“My family?” Mirage repeated in surprise, not really expecting her to ask that of him. He was in the kitchen, making them both some warm mugs of hot chocolate to treat the increasingly bitter cold from which they’d just sought refuge. “Well, yea. I have a family. I’m the youngest of four. Four boys. Had to screw around to get attention, you know.”

Wraith scoffed, “Bet that wasn’t hard for you to do.” She brought the blanket (with a full length Mirage printed onto it) more snugly around her shoulders, having replaced Mirage’s coat, which was hung neatly in the closet by the front door.

Mirage grinned, “Nope.” He laughed. “We were definitely a handful for our parents.”

Wraith bit her lip embarrassedly and looked to the crackling flames when realizing she had no idea what those were. She knew everyone had them, she’d heard the term before. Something about it was vaguely familiar. She wanted to ask, but the words stopped in her throat. Would she sound weird for asking such a ridiculous thing?

What would he think of her if she did?

What if he thought she was joking?

What would he think when realizing she was being serious?

A pit grew in Wraith’s stomach as her anxieties grew, and she began to get a headache from overthinking.

It’s Mirage. He’ll understand. She self-consoled.

Wraith took a breath and asked (after conjuring up the bravery) in a voice soft as silk, “What are parents?”

Mirage looked over at her. The look in her eyes told him she was being genuine and serious. “Uh,” he began, not wanting his surprise or delay in response to come off judgemental or make her feel bad. “Well...parents are the people who take care of you. Claim you as your own, cause, uh. They gave birth to you? Well no your mom does that part...the dad just--ahem.” He shrugged. “Yea they take care of and love you, basically. Raise ya. All that fun stuff.” He picked out two mugs from the cupboard.

Well, that wasn’t so bad. She thought.

Did she ever have parents...? She wondered.

“You have parents?” She asked.

“Well, yea.” Mirage replied, setting them on the countertop and closing the cupboard. “Everyone has parents, right?”

Wraith solemnly averted her gaze to her hands, saying quietly. “Right.”

Mirage winced. “I’m sorry...I didn’t mean--”

“It’s alright.” She said, rather shortly.

Mirage rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I mean, not everyone has parents.” He said in an attempt to make it better. He shrugged and said in a tone to play it off, “Besides, it’s not like having parents make you cool or anything.” He removed the pitcher from the stove once the water’d heated to the perfect temperature.

“At least not mine, heh. I mean, what kind of parents tell you you were an accident baby and try to sell you online?” He began pouring the water into each of the mugs, “OnLINE.” He stressed. “And for FREE?” He passionately continued, still holding the steaming pitcher, waving it along with his animated hand gestures and story retelling. Wraith raised the blanket to her mouth, she couldn’t help but softly giggle at his increasing annoyance as he recalled the memory.

Mirage was too enraged to notice her adorable little laugh. “I mean, hell. Like okay, I was an accident and you wanna sell me, but for free?” He gestured to himself. “I mean, look at me, I’m amazing! I’m handsome, I’m smart, I’ve got fans--I’ve gotta be worth a nice rack of pork chops at the very least. And I was the cutest little thing, too.” Mirage set the pitcher down, crossing his arms and leaning against the refrigerator. He shook his head, confused as to why he was so unwanted, “I had chubby cheeks...I had curls…”

“What were your parents like?” Wraith asked. “Aside from wanting to sell you, of course.”

“My mom was the sweetest woman you’d ever meet. Beautiful. Smart. Funny. She was great.” Mirage began, the selling incident instantly leaving his mind. He stood and resumed finishing the hot chocolate, adding the cocoa powder. “She was crazy smart. My mother was an engineer. She’d make things, design things, build things, break a few things.” He laughed. “That was always funny.” He laughed again. “She makes me, well, me.” He said, raising his arms to bask in his glory. “Mirage.”

He plopped a couple marshmallows into each of the mugs. Carefully, he carried the mugs to the living room and set them on the glass coffee table. He moved the gold and red accent pillows on his sleek dark gray couch to allow himself a seat next to Wraith. “She introduced me to illusion-creating tech. And...well, long story short I got obsessed and addicted, went to school and learned about mechanisms and doohickeys and whatchamacallits, and, well, yea, here I am.” He handed her her mug first.

“Then we made some pretty cool stuff together. My favorites were all the holo tech, I mean come on look at this baby.” He said proudly with a smug look on his face, gesturing to his outfit. “Worked at the bar for who knows how long, heard about the Games and wanted to join, sounded pretty fun. But I didn’t want to leave my mother alone, you know, since everyone else was gone.” His face fell.

“Until one day she came up to me after a long day of work and gave me a set of customized holo devices and told me to follow my dream.” He looked at her and smiled. “So, I did. And I promised to give her some money to help her get out of some long overdue debts and out of the slums and dirt we’d always lived in. I can finally say I’ve helped make her happy, now. I make sure she’s taken care of before going off to compete, cause you know, never know if that’s my last time seeing her.”

Wraith failed to suppress the warmth that washed over heart. “She sounds amazing.” She took the mug graciously. “Thank you.”

Mirage smiled, “Yea, she really is. Everything I do now in the Games is for her.”

Wraith couldn’t help but feel her heart warm her chest. She’d always seen Mirage as silly and rather self-centered, but it turned out, to her pleasant surprise, that there were things that truly mattered to him more than just women, fans, or having the spotlight on him. “She’s lucky to have such a great son like you. I’m sure you two have always been really close.”

Mirage blushed at her compliment, “Thank you.” He wrinkled his nose and shrugged, “Nah, not always. We didn’t really get along that well at first (which was entirely my fault), and we kinda just bonded after my three older brothers died in the Frontier War, so all she had was me by default.” He laughed wryly. “But honestly with the engineering thing, it helped make it work. Now I can’t imagine life without her.” He took a sip from his hot chocolate, only then realizing Wraith hadn’t.

“Don’t like hot chocolate?” He asked.

“Oh, no, that’s not it.” she replied. “I’ve just never had it.” Her eyes didn’t move from the chocolate tainted white blobs floating in her mug. “What are those?”

Mirage scoffed, “What are those? Only the best things ever!”

Wraith smiled, “What are they?”

“Marshmallows. Soft, squishy, sweet thingamajigs...I don’t really know what they are, but they make everything a million times better. Especially in hot chocolate.” Mirage replied. “Try it.”

Wraith looked at him, then back to her mug. Slowly, she curled her full, rounded lips, silently blowing away the steam that arose from the mug, watching it dissipate into the air. She closed her eyes and inhaled the heavenly, chocolatey aroma, exhaling a soft hum of content. Mirage, adorably, watched her place the mug’s rim to her mouth, but couldn’t keep his eyes off her beautifully shaped lips. Keeping her eyes closed, she took a sip. She sighed through her nose in content as the soothing warmth made its way down her throat and through her body, reveling in the cocoa’s richness and the marshmallow’s delicately sweet touch.

“Mmm.” She opened her eyes and met his. Her heart skipped a beat. The look in his eyes scared her. But...in a good way. There was no doubt he was in total awe and completely enamored of her existence. Mirage couldn’t hide anything from her even if he wanted to, and the throbbing in his chest that burned so fiercely out of love, longing, and desire began to grow to a point at which he couldn’t control or suppress for much longer.

Her heart raced.

There was so much she wanted to tell him.

So much he needed to know.

So much she wished she had the strength to tell him.

So much she wanted to share with him...in every way possible.

A blush touching her cheeks, she smiled warmly. “It’s delicious.”

Mirage beamed. “I’m glad you think so. And that looks good on you, by the way.”

Wraith slightly furrowed her brow, “What does?”

Mirage replied dreamily, “That smile.”

Wraith quickly averted her gaze as her blush deepened, she cleared her throat in attempt to change the subject, “What about your fath--”

Mirage’s mood changed quickly. “My dad was an absolute scumbag. Was never there. Hit and cheated on my mom. Abused and overworked us boys. Cursed us out. Destroyed the house. Kept us poor and put us down. Drank his life away and took his problems out on us. List goes on and on.” He said with a wave of his hand.

“Disappeared one day and never came back. Left us dirt poor and starving and took everything my mom owned to sell for money but you know, it was prolla-prabob-parlabol--” He threw his hands up in frustration. “WORDS.” He hastily stood up and made his way to the wall, punching it vehemently. He grabbed his wrist and gasped sharply in pain. He kicked the wall in frustration and sat on the side of his bed, facing the wall. “His leaving was the best thing that ever happened to us.” He ended in spite, fiddling with the straps on his glove.

Wraith didn’t know what to think.

She had never seen him like this before.

The saddened and angry little boy inside of him was waking up, and she knew that feeling all too well. To feel trapped. To have emotions suppressed and not worked through. To feel resentment and revenge. To want answers. To want to just know why.

Without a sound, she arose from the cushions and to his side, the bed bouncing a little as she sat. Mirage’s body swayed a little from the movement, his head hung low. Wraith reassuringly laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mirage. I know that must’ve been very hard for you...to not have someone there when you needed them most, let alone cause so much pain...and to not understand why.”

Her hand gently turned his face to hers, and the look on his face nearly broke her heart. His face fell, his head hung low, and his eyes were full of sorrow and pain. Angry tears pricked his eyes, and several had begun to make their way down his cheeks.

Wraith continued, gently cupping his face with her hands and using her thumbs to wipe away his tears, “To have things happen out of your control and suffer from it. Whether it’s you or loved ones. Then you question what you did wrong and what you should’ve done right, as if it’s your fault...taking on that burden.” She lifted his face so their eyes met, and with a gentle motion, she brushed his hair from his face and behind his ear, then caressing his cheek in the same manner he had to her earlier. “But that doesn’t make you wrong in how you feel. Your emotions are valid. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to feel hurt. It’s okay to be angry. Just don’t let them define or change who you are.” She smiled.

Mirage stared at her, speechless.

How did she know what to say? And how to say it? So elegantly and well put?

“That’s...exactly how I feel, Wraith.” Mirage said. He never doubted her past experiences, but the level to which they could relate was so touching it made his heart feel so much lighter. He now knew, finally, at 30 years old, that he wasn’t alone.

Wraith scoffed through a soft laugh. “Well, I know a thing or two about loss and pain.”

Mirage gently took her hands from his face and cherished them in his, pressing his lips to her knuckles several times, not breaking eye contact. “Well, you’re not alone anymore.”

#miraithislife #part3 #fanfic #mirageandwraith #miragexwraith #mirage #wraith #randomfluff #randomfluffs #love #cute #relationship #aww #miraith #fanfiction #apexlegends

68 notes · View notes

floweryfandomnerd · 6 years

Text

@thelazyfanartist Hey I finally got this done and I’m very happy with it despite it being a procrastination method from revision man am I gonna fail my exams at this rate.

Anyway here is the fourth drabble in the schoolboy!arslan au that you requested. I say drabble it’s 4k+ long... I hope you enjoy

Chapter Four

The room that Elam stands in the doorway to is a mess with old toys strewn about the wooden floor in almost a circle from the centre, he sighs at the thought of cleaning it up.

“Hey Elam, did you bring your old toys to go through for the beneficence day?” Arslan asks him, springing up from what could be described as the eye of the storm, if the storm were one of dolls and stuffed animals.

He lifts up the canvas bag in his right hand to show him, Arslan eyes the graphic print on it for a moment then holds out his hand expectantly. Elam loops the handles around Arslan’s wrist, he tugs the bag open and peers inside, wide grin forming on his face as he pulls out a spiderman action figure, “Cool! You have my favourite hero!”

Elam steps closer to him, digging around in the bag himself, he produces a Hawkeye figure and holds it up to eye level, “Yeah, but Hawkeye’s my favourite because he's skilled with a bow and that's pretty awesome. Even more awesome is that in the original comics he's deaf, that's pretty inspiring for disabled kids, y’know?” Elam tells him.

And even though his voice lacks the same obvious excitement as his, Arslan has long since learnt to read him by the way the corners of his eyes crinkle as he talks about it, by the way that he stands just a little bit straighter and holds the figure to his chest. Arslan smiles softly, he's more than fond of seeing his friend so happy.

“Yeah! It's great because it shows that even with a disability you can be anything - even a superhero!” Arslan agrees, enthusiastically nodding his head, “Hawkeye is Daryun’s third favourite, besides Thor and Captain America.”

‘Yeah, they're kinda cool too.” Elam glances back down at the figure sadly, he doesn't really want to give it away.

“He says Spiderman is lame though, says it's because he reminds him of a teenage Narsus, except Narsus didn't have a six pack and liked art too.” Arslan gently takes the figure out of Elam’s hand as he laughs, (he takes pride in drawing that laugh out of his friend, he's glad that he doesn't always feel the need to be so serious around him anymore.) Arslan sets the two action figures down carefully on his bed, kept apart from all of the unsorted toys, “Anyway, we can't get rid of these.”

“Wow. Was Narsus that much of a nerd?” Elam asks, still in stitches and clutching his arms around his sides.

“What do you mean was? He still is!” Arslan jokes, mumbling an afterthought, “Though he's more of an art nerd than a science nerd now, I guess.”

Elam carefully steps around the toys to sit in the middle of them, he drags Arslan with him by the sleeve. Picking up the nearest stuffed animal in front of him, Elam inspects it for any rips in the stitching or missing eyes. When he finds nothing wrong with it he holds it up to Arslan. Silently answering the question, Arslan nods his head to say that it can be donated; Elam sets the toy aside in a basket labelled “donations.”

They get into a rhythm of deciding whether the toys can stay or go, picking them up, checking them over for injury and then questioning whether they can be kept or not. Most of the toys wind up in the basket, too many for them to be of any emotional value. Occasionally though, Arslan shakes his head and tenderly takes the toy from Elam’s hand, placing them on the bed. It builds up an eclectic collection of old, tattered toys that he stares at fondly.

They’re special to him, each and every one, he doesn't want to get rid of them. Knowing they're safe, he quietly returns to helping Elam sort the rest of the toys, neither of them break the silence, though Elam wants to ask what makes each one so important. After all, every toy has a story to it when it means something.

Breaking the silence between them by means of a creaking door, Alfarid strides in, calling out, “Guys, I’m here!”

Taking another step into the room, Alfarid stands on one of the still unsorted toys, slipping and crashing into the basket. A few toys go flying out, one of them hitting Elam on the head; Alfarid sits slightly dazed in the basket, limbs splayed everywhere and giggles sheepishly, “So um, what were you guys doing?”

Elam scowls at her, rubbing the impact spot, “We were enjoying ourselves but I guess that’s over now.”

Long used to his sass, Alfarid simply sticks her tongue out at him. Despite Elam’s sourness towards her, Arslan laughs at her. She laughs along too, guessing herself just how ridiculous she must look. The three blink at an unexpected flash and the sound of a camera shutter, Etoile stands in the doorway, polaroid camera in hand and held up in front of her face. Lowering it, she tugs the photograph printing in the bottom out and fans it around. The photograph develops, ink drying and the image forming in blotches.

She looks at it and grins, chuckling just slightly, then she holds it out for the others to see. They smile and Alfarid takes the photo in her own hand.

“This one’s a keeper!” she beams. “It’s definitely going in my memory box.”

Etoile points to the window where opened light blue and white curtains let the sunlight filter in through the glass, “Yeah, the lighting in here made sure it came out great. But that should be going in my memory box, I took the picture.”

Pouting, she holds it out for the other girl, but Elam quickly snatches it away and squints at it. He cracks a smile and shoves it into Arslan's face.

“It’s cute, we look cute in this photo don't we Denka?” he pauses, considering thoughtfully for a moment, then adds, “Alfarid doesn't.”

She gasps in outrage, insulted and ready to fire expletives back at him, Etoile speaks over the top of her, vexed, “Wait, why did you call him ‘Denka’?”

Alfarid resorts to crossing her eyes and arms and sticking her tongue out at Elam in a huff, he pays her no mind and gestures towards the bed in the corner of the room, “Because he has a king sized bed, in like every room, but we're still kids, so Denka.”

She glances to Arslan, ‘Denka’, questioningly but to her surprise he doesn't seem to mind the nickname. She turns her head away rapidly when she realises that she's caught his eye with her own. He jumps up, excitedly putting a hand on her shoulder.

“You should take another one,” he tells her, voice as warm as a sunny day, “but this time you should get in too!”

She nods, still a little surprised, then finds her voice to reply, “Of course, it wouldn't be the perfect photo if I weren't in it.”

He laughs happily and bounces off to the pile of toys on the bed.

“Before you take it,” he says, waving Alfarid over to his side, “we need to organise the toys on here for the background.”

They align them against the wall, organising them by size with the largest teddy bears at the back and action figures sitting in the front. Arslan grabs Elam’s arm and drags him over to sit in front of the bed with him and Alfarid. Etoile sets a fifteen second timer and places the camera on the bed side table, seating herself next to Arslan. Seconds later the camera flashes and she fights the urge to blink. She’d set it to go off three times, one photo for each of them.

The polaroid deposits the photographs in front of it, she idly goes through them, pausing and deciding which she likes best, Alfarid making the peace sign whilst Elam glares at her, Arslan and herself making silly faces; maybe the one when all four of them are smiling and Elam and Alfarid have given up their bickering. She decides on the one where, for some strange reason, Arslan's smile is directed at her instead of the camera. She pockets that one carefully and leaves the other three open to the others’ choice.

Turning to Elam, she picks up a stuffed horse off of the wooden floor, dangling it in the air by the tail. She scrutinises the toy, swinging it from side to side, “So Elam, why all the toys? We helping a tragic case of hoarding or? I mean, if so I guess it's a productive use of a Thursday afternoon… ”

Elam laughs, “No, our school is having a beneficence day so we're going through all of Arslan's old stuff to sell some and raise money.”

“You can donate that horse by the way,” Arslan chimes in.

Etoile nods, dumping it amongst the other sacrificed toys. “What about this ratty old bear? Are you sure you want to keep it?” she asks just a little brashly. Its fur is worn and discoloured, one of the eyes is missing and some of the stitching is coming away, letting the stuffing spill out in small patches. They couldn't even donate it if they had wanted to.

Still, Arslan nods almost shyly, softly replying, “Yes… I want to keep it.”

She carefully passes it to him, gazing thoughtfully in his direction, head cocked slightly to the side, “That’s important to you, isn’t it?” she says slowly.

“Yes, it’s the only thing I have left of my birth parents. They gave it to me when I was five.”

Alfarid’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “Your birth parents?”

Smiling almost sadly at her, Arslan sighs quietly, ‘Yeah, they died in a car accident when I was eight.” He brightens up then - Etoile can't help but think the expression reads as fake - adding, “I'm okay with donating almost anything, just not this, okay?”

Elam silently pats his arm, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, Arslan briefly taps Elam's hand with his own in acknowledgement.

Clapping a hand gently on his shoulder, Etoile reassures him, “Well that's fine, isn't it? You don't have to give up everything of yourself to make a difference to others.” She grins broadly at him then, firmly stating, “Giving to charity is a good thing Arslan, you just need to make sure you keep something for yourself too.”

When he beams at her in response, agreeing resolutely, she thinks she might just have to change her opinion of him as a spoiled rich boy. “Why don't I take that and fix it for you?” she asks, pointing at the stuffing spilling out like Winnie the Pooh’s, “I know how to sew.”

This time it's Elam's turn to be surprised, “Really?” he enquires almost incredulously.

“Yup.”

“Do you think you could teach me then? I'm no good at it past stitching up holes.” Elam points to the dark brown fabric patches on the elbows of his deep green jumper as if they were evidence of his lack of skills.

Etoile laughs then, quickly obliging herself, “Yeah, I think that would be fun. I could even teach you how to make clothes, if you want me to,” she says, closely scrutinising his work and mumbling, “though I think you're plenty good already.”

She doesn't notice the camera go off again, snapping a shot of her intensely staring at Elam's elbow whilst he looks to be concentrating equally as hard. Giggles escape Alfarid, betraying her mischief as she shows off the picture to Arslan who giggles along with her.

Cutting off the giggling, she turns to Arslan again, “Well do you?” she almost demands the answer of him, “I promise no harm will come to it whilst in my care. Just good old stuffing surgery.”

Easily agreeing, he hands the toy over to her, “Yes, I trust you'll do a great job.”

Daryun interrupts them, knocking loudly and pushing open the door to the room. “Dinner's ready kids. Come down and eat.”

“You didn't cook it now, did you?” Elam worries at him, Daryun isn't someone he would trust to make food. Responsible, usually, but he's just as much of a disaster in the kitchen as Narsus is, if his attempt at a cake is anything to go by.

Daryun's expression morphs into one of offense, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, and his mouth set in an annoyed line, “Yes I did, I don't really think there's anywhere to go wrong with spaghetti bolognaise, Elam.”

Holding his glare a moment, Elam eventually relents, accepting that Daryun perhaps might not be as useless a cook as he is a baker. Though he does question why Daryun decided to make it himself, if he remembers correctly, Elam believes that Arslan's household employed a cook already, and that it certainly wasn't Daryun.

Daryun smiles in response, “Okay then, I'll drop you lot off at home after you've finished dinner then.”.

Etoile takes the bear home with her.

After her Tuesday afternoon shift in the shop, Etoile wanders around the town centre a little bit, gazing in shop windows without entering, pressing her hands against the glass when she takes interest in something and peering in curiously only to pull herself away a moment later. Eventually she arrives in front of the store she actually intends to enter and pushes open the door. It's a small shop with little room and fewer regular customers, but the products are good quality and inexpensive, so it's her chosen place to shop.

They have pretty fabrics hung on spools all across the far wall, Etoile likes looking at them, running her fingers across each one as she tries to decide which one she needs to buy. Pausing, she takes the bear from the plain brown satchel at her hip and studies it, tapping a finger against her lips in thought. A patchwork job would probably last longer, she thinks, than just sewing up the bear. As long as she finds the right fabric and colour.

This one, she thinks, feeling a soft and velvet-like deep brown fabric. She buys half a meter, some brown thread and a button that matches the eye of the bear. She pays for the items and is almost out of the door before she remembers that some stuffing might be useful. Purchasing the stuffing, she leaves and makes her way home.

Her apartment is empty when she arrives, Barcacion - the great uncle that she lives with and is rather fond of - isn't home, leaving Etoile to quietly sit in the arm chair by the window as she repairs the bear. It doesn't take long to fix, but as her needle dips in and out of the fabric, sewing the toy's wound shut, Etoile considers why Arslan, with all his money, didn't just pay for the bear to be sewn back up. At first she can't think of any real reason, eventually however, she thinks that maybe it was because he was scared it would be changed beyond recognition and he wouldn't have anything left of the people who formed his early life. After that, she's careful to make sure the bear remains recognisable.

Her chance to return the bear doesn't come until the Beneficence Day three days later. She wanders through the gate idly, taking her time to enjoy the afternoon sun that spills over the buildings around her, casting shadows and golden rays alike. The school grounds are unusually busy, but that's hardly surprising given the day's event, still, the crowd is so thick that she struggles to see where she can find Arslan, Elam or Alfarid. What gives it away is the circle of young children and their parents circling around one particular covered table, she figures that nothing other than a ridiculous amount of toys would draw that kind of attention and starts weaving her way through the throng of people to get there.

When Arslan catches sight of her amongst the crowd he beams at her brightly and waves to her to catch her attention, she smiles gently and holds up the bear, moving one of its arms from side to side to wave back at him. He laughs cutely, clutching his sides with one arm, Etoile quite likes the look of his laughing face. Quietly, and to herself, Etoile giggles along with him, holding one hand up to her mouth to hide it. Upon arrival in Arslan's little covered stall she deposits the bear in the front pocket of his apron, situating it with its arms hanging out over the top as Arslan's face begins to flame whenever her hands accidentally brush at his chest. She steps back, peers at him critically and smiles, satisfied with how it looks.

“Now you look like a toy maker, one who likes giving gifts to little children.” She tells him, patting his shoulder momentarily.

“That doesn't sound like such a bad job, actually.” He says thoughtfully, turning from her and serving a bright eyed little girl who eagerly buys the cutest stuffed rabbit Etoile has ever seen. Arslan holds a finger to his lips and leans down to whisper conspiratorially to her, “I'll tell you a secret about that rabbit, but you have to promise to take good care of her.”

The little girl nods her head, wearing a serious expression and crossing her heart, “I promise!” She says gravely in a hushed whisper.

Arslan looks pensively at her for a moment, “Okay,” he tells the girl, “That rabbit is the princess of the rabbit kingdom, but no one can know or the foxes will find her and plunge the kingdom into turmoil.”

She gasps and glances astonished down at the bunny in her arms.

“So you need to protect her, you see, brave lady knight, I wish you good luck.”

“Thank you, I'll look after her well.” The little girl declares, leaving and going back to her mother.

Etoile watches fondly and just slightly awed, she never realised just how good Arslan was with children, she doesn't quite know what to say, it reminds her of a game she used to play as a child. “That was adorable,” slips past her lips as he turns back to face her.

“I used to play a similar game when I was a kid, my bear used to be the prince of a fallen kingdom,” Arslan tells her wistfully, “Sometimes - as often as I could, actually - I used to get Daryun to play it with me, he was always this brave warrior, see.”

Etoile’s own memories are somewhat the same, it’s a rather nostalgic feeling, “Ah, me too, I was a valiant knight, fighting for my kingdom in the name of God, well, a made up one that I called Yaldaboath. It was fun.”

He smiles softly at her, probably imagining when she was ten years old, running around and swinging a foam sword. At least she can imagine him playing with teddy bears straight back.

“Arslan, you can switch out with me now. Go enjoy the rest of the event,” Elam says from behind her, appearing out of nowhere and startling Etoile just slightly.

Arslan nods, gently grabbing Etoile's hand and tugging her along with him, a mischievous sparkle shining in his eyes. He doesn't say much, concentrating on navigating through the crowd of people, stopping at a table with a crudely set up game of ring toss that offers prizes in the form of toys, money and cupcakes.

“Do you want to play?” Arslan asks her, pulling his hand away and reaching in his pocket for change to pay with.

Ignoring the emptiness of her hand, Etoile agrees, reaching for the rings, “Sure, but pay for two games I want to know who's better at this game.” She says, challenging him to test his aim.

He has fairly good aim, actually, which shouldn't surprise Etoile given his school has beaten hers at mixed baseball before. His first two throws go well, the rings hang on the necks of the bottles but he overshoots the last one just slightly and misses. He shrugs somewhat disappointedly, staring longingly at a giant chocolate cupcake offered as a prize. “Guess I'm not getting that cake then,” he says and Etoile swears she can hear genuine sadness in his voice.

Grabbing the second set of three rings, Etoile aims carefully, flinging them with just the right amount of force that they land on the bottlenecks, spinning noisily around them like a hula hoop. She doesn't even have to say what prize she wants, the bored student hands over the chocolate cupcake immediately. Etoile shoves it towards Arslan, offering it to him.

“You look hungry, so take it.” She half commands him.

Instead of eating it all himself, Arslan splits it in half and gives the bigger piece back to her, “Thanks,” he tells her with an impish grin.

There's not really much else to do at the beneficence day, having come so late and working on the teddy bear stall, they've missed all the events like races and talent shows. Etoile quickly finds herself growing bored despite her company and the different little games they play - actually, the one with the water guns is fun since she gets to soak him and he gapes at her in open shock - though she holds it in and doesn't say anything, at least she has time to think for once.

The crowd has thinned by the time he turns to her, still damp from her earlier attacks, “There’s not really anything left to do here, is there?”

Etoile shakes her head, “Not really, I think we missed all the good stuff, unfortunately.”

Arslan hums in agreement, making a little noise and obviously thinking about something else , what exactly, Etoile isn’t sure. He holds his hand out expectantly, waiting for her to take it again, “Let’s go then, I know somewhere nice.”

Hesitantly, Etoile takes his hand, following him through the grounds and avoiding the last few stragglers there, her cheeks feel decidedly warm.

“Where are we going?” She asks as they leave the gates, heading away from the school and in the opposite direction from his house, moving farther from the town centre with every step.

“You'll see,” he tells her cryptically, staring up at the top of a grassy hill from the base of it.

A small playpark sits on the summit of the hill, surrounded by a bright coloured fence and trees dotted around behind it with swings and slides and a giant climbing frame among the things to do there. Arslan tugs her hand and starts climbing it, bringing Etoile to realise that he wanted to take her to the park. Sometimes, she thinks, he’s a little bit of a kid and a little cliché but she doesn’t mind it so much. Silently challenging Arslan to a race, Etoile removes her hand from his, sprinting up the hill ahead of him. She sees him break into a run as she glances behind her, the corners of his lips curved up into a wide smile.

Etoile wins the race, sitting in the grass and panting at the top of the hill as she waits for him to struggle his way up.

“You’re many times fitter than I am, Etoile, I don’t know how you managed to run the whole way up,” He tells her, bent over with his hands on his thighs and wheezing to catch his breath.

Etoile shrugs casually, “I cycle to school.”

Pushing herself up from the grass, Etoile waits for him to stop wheezing and takes herself to the swings; she’s always been fond of swings, something about them is relaxing and they always seem to have the amazing power of clearing her mind. Arslan sits on the one next to her, swinging quietly aside from the creaking of the chains that attach the seat to the bar and the scuffing sound of his feet when he kicks off the ground. It’s peaceful.

“You know, I always used to come to this park as a kid, you know, before I was taken to Castle Andragoras.” He says softly, breaking their comfortable silence with a mournful tone of regret, “I don’t really remember it.”

“Was it fun?” Etoile asks in an almost-whisper.

“Yes.” Arslan abruptly stops swinging, getting up and holding out his hand for her again.

She lets the swing stop naturally before she stands, though she doesn’t take his hand this time, there’s no way for her to get lost in the little play park. After a confused moment, he lets his hand drop and begins climbing the giant climbing frame that she noticed earlier.

“Come up here, Etoile, this is what I wanted to show you.” He calls down to her, already a short distance from the ground.

She obeys, scaling her way up through the organised mess of cold metal bars until she reaches just below the top, where Arslan sits on one of the bars, distractedly swinging his legs as he gazes over the city. As she sits beside him, watching the same view as him, Etoile thinks she knows why he brought her there. The sunset is beautiful, pinks, purples, oranges and reds taking over from the sunny blue bathe every tree and building in their hues. If she remembers correctly, it’s the start of magic hour, or twilight.

“It’s so pretty, I’m glad you brought me to see it,” she voices with some awe.

“Yeah, I’ve always thought so,” he whispers on an exhaled breath, glancing at her from the corner of his eye with a fond smile.

Etoile sways slightly and Arslan places his hand on hers to help her keep her balance.

“Do you remember this?” She asks quietly.

“Yes.”

If you enjoyed this please think about a reblog so that more people can read it!

@inokinako You would probably like to read, no?

#arslan senki #the heroic legend of arslan #arstoile #arslan #elam #alfarid #etoile #schoolboy!arslan au #flings this into the abyss and hides #Man I feel like I'm slow burning arslan and etoile but am I?#Pretty sure I've read much more slowburn fic than this drabble series tbh #enjoy though

20 notes · View notes

lunarlooroo · 6 years

Note

Ooh I'd love to read some post war interactions between Snape and the Weasley Twins (who are BOTH alive thank you very much) when Snape visits their joke shop.

Okay, this probably turned out a little different than you were expecting, but I hope you still like it!

A loud, obnoxious ringing interrupted Severus while he was reading the Saturday Prophet. It was as biased and tasteless as usual, but it was important nonetheless to know what news was being fed to the sheeple that was Wizarding Britain.

The noise persisted even after minutes had passed. He recognised it as the sound Heather tended to set on her Alarm Charms. He set the worthless excuse of a newspaper on the table and made his way to Heather’s study.

The incessant ringing grew louder the closer he approached and he wondered why Heather had not inactivated it yet.

He found her seated at her desk, parchments hovering all around her as she wrote furiously. He watched as what seemed like a paper covered with sketches and runes floated up to join its brethren.

Heather didn’t even seem to notice his presence, which explained the continued ringing. She occasionally fell into such research binges when a creative mood struck. He was no stranger to this state of mind, having created some of his best potions in such times, himself.

A wave of his wand cut the alarm off, bringing with it blessed silence. Ironically, it was this that had Heather looking up dazedly from her work.

“Oh damn! Is it that time already?” She looked mournfully at her array of notes. “Do you think Fred and George would mind if I took a rain check for today?” Then she shook her head. “No, no, they specially cleared their schedule today for me,” she muttered to herself.

He watched her consideringly as she put her quill down and the papers floating around her drifted slowly, reluctantly, downwards. The words were on the tip of his tongue. Then Heather shot one last glance at her work and he caved.

“I could…go in your place, if you wished it.” He grimaced, imagining his quiet day disappearing into the chaos that was the Weasley twins.

Heather’s gaze shot to his, a hopeful light in her eyes. “You mean that?”

Raising a brow, he said, “I would not offer otherwise.”

“You know I was supposed to be going over to help with their upcoming April Fools’ line, right? You hate pranks!”

“I think they have an appropriate time and place, simply not in class, especially not where volatile potions are being brewed. Neither should they hurt their intended target, whether emotionally or physically,” he corrected.

Heather nodded slowly. “Okay…” Then her eyes glazed over in a way that signified her mind was being otherwise occupied. She was already halfway back into her research spiral as she gave him a distracted peck on the lips. “Thank you for doing this.”

By the time he left home, she was fully immersed in her literal whirl of research notes again.

~~~

“Hey Heather! Just come on in and-” A twin Severus assumed was Fred turned around from rearranging some shelves and paused midway in his sentence. “Severus? What are you doing here? Where’s Heather?”

Severus gave a short nod in greeting. “Heather sends her apologies. She was in the middle of a creative storm when I stepped out.”

The redhead gave an understanding but disappointed smile. “Well, we all know not to disturb her when she gets like that. Another day, I guess.”

“Actually,” Severus cleared his throat, “I offered to provide my services in her stead.”

Fred’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “You?!”

“Hey George!” The other twin popped his head around the door to the backroom of the shop. “Do my ears deceive me, or did I hear Severus Snape volunteer to help us create more joke products?”

Fred (or George, according to his brother, though Severus knew better than to take his word for it) nodded in amazement.

Severus sighed. “If you would rather not accept-”

“Oh, we accept! Say no more, come right on up!”

Fred (or George, but Severus always referred to the twin he saw first as Fred to save himself the headache) linked an arm through it without any hesitation, ignoring his twitch of annoyance, to lead him up the stairs to the apartment above the shop, which the twins lived in.

They had long since gotten over the fear, if any, they felt for him from his days as the Great Dungeon Bat, much to his dismay and Heather’s delight.

“We’ve got some ideas, but we’re stuck on how to create the potions needed,” George said, picking up a notebook and handing it over for Severus to peruse.

As always, Severus was reluctantly impressed by the ingenuity of the twin terrors. They were rather further along in their potion experimentation that he had expected, especially considering they had no mastery in potions. They had always been two of his better students when they bothered to try, despite all the trouble and frustration they engendered.

Immediately, he began planning possible ingredients to use and ways to incorporate them into the brewing so as to produce the desired effects. He looked around for something to write with and one of the twins shoved a muggle biro into his hands. He hadn’t used one of these since before starting Hogwarts. After a brief fumble with it, he readjusted to the pen and started writing rapidly on a blank page.

He felt two pairs of eyes reading over his shoulder. Normally, that would have irritated him beyond belief, but he was too caught up in his mind to care.

“Ohh, didn’t think of the doxy eggs…”

“Huh, six widdershins swirls?”

“Can’t believe we forgot the reaction between…”

Severus ignored all the background noise and continued scribbling. Of course, they would need to actually test-brew all these possible recipes, as calculations and theory were never enough.

With one last sentence, he was done for now and he dropped the pen on the table. His hand was achingly sore, but he was satisfied with the preliminary recipes he’d written down. There were a few possibilities for each potion they wanted, so he handed the book over for them to read.

“Wow, this is kinda different from how Heather does it,” one of them said as they read.

“Yes, she and I have different methods we prefer with experimenting.”

Heather was bolder with her ideas, often relying more on intuition than centuries-old theory to craft a potion. He suspected her magic helped greatly with this, amplifying or damping the natural properties of certain ingredients as needed, depending on her intent for the potion. Not to mention when runes were added into the mix, which further changed how the potion would originally behave.

Severus, however, was a more traditional brewer himself. He knew the theory inside and out, working with the set rules to construct the potion he desired.

Many would think they clashed often, with their disparate styles of brewing, but contrary to that, they actually complimented well. They covered each other’s weaknesses and prevented each other from going too far in one direction. They balanced each other.

“Should we go to the lab, we wanna try some of these out first,” Fred said.

Severus noted that they had flagged out a few of the recipes while setting aside the others. Probably seeing guessing where his thoughts went, George said, “Those use ingredients that are rarer and less cost effective. It wouldn’t be profitable to use for mass production.”

He nodded at the sensible thought. Yes, they would have such considerations for creating products mostly aimed at children with smaller budgets. Unlike his own business where clients paid for the quality and complexity of the potions they ordered.

As they went through each potion, Fred and George asked questions about possible alterations or additions. Severus found himself surprisingly entertained by the intellectual discussion. The twins had intelligent ideas and were eager to learn, which made the entire experience – dare he say it – enjoyable.

It may be pranks that the twins were creating – frivolous and silly things – but the two put a significant amount of effort into them, making sure they were not only comical, but also safe and easy to use. If nothing else, Severus could respect their dedication to their craft.

~~~

“So, did you have fun with Fred and George today?” Heather asked that night over dinner, having come out of her study for a short rest.

“It was acceptable.”

She smirked at him. “I know that look. You enjoyed yourself!”

Severus felt a hint of embarrassment at being seen through so easily. “I would not be opposed to repeating the experience,” he conceded.

Heather’s smirk softened into a warm smile. “I’m glad you’re getting along.”

Severus knew how much the twins meant to her, being her truest and best friends. He was suddenly chagrined at his previous distant treatment, having not realised how important it was to Heather that he be friendly with them.

He reached out to link their hand. “I am as well.”

“Good, because I have another appointment with them next week, but I don’t think I’ll be done with my newest muse anytime soon.”

Severus laughed at that and agreed.

#WHfP #prompt ficlets

6 notes · View notes