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echantedtoon · 2 months

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In The Moon's Shadow (Yandere Kokushibo x Reader) Ch15 A Promise Kept

(Warnings: Mentioning of death, Koku gets punched in the stomach, mentioned murder.

This is it folks. The second to last chapter of this story. It's been really fun to write this but all good stories must come to an end.

Also for clarification to Kokushibo's words, he's not referring to him actually dying. Death is being used as a metaphor for his hurt feelings. Y/n leaving him making him feel like he lost a part of him if you will.)

The embodiment of darkness was enticing to say the least. Especially with herself entangled within his grip. It felt...

c o l d.

So cold, so frightening. Yet so familiar. The blood ran cold. Eyes deeply staring through the soul wriggling, squirming in its hold. White teeth gleaming beside the eyes in a smile that was not threatening nor welcoming. It was just...there. There for her, the one caught up into the grip of the night. the only thing they could do for them was finish them off — even if it was they who would have to suffer then.

"I know that I'm not allowed to, and that you'll be filled with disgust towards me, so I didn't tell you that I loved you... Until the end."

Lines were blurring. Obsession with love. Madness within clarity. Starvation of touch with longing of burning loneliness. Passion and poison. Breaths were warm despite his cold body. Eyes soft despite their own desire filled look. Grip firm but restrained so much it hurts him how cautious he was being to not harm. Her soft skin burnt him! It burnt, it burnt-

It lit up his soul with unresolved longing he was never able to fulfill like this with anything else in his life.

"You came back. ...Why?"

"Ah yes. I remember the day I died. You may ask what I'm still doing here in nothing but my bleeding heart. It's a promise I made to a dear friend and even if that friend doesn't remember that promise I will go to her and apologize."

Whispered murmurs against lips. Close as lovers could ever be. Arms around each other's bodies like a whirlwind would pull them away. Eyes closing with one last murmur against her lips.

"Why apologize? It's simple really....Death is never an apology."

He leaned closer. Eyes closing. The softness of her lips being a sanctuary in the chaos of the past decade. Body to body. Warmth from her chasing away all the worries. Melting into nothing but bliss.

"OOF?!"

A simple pain had him loosen his grip enough to let her go. A hand grabbing his stomach. It wasn't enough to hurt him but certainly enough to catch him off guard. Six eyes widened staring at the flat slowly blinking before they looked back up.

"Did you just punch me in the stomach?"

"YES, I DID!! THAT'S THE LEAST YOU DESERVE!!," her harsh voice and scowl to her beloved soft features caught the demon off guard. "YOU MISBEGOTTEN SON OF A SICK JACKASS!!"

The harshness of her voice was a shock to him. The images of her soft gentle face giggling and smiling so fondly at him shattered up on seeing the sights of the angry woman in front of him. His chest instantly felt tightened. Hurt. Confused. This wasn't the welcome he was expecting at all.

"I DON'T SEE YOU FOR ALMOST NINE YEARS AND NINE MONTHS AND THIS IS HOW YOU DECIDE TO SHOW UP!?," You fumed in rage balling your fists and placing them on your hips, "IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAM NIGHT UNANNOUNCED JUST LETTING YOURSELF INTO MY HOME AND KISSING ME WITHOUT EVEN ASKING?! ARE YOU INSANE OR FOOLISH?!"

He took his time silently staring at her before leaning all the way back up to stand tall. He didn't seem angry but lightly disappointed. "I suppose I should have expected your reaction to my sudden presence."

"You 'supposed'?! What were you expecting me to do?! Welcome you back as if you hadn't vanished without a trace from my life?!"

"Didn't Yorichii tell you? I was trying to protect you!"

"Protect me from what exactly?! For all I knew you had just left me alone with two children to raise!"

"I WAS PROTECTING YOU FROM THE SAME PEOPLE WHO WIPED OUT YOUR VILLAGE AFTER YOU LEFT!!" Your face fell stunned. "Didn't know that, did you?" He spat. Anger was also starting to rise up within him. "I had to find out you were pregnant after combing through the rubble of that wasteland not sure if you were alive or dead! Did you know what FEAR I felt?! What PAIN I was in every dam day for LITERAL YEARS not knowing if the woman I loved and who was carrying my children was DEAD or struggling somewhere! On top of that I had no ways of contact with my children! YOU DEPRIVED ME OF THAT!"

"AND HOW THE HELL DO YOU THINK I FELT!? I HAD NO IDEA WHAT TO DO OR WHETHER YOU WOULD'VE ACCEPTED THAT-"

"I WOULD HAVE TAKEN RESPONSIBILITY!!"

"I DIDN'T KNOW THAT! I WAS PREGNANT IN THE MIDDLE OF A VILLAGE PREJUDICE AGAINST DEMONS WITH CHILDREN BY A DEMON!! WITHOUT ANY FAMILY OR SUPPORT OR KNOWING WHAT YOU WERE DOING AND SCARED!! WHAT DID YOU THINK I WAS GOING TO DO?! WHAT WAS I SUPPOSE TO THINK?!"

"I DON'T KNOW!!"

Chests heaved. Lungs burnt as you both panted from the heated arguing. Scowls were given. The air so thick one could cut it with a knife...until he inhaled and let it out slowly. Forcing his body to relax as a hand reached up to rub at his temples. This was not how this was supposed to go.

"...The past does not matter now," he spoke softly before looking up calmly, "What I have done is done and I can not undo any of it. That is sadly my own doing and I will take responsibility for that. But I am here now."

Your scowl remained as you crossed your arms and rose a brow. "And why are you here, Kokushibo? Or should I call you Michikatsu? Your brother was pretty honest with me."

"Why? I will tell you why." Step. Step. Step. She didn't move as he approached, stopping right in front of her and her scowling face. Even when angry and years later, her features still looked just as beautiful as before. "I came back to fulfill the promise I made to you long ago. I came home." She did not move as he dared to reach a hand up and cup the beautiful face. Soft. Still so soft after so many years. Her turquoise eyes blinking up at him. "I came back to the woman I love."

He was inwardly delighted when your face lit up a bright red. "I-...Y-Y-You-"

"Marry me."

Your jaw dropped as a glass shattering sound went off in your head. "W-WHAT?!"

"You heard me." His face leaned closer until his forehead touched yours. The soft mahogany hair tickling your face. On instinct your hand is pushed up onto his chest. One hand wrapped around your back bringing you closer as his other hand still cupping your cheek tilted you eyes up directing you to his middle pair. "Marry me. Become my wife like you should've been long ago. It's too late for me to change the past but there is still time for me to do the right thing. Marry me and let me raise my children with you by my side. I don't want anything else."

Your mind completely felt like it broke down in that moment feeling like fire was coursing throughout your face. "I-....B-B-But Y-Y-You're family-"

"Is here...The war destroyed what great kingdom I had. What's left is practically nothing but a handful of people which are more trouble than their worth. I will happily leave them to my brother. The day our mother died, I had no other reason to stay. It is funny you speak of family when our children are so near and I see you as my everything. Please..Let me try to make things right."

Warm breath ghosting over lips. Close as lovers could be. Nothing but the rain and crackling fire to give the silence a break. Before a kiss connected. Soft eyelids closed. The moment umruined-

"Mother?"

A head pulled away. Your face burning red still turned to the side. A pair of turquoise eyes blinked wide eyed at you both in the dark as Yuichiro stared wide eyed at the sudden new figure in his eyes. Next to him his brother was sat up yawning and rubbing his eyes sleepily. Yuichiro stared at the man shocked before he scowled at Koku-... Michikatsu and pointed at him accusingly.

"Who in the world are you and why are you assaulting my mother's face you creep?!"

.... Michikatsu looked back to you as you sighed. "Well if you're going to insist on starting to get to know your boys, the first thing you should know is that THAT is the one who takes after you."

"....That alone is concerning to me."

He was not really expecting to get a second chance at life with her. Let alone find her. Year after year and day by day he searched and searched for her. For their children. He couldn't just run around looking like a headless chicken especially when so much damage had been done left behind for him to fix. Most days he was forced to spend at home trying to sort through the countless problems arriving on his doorstep his father caused and left for him to clean up. Never thought he'd say this and didn't put loud, but for once he was glad to have Yorichii around. His brother's calm and admittedly helpful presence helped make the workload easier to split and work through between them. As much as he didn't want to hand over any responsibility to his brother, there was simply too much to physically use himself and splitting the workload meant less stress on him. But more importantly more time to look for HER.

Turns out she had hidden rather well.

Countless spies and search parties turned up nothing. Sending his brother to interrogate the Kibutsuji Clan and searching through prisoners of war had also been useless. An award offered to anyone who could bring him information on her had also turned up fruitless. He suspected that she might've fled west but he did not have the resources or power to do anything about that theory other than speculate. At this point in his life he was only really living for his mother who was still getting sicker and weaker by the day. Trying to fix things for her. Trying to live for her. After a while even she suggested finding another woman to love but he refused.

He HAD a woman already. He HAD a child already. He WANTED THEM. NOT anyone else.

NO ONE ELSE WOULD BE ENOUGH. NO HE NEEDED THEM. ONLY THEM. HE WOULD N O T HAVE ANYONE ELSE.

Then his mother passed not too long ago. It felt like the last sensible piece of him died that day. Even after the funeral he felt numb. Not even his own brother could elevate the numbness from his body. In a surprise twist onlf fate it had been Yorichii who'd be the answer to everything. The leader of the west provinces reached out to possibly discuss opening trading routes between them. He couldn't be bothered by such a worthless invitation so he forced the task onto his brother. His brother would be a better option for this task anyways. He was much friendlier and normal looking. No doubt a demon like him would make everyone uncomfortable. Yorichii happily agreed. Happily left. Happily came back from a successful meeting. And happily brought him back with a gift he thought he'd like. At the time he rolled his eyes at his brother's attempts to cheer him up but as soon as he handed over the log with the mural carved into it..As soon as his eyes gazed up on it-...

"Where did you get this?"

"I was passing through the first town I first passed through on my way to the Ubuyashiki Estate. There was a woman selling firewood with her children, and I happened to spot these beautiful carvings. The one with the mother bear reminded me of Mother and us. I thought you might appreciate it."

".....This woman...Did she have turquoise eyes?"

"Why..yes. Her and both her children did. Why?"

"Yoriichi, you must tell me everything you know about this woman and her children AT ONCE."

It was too good to be true. There was no way it could be that easy. No...It was just a coincidence surely. Turquoise eyes were rare but it's not impossible for someone else to have those colored eyes..but the way his brother described her...He had to at least check it out on the off chance that it was her. He sent his brother once again there. Anxiously waiting for his return. Day after day sent waiting for an answer. He sent his brother on the off chance it wasn't her and he was wrong. There didn't need to be any rumors about a demon scaring a family in a different province. When his brother finally came back...When he finally told him what he found-...

HE HAD TO GO TO HER.

"AGAIN!! AGAIN!!" "DO IT AGAIN!!"

Your head turned from the doorway you were sweeping dirt out of. The sounds of a tree toppling over near your home caught your attention to the outside. A small birch tree fell cracking and groaning as it toppled over and with a sickening crash fell to the ground not too far away from it was a second one that was first cut down. At the based of their trunks a few claw marks from where strong hands had effortlessly tore their way through the base. Two wide eyed children staring at them in awe cheering.

"Let's do it again, Father! I wanna see you knock down a bigger tree!," Muichiro cheered out as the taller male jabbed a single hand into one of the trunks.

"Not now. We must divide these into sizable logs for selling." Both boys awed making him sigh. "Do not argue with me. The sooner these are cut down to size, the sooner I can demonstrate more to you both-"

"Well hurry up and drag it already!," Yuichiro shouted pointing at the home. "I don't want to be outside in the heat all day. I wanna go swimming in the creek!'

"Do not use that tone with me. Work always comes first. We will go once work is all finished even if it takes a few days."

"I want to go NOW!! YOU'VE BEEN WORKING US SINCE YOU GOT HERE!! DON'T FORGET I'M THE MAN OF THIS HOU- HEY!!"

With little effort and a deadpanned look, the demon easily began dragging the tree with one hand and grabbed Yuichiro by the back of his kimono and lifted him off the ground. Effectively marching the complaining nine year old towards the chopping block.

"Put me down! This isn't fair!"

"For your complaining, you'll begin chopping this wood immediately."

"You can't tell me what to do!"

"I'm your father and you'll do as I say."

"NO!!"

"YES."

"MOM!!"

You saw Koku-... Michikatsu's eyes deadpan more as a sigh escaped his mouth. The boy in his hand kicking and squirming in his hold. Muichiro seemed to find the situation rather funny snickering behind them smiling.

"TELL HIM HE CAN'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!!"

"Respect your father."

"I'M NOT DOING ANYTHING ELSE UNTIL I GET A BREAK!!"

"NO."

"YES!!"

"Y/N!!" You couldn't help but let a few giggles as the big bad demon looked over at you tiredly. "Tell our son that he needs to respect my authority as his father!"

"Tell him that I don't have to!," Yuichiro shouted back pushing awkwardly at his arm.

"Yuichiro, just go chop the wood."

The boy looked stunned at you but frowned. "But Mom-"

"YUICHIRO!! You'll do as I tell you!"

Said boy scowled. "FINE! I GUESS NO ONE CARES ABOUT ME BEING TORTURED!!"

"You're not being tortured by doing chores. If it bothers you that that much then you can chop wood in the shade. Now march! Muichiro, go help your brother to make it faster."

You watched as the three of them just walked on past you dragging the long tree behind them before you went back to sweeping. The first month of summer had started which meant it would be a good time to stalk up on wood to sell in the winter and fall as well as have enough for yourselves.

It was also a trial run to see how well Michikatsu meshed with your children. If he insisted on being a part of their lives then...you reluctantly decided to allow it. Clearly he refused to leave even after you kicked him out of your home. At first the boys were scared of him. The six eyes, fangs, strange markings...Even after you explained who he was gently to them...Well Muichiro slowly warmed up to him excited at the promise of a Father he's never had like the friendly boy he was. Yuichiro however was always skeptical about him and always argued with his father. Hmm...You wondered where he got that from? The sounds of the broom bristles sweeping against the floor were the only things heard other than Yuichiro's loud complaining before a larger presence loomed over behind you and sighed.

"How's your first day of parenting?" You didn't look up from your work..

A deep groan was your answer. "One is full of energy and the other insists on undermining my authority with petty arguments."

"Welcome to the world of being a father." You could feel his deadpanned look at you and you chuckled. "If you think it's hard now, then you should've seen when they were toddlers and threw tantrums."

"You don't call what Yuichiro did a tantrum?"

"No."

"Then what would you call it?"

"Taking after his father."

"Hilarious. Truly you are a world of laughs." You giggled again and turned to look at his deadpanned face and crossed arms. "Do you play the biwa as an encore?"

"No. But I do tell people that there's still work to be done. The other tree you knocked over still needs to be chopped up."

"Do you really think I'm going to chop a tree simply because you tell me too?"

"Well you can always do the dishes and scrub the floors and I'll help the boys with the wood."

"....Where do you keep the spare axe?"

"Propped against the shed."

"I'll get started immediately."

"Thank you, Michikatsu." You smirked as he quickly turned to walk away- "I love you.~"

The man instantly stopped before turning to you all six eyes wide in surprise at your smile before you giggled at his expression. "...Have you given it any thoughts?" You hummed. "My proposal. To marry me."

"...I don't know. I still haven't decided yet. Especially after what I found out what you did to those men from my village, Michikatsu."

You weren't stupid. You knew what he had done and he wasn't stupid enough to try and deny it. Even if they had struck him first, stabbing him with the scars on his body to prove it....You had to rethink everything about this and ...you still didn't know what to feel about anything. Michikatsu was trying. Obviously he was serious about what he said. He wanted to be with you. He wanted to be a father to his sons. If he wasn't, he would have just went back to his brother. You making the choice to be around the boys on the condition that none of you would go anywhere near where you once lived or where war was had was a big enough trust step you weren't sure he could have. He had to work to earn anything back.

"I know...But I still stand by what I said. I want to marry you and I want want you as my wife."

"... We'll see about it."

#in the moon's shadow #demon slayer #Kny #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu gakuen #yandere michikatsu tsugikuni #yandere michikatsu x reader #demon slayer michikatsu #michikatsu x reader #kny michikatsu #michikatsu tsugikuni #yandere kokushibou #kokushibo x reader #kny kokushibo #kokushibo #kokushibou #yandere kokushibo #yandere kokushibo x reader

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leofrith · 1 year

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fight scenes my BELOATHED!!!!!!

“You cannot win this, Leofrith,” the Wolf-Kissed said. Her voice was gravelly, like the coarse sand that crunched under their boots as they circled each other. It was rougher than what he would have expected. Yet another human quality that he had not expected to find in her. “Even if you defeat me, the Ragnarssons have won the day.”

Leofrith scoffed. “I have fought many a Dane in my time. I’m still standing.” Even as the words left his mouth, his foot landed on uneven ground and his knee nearly gave way, weak and sore from the events of the day, the week, the month, the year. He caught himself before the fall could come, but the damage was already done. Her lip curled up on one side, a near imperceptible smirk, before she twirled her axe with unnecessary flourish and finally dove to meet him.

Fighting her was like fighting a murder of crows; fast and fleeting and pecking at him from all sides. For every blow he caught with his sword, there was another ready to meet him before he had time to recover. She ducked and slashed with deadly precision worthy of the finest warrior, for she could surely be counted among the best he had ever fought. But every blow was just that: a peck at his defenses. Digging deep enough to hurt, but not enough to kill. She was toying with him.

Good. Let her overconfidence be her death.

Where she was faster, he was stronger. His head spun with every movement, but he could tell she was growing tired. As their dance grew longer she caught more of his strikes with her shield, the finely shaped wood beginning to lose its strength under the force of the blows. Her footwork grew sloppy, her breathing laboured. Leofrith finally found an opening in her defenses; a slight heft of her shield as she swung her axe arm. He swiped low with his broadsword and sliced through the flesh of her upper thigh. The Wolf-Kissed howled and drove her shield up hard to meet his nose in retaliation. He felt the sickening crack of broken cartilage before the warmth of blood flowed freely over his mouth, and her pained yell turned into a cackling laugh.

"You're slowing!" the Wolf-Kissed goaded. Leofrith’s eyes watered, but through the blur he could see her holding the wound on her leg. When she pulled her hand away, it was slick with blood.

Leofrith spat the taste of iron from his mouth.

“You’re a strong-willed thegn,” she said next, as she tossed the splintered ruins of her shield aside and freed a second axe from her belt. “Burgred was lucky.”

“To stand in the way of you and Mercia, between you and my king, is my duty. I will die before I yield.” He swiped his forearm across his mouth, but the river of blood did not cease flowing. She bared her teeth in something that resembled a smile—or a snarl. There was a limp in her step now, and the front of her breeches grew dark and wet with gore.

“So you will.” She drew her arm back and hurled her second axe, lightning quick, and he barely managed to jerk out of the way before the blade met its mark in his skull. He heard and felt the axe whiz past his ear before landing with a heavy thunk in the wooden palisade behind him. Then she was in his face once again, a whirlwind of blood and blade and gnashing teeth.

#hopefully i will finish this chapter soon #was gonna try for before the new year but. that's obviously not happening lmao #ky posts text #this is a writing tag

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dreamerstreamer · 3 years

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your requests are open!! headcanons for how you get together with dream? extra poggers if the reader is also a streamer -🥚

note: gn!reader

the way you and clay first met was a bit of a whirlwind, to say the least

it was a few weeks before the next minecraft championships, and the teams had just been announced on twitter

you had been dying to find out who you were going to be playing with—after all, this was your first mcc event, and you were stoked

when you opened twitter, the absolute last thing you expected was to be on a team with niki, tommy, and dream, of all people

you had met tommy before back from when he had randomly responded to a tweet of yours, which made your channel grow exponentially, and you knew that niki was sweet—tommy had told you so

but dream? dream was intimidating

he had millions of subscribers, a beyond-dedicated fanbase, and he had essentially pioneered a whole brand for himself

you were a little scared, to say the least

so when you got a dm out of the blue from dream himself

you basically lost your mind

after collecting yourself, you finally opened the message, only to see that he was offering to practice some parkour with you

doing your best to calm your raging heart, you had agreed, and soon enough, the two of you were friends on discord

the next day, you were startled by another message from him that read, hey, do you want to practice together on call?

with shaky fingers, you typed back a cheerful, sure!

just a few seconds later, you had accepted his call, and dream’s voice echoed through your headphones. “hi, there!”

when you replied with a shy hello, you could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke, and you felt your heart skip a beat. “ready to start?”

the two of you spent the next few hours getting to know each other better, practicing away on the mcc parkour run server as you chatted

you were doing better than you expected, and you couldn’t tell, but dream was impressed

for your first mcc, you seemed way more calm than he thought you would be

the next few weeks flew past in a blur

you had finally met niki, and you were right—she was super nice—and you and dream chatted more and more often

he was... sweeter than you expected. and kind. and funny

despite his intimidating online persona, he was actually a dork at heart, and you found yourself looking forward to talking to him

before you knew it, you were taking a deep breath as the mcc events were being picked, your nerves spiking at an all-time high

you felt like your lungs were about to burst in your chest when dream’s voice suddenly washed over you, again

“don’t sweat it, [y/n]. you and i practiced together for ages. we’re gonna kill it.”

in an instant, your nerves were gone, and mcc passed by in a flash

to your surprise, your team had come in first place, and you were practically jumping for joy in your seat, clapping your hands as you cheered with niki and tommy

unbeknownst to you, dream had your stream open on another tab, smiling fondly at the sight of your bright eyes and wide smile

you were cute—very cute

in the coming months, you and dream stayed in close contact, chatting often and texting practically all the time

soon enough, you became acquainted with his friends and he did the same with yours

you would play games together, spending your evenings laughing your heads off at each other’s silly antics

sometimes, he would even show up uninvited to your streams, coming up with some flimsy excuse about just wanting to check up on you but in reality, he just wanted to hear your voice, but he would never admit it

your chat would go crazy, of course, asking incessant questions about you and dream (with some of being less than kind)

but for the most part, people absolutely ate up the interactions you had with him as did you

the day he told you to start calling him clay when the two of you were alone, you were pretty sure your cheeks were set aflame

your stomach flipped at his soft tone, and you fell asleep with thoughts of him filling your mind

it was a normal day of casually talking to clay when a realization suddenly dawned on you

you had just ended a call with him, casually talking about your day with him before saying goodnight

your heart was practically pounding in your rib cage, and you held a hand over your chest in an effort to calm him

you couldn’t believe you were still intimidated by him after all this time

then, it hit you

your heart wasn’t beating so quickly because you were scared of him

it was beating so fast because you liked him

you blanched at the thought. oh god, i like clay. a lot.

this could only end in disaster... right?

a few weeks later, you blinked at the sound of a ringtone coming from your laptop

slipping on your headphones, you immediately smiled when you read clay’s name, and you accepted the call with an eager smile

but you froze when you saw a new window filled your monitor screen because this was a video call—not a voice call

and sitting in front of you was clay himself

you swallowed, your lips parted in awe as you took in his messy golden locks and his emerald eyes as he flashed a crooked grin at you, lifting his hand up in a small wave. “hi, there.”

with a thick gulp, you waved back, trying to ignore how hot your face felt. “hello.”

he blinked at you for a moment, tilting his head with an inquisitive smile. “i know what you’re thinking—are you surprised?”

you paused for a moment, and nodded a little, lowering your gaze to your lap. “yeah. i didn’t think you’d be this pretty.”

you missed the way his eyes grew wide as he brushed a hand over his burning cheeks, but you heard the way he laughed. “you know, you’re one of the only people who’s seen me like this.”

you blinked at him, a smile tugging at your lips. “i know. i feel special.”

the words were out of his mouth in a flash. “you are special.”

your face was suddenly on fire again, and that was when clay’s gaze focused. “hey, [y/n], um...”

your heart leapt into your throat. “y-yeah?”

he leaned closer to his web cam, and your breath caught in your throat.

“i’d love to take you on a date, sometime.”

your eyes widened to the size of saucers, and you found yourself nodding in an instant, a star struck smile curling your lips. “i’d love that, too.”

while the two of you couldn’t meet in person for a while, you were only more excited to meet him than ever before

for the most part, not a whole lot changed from your schedules

you still called often, talking everyday about anything and everything

but something had clearly shifted—his words were softer, warmer, and he wasn’t afraid to whisper sweet nothings to you

and in typical chaotic clay fashion, your relationship had come out in an accident on stream because of that shift

people immediately pointed out that his tone is just so much nicer when he’s talking to [y/n]! do you think they’re dating? they must be!!

you couldn’t bring yourself to keep up the ruse, so you and clay held a stream about it to break the news

needless to say, you were trending for more than just a few days

while it was jarring at first and you didn’t think you could ever forget how much your social media had blown up in a single night, the internet settled into it faster than you thought

there was some backlash, but it was drowned out by the overwhelming support from your friends and followers

and honestly?

you wouldn’t trade it, or clay, for the world

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selinakidreams · 3 years

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hello hello hello ! this is my comfort piece for @doinmybesthere ‘s mental health awareness month collab! and I’d just like to say a huge thank you to emme for creating such a wonderful collab and thank you for letting me be apart of it.

paring: kirishima eijirou (I’m talking 7ft big strongman vibes) x empathic quirk f!reader (established relationship)

word count: 3.7k +

genre: hurt/comfort + fluff

warnings: mentions of anxiety & toxic friendships, instigating with means to harm- please let me know if I missed anything!!

a/n: this I think,, was the best way to approach what has tormented me for years. it was a reoccurring thing for me but I never handled it properly, and just this year, someone important taught me that I deserve more than what I’ve been putting myself through. so here it is! I also think that once my schedule clears up, I’m gonna make a sister piece to this but idk !! let me know if you guys would be interested in that!

++ the absolute biggest thank you to my betas/flow checkers @doinmybesthere @lady-bakuhoe @keishinslove BIG kith

pss. the first person who can guess my love language based off this fic wins a prize

Turning other’s confidence to despair, gloating to fear, persistence to tiredness, motivation into loss- but all you felt was drained. The overuse of your quirk left your head feeling full of cotton; Your chest heaving and vision slightly blurry.

You arrived late to the fight because what started as a relaxing day off quickly turned into a rush to get to the streets. Thankfully Red Riot had been on the scene, waist-deep and stalling a full-fledged fight between two combat villains until backup came.

His tired eyes met yours and you flashed him a hopeful smile until witnessing the villain get a short-termed upper hand. They landed a solid punch, which caused you to feel not only the repercussions of the shock-inducing impact but your building guilt of being a distraction.

Years of training reminded you not to let it get to your head, your hero instincts kicking in after emotionally experiencing that strike. Heart pumping with adrenaline, you began to focus your heart and mind, simultaneously tuning into what those around you were feeling, never forgetting to keep your eyes wide and alert.

Confidence, eagerness, perseverance, exhaustion, determination.

Taking a breath as you ease into a rhythm, you kept your sights on the two people who were attacking the boulder of a hero and finally, a steady grasp.

Quirk at work, the familiar mental image of loose strings flowing in the wind appeared, and you grabbed a hold of them, symbolizing that you had caught hold of their feelings and wasted no time on bending and contorting to your will. You watched as their actions became slower and less motivated, making it easier for Kirishima to handle. He must have realized what was happening, a new surge of elation pumped through him as he began to knock both of the villains down a peg.

Seeing him fight had always been such a marvel to watch; it was so easy to be mesmerized by the sheer enthusiasm he had while trying to keep the balance and execute justice. Kirishima Eijirou was a hero in all senses of the word- and not just any hero, your hero- as cheesy as it sounded.

Secured under his weight and possibly unconscious, Red Riot looked around, a bit disheveled, until his gaze found yours. Expecting to be met with the warm sincere smile that always made your heart flutter, your heart sunk when you saw his eyes turn wide and frantic as he called out your hero name.

On top of feeling a bit dizzy from honing into those particular subjects and manipulating two people at once, a wave of distress washed over you, adding to the unfavorable aftermath of pushing your quirk.

You were quick to whip around, finding another villain was closing in closer than expected. You dropped all previous controls and focused solely on the person in front of you.

“You had gotten better since the last time I saw you,” they sneered as they attempted to land a hard-hitting kick to your stomach.

Missing by a hair, you pushed past the dreariness in your head and went straight into a defensive position.

The close-cut dodge wasn’t the only thing to throw you off; now you had realized why Kirishima looked at you like that; your traumatic past, the one you had divulged to him in the safety of your home, warbling with tears streaking your cheeks, was coming back to roughhouse with the intent of ending in a knockout.

Fear twisted into gut-wrenching anxiety; the plummeting feeling hit the bottom of your stomach with a harsh thud.

In front of you stood the unmistakable frame of someone you had considered to be one of your closest friends for a time; someone that seemed so natural to be with, someone you divulged secrets and shared smiles with, someone that had made it seem like separation was not an option- now turned villain, sporting a suited evil smirk smeared on their face.

It was hard not to let the tears collect on your waterline, thinking about the whirlwind of your relationship as your gaze met theirs for the first time in years. Months and months of triggered breakdowns, cold sweats from various nightmares, and countless tears have been shed as time progressed, the sinking feeling of long-lost fear that they had put you through now showing its ugly head; the thought you had convinced yourself for so long- that you ended up not even being worth their time starting to resurface.

It had been hard to learn the lessons that were dealt and see the mistakes made on both parts- not just yours, to pick up all the shattered expectations of what a true friendship is, but you had. Now you were able to sort through the wrong sorts and had gotten emotionally and mentally stronger because of it; in many ways, the ending of the friendship helped you realize that there were ways you deserved to be treated, and like shit wasn’t one of them.

However, it almost seemed like all the progress you had made swirled down the drain now that they were in front of you. It was like you were experiencing the heartbreak of them ending the friendship all over again.

“Awww! The poor little hero is still heartbroken after I left her?” their tone patronizing as they jutted out their bottom lip to form an exaggerated pout. “Look at you! I can practically see the desperation on your face- desperate for me to come back? You’ve always been so fucking clingy. But you know, the news has you pinned as like... some kind of saint… no, no. You’re nothing but a selfish attention whore playing the good guy... so I just wanted to stop by and remind you of the truth.” they sneered, really aiming to trigger your trauma.

You had opened up to them about all your fears; from the smallest to the all-consuming ones, so for them to be targeting you like this… they must have thought that you haven’t changed- and you fucking have. You worked damn hard to do so; You’ve grown and have started appreciating yourself more, started loving yourself more, started working on yourself more. The villain was only targeting your past worries, keyword, past.

Regardless, you were already feeling too much as is and the best thing you could do for yourself right now was to control yourself.

The urge to take it personally was beyond tempting- to make them suffer as they had done to you, to watch them break right in front of you… But there was a specific way to handle this situation, one you’ve envisioned more than enough, the perfect high route.

Quickly looking back to see how Kirishima was fairing, you were met with the rock hero in the process of cuffing the other two offenders, allowing you to feel a rush of relief. You turned around and mentally centered yourself. The convict seemed to put together what you were about to do, so without hesitation, they began charging only a second too late.

Taking a breath, the perfect feeling to muddle their prideful feeling down surged through you as you carefully knotted their violent stings together.

It was the feeling you faced when all was said and done after, the outcome you faced after you had gone through confronting all of the trauma that was built up by this person.

All you felt was emptiness.

When it hit them, you saw it in their eyes as they stopped in their tracks. No smugness, no pride, no cowardness. Nothing to egg them on and yet nothing to make them feel terrible. Blank.

Before confusion slithered its way to their consciousness, you took the opportunity and roundhoused them- your efficient ankle sweep knocking their head to the floor, deeming them unconscious.

Crouching to the floor next to their body, you made sure they were breathing before cuffing them and standing back up, turning around you double-check on the scene behind you.

The police furthest from you were tucking the Red Riot’s villains in their cars while the others jogging towards you kept their eyes on the limp body behind you, Kirishima in tow. He looked incredibly tired but couldn’t seem to keep the smile off his face. He felt proud.

A weak smile graces your lips as you try to take a step, only to see your vision blur.

Great.

The last thing you saw was the panicked look in his eyes as his pace quickened to a run in attempts to catch you. You faded out to the sound of an urgent call of your actual name before your body hit the ground with a thud.

The next few hours came in slow-paced blinks.

The first time you opened your eyes post-fight, your body felt heavy… but you were moving. It didn’t take long to realize that you were being carried by the muscular arms that you wake up to every morning. Slowly peeling your eyes open, the sight of his signature spikey red hair reminded you that what had just happened. Your boyfriend, the one who was on the scene with you, had witnessed you overcome one of the people that truly had left damage on you. He wasn’t looking at you, but staring straight ahead; by the way, his fingers curled around your bicep and thighs, it had been tough for him to watch everything that had gone down.

You tried to call out his name, but it sounded stifled, sounding more like a broken whisper than anything. After another try, he seemed to have heard you, his ears perking up even though all the commotion- or maybe it was just ironic timing. When his red eyes caught the beaming smile you attempted to comfort him with, he tried to mimic it, only you could make out the way his bottom lip quiver. Your eyelids became unbearably heavy and for the second time, unconsciousness took its hold over you.

Blink.

The next time your eyes peeled open, you were being inspected by the all-to-familiar medical team. The inside of the ambulance was much brighter than it was outside, fluorescent lighting causing you to squint. Unnamable hands were touching your head and pulse points. When they noticed your eyes open, they tried to keep you awake as long as possible, the first step was sitting you up on the gurney. The first person you made eye contact with was your designated nurse- the one with the most comforting presence, was that part of her quirk?

With a kind smile and knowing eyes, she jerked her head in the direction of the person she knew was first to come to mind. Following the movement, your gaze landed on Kirishima, who was standing off to the side and chewing on his nail, arms crossed against his chest.

Had he already got checked out? Was he okay?

When he noticed you were staring, he mustered up a small smile and in return, you slightly lifted both your hands to do a loose wave in attempts to warm up his smile. It worked.

“Okay c’mon, you know how these checkups go- you can go be with your boyfriend once we know you’re okay.” your nurse teased, knowing full well that a serious approach wasn’t going to work with you being this drowsy.

You merely nodded in response, head and eyelids still heavy.

The rest of the examination went by speedily, you being awake making everything go ten times smoother. After everything was checked and you were clear to go home, the nurses moved to talk to Kirishima as you moved to the edge of the ambulance, waiting for them to finish.

“I’m so lucky that you’re not only my hero but also a registered caregiver. Well actually… both are pretty super...” You mumbled, trailing off with a lazy smile, lids finally starting to accept the losing battle of staying open.

“Nooo, you’re lucky that it’s the overuse of your quirk that’s keeping you out of the hospital and not fatal injuries. It’s not manly to push yourself too hard.” he quipped back in a light playful tone; He didn’t miss how hard you were fighting to stay awake. “Baby, can you make it to the car or do you want me to carry you?”

It was moments like this where you appreciated how comfortable Kirishima made you feel in your relationship; feeling no shame when you revert to a clingy pile of mush. Reaching out, you let your eyes close as you mimic grabby hands to your enormous boyfriend.

You hear him sigh as he kneels in front of you, opening your eyes in time to catch his broad back muscles shifting, “c’mon love, you need to help me with this bit.”

You clumsily climb on his back and loosely wrap your arms around his neck, standing up with ease. He quickly adjusts you against him to get a better hold on your thighs. Once he begins walking, you let yourself subside back into unconsciousness.

Blink.

You were jolted awake when you felt yourself falling, only for your behind to hit a familiar cushiony surface. Oh right, the car. Before you could fade out once again, you heard Kirishima say something about going to grab the paperwork so the both of you can file your reports later when you wake up. The last thought you were able to think was something along the lines of how incredibly lucky you were to have someone love you so deeply.

Blink.

Waking up to the view of the city lights twinkling below your balcony and the energy of a healthy 8 hours of sleep, you stretch the rest of the drowsiness out of your body till you feel ready to accept the hefty amount of paperwork that’s waiting for you in the other room.

The only light that illuminated your bedroom was the reflection of the living room lights on the hallway floors. Before getting up, you spared a glance at your nightstand, seeing a glass of water with a note underneath, as predicted; this happened more often than not after a battle. You reach out and take the glass in hand and take a steady sip before letting in more and more water, then reading the messy little note:

in the livingroom <3

You smiled at the little doodle he drew- two characters that seem a lot like the two of you, kissing, with a sparkly heart over their heads.

The need to recreate this drawing was growing at an incredible speed.

With newfound determination, you push yourself up from the bed and shuffle to the living room, squinting when the light becomes a little too harsh against your eyes.

Eyes fully closed when you get to the center of the living room, purposely facing the wrong way and trying to suppress a giggle, you try to use the most monotone voice you could muster.

“Kiri - where are you I can’t see.”

“Your eyes are closed- babe, open your eyes.”

“No it’s too bright but I saw this cute drawing on the nightstand done by this really talented artist and I must recreate it please recreate it with me.”

You heard a bit of shuffling before his voice came close to your left side.

“Was it a pretty manly drawing?”

“I would like to think so.”

He was much closer at this point, shifted to somewhere close in front of you right before warm lips were on yours; as quick as the peck came, it was gone in a flash followed by the sound of him plopping down on the couch.

“Wait Eijirou-” you start to pout as you turn in the direction where the couch is, eyes now fully open and set on Kirishima until the shock of pain shot through your nerve endings.

“Ah, shit! Fuck!…” you wince, lifting your leg to hug your newly stubbed toe.

Kirishima is back by your side in an instant, really trying to suppress his laugh but doing a terrible job.

“You’re such a jerk for laughing,” you pout, giving your best attempt of a proper shove… and he didn’t even budge.

There was a moment of complete silence then the booming of your boyfriend’s boisterous laughs bouncing off the walls. Rolling your eyes, you limped over to the spot on the couch where he was previously sitting, and as the cushion beside you dips, you sigh.

The sight in front of you was a disheveled mess. Scribbled on papers were thrown about- most were filled out but there were a few that were blank, pens and highlighters could be spotted under and over random reports.

“I did most of the reports… but I didn’t know if you wanted to fill out yours… because of who you were fighting.” he slowly stated, as if he were walking on eggshells. You could tell that he was holding back from hitting the main issue.

Was this something you were ready to unbiasedly talk about? Kirishima knew most of the details, but he also realized that you probably wanted to talk about it more now that you’ve not only seen them after all this time but had to fight them.

With another sigh, you let your head fall into your palms- your elbows digging into your thighs- and you roughly rub your eyes before coming up for a new breath of air.

“My heart was pounding…” you started, attempting to prepare for the unwanted wave of grief, but as you trailed off, oddly enough, it never came.

When reflecting on the fight, you remembered the range of emotions you felt, but now… you just felt… empty- which was ironic. No sadness, longing, anxiety… if anything, with your caring redhead staring at you with the roundest eyes, you felt at ease.

“But honestly? I don’t really feel much right now. Like I can say that when looking back, I think I handled myself in the best way possible- they don’t deserve to have that satisfaction of creating a rise out of me, and quite frankly… I’m tired, Ei. I’m so tired of letting them have that hold on me. I don’t deserve that kind of pain. As much as I am a hero, I need to think about myself as a person and there’s only so much I can endure. My mental and emotional health comes first.”

After saying all of that, there was a slight hint of relief that flooded your system; you already began to feel lighter.

“I’m so proud of you. I know that must have been really hard to face but you did it, and you were so good about it,” he whispered as he reached out for your thigh.

Accepting his comfort, you sucked in another breath and smiled up at him. He held and returned your smile for a couple of seconds before slightly leaning in, his eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips.

“Would it be alright if I.. kiss you?” it was such a heart-warming gesture, how he was making sure you weren’t pushing yourself.

“More than alright,” you whisper, barely getting out the last word because of how quickly the gap between you two closed. The kiss was comfort in the rawest form; his pace was slow, his large hand cupping your jaw as his tongue invaded your mouth. You were following his pace, your eyes coming to a close, melting into a relaxed state for what seemed like the first time today.

Keeping the kiss light, he pulled away shortly, but not before placing a lingering peck on your lips, then one on your forehead and whispering, “I made you a snack. You’re probably hungry right now so I prepared you a little something filling. And while you eat, I’m gonna run a bath with some Epsom salt and lavender oil, does that sound good?”

Overwhelming gratitude washed over you. Words couldn’t possibly measure even the bare minimum of the love you have for Kirishima Eijirou, and yet you managed to string a soft, “You are the most wonderful person in the world, and I… Eijirou I love you so much.”

His eyes became a little teary as he looked down at you, a wobbly smile in place before whispering a returning “I love you,” before heading into the bathroom to run the water in your massive tub.

As the thundering sound of the water filling the tub echo through your apartment, you get up and rummage the fridge to find a plate of adorably cut red apples with a glob of peanut butter off to the side.

“Baby do you want tea?” You call out just loud enough, “I’m gonna brew that green tea with the toasted rice!”

He came into the kitchen looking big and confused, “what did you say, baby?”

“Green tea?”

“Oh yes, please,” he said, leaning in and planting a kiss to your temple before turning back to the bathroom.

“Kiri? Can you put on the house shows on the tv? I forgot what channel they were on.”

You didn’t need to turn around to hear tv turn on; a shout of thanks was called out before you took a bite of your snack.

It felt all very domestic, something you never thought could happen to you. Your childhood was a montage of quirk abuse, being emotionally used, following the same types of toxic people, and never learning your lesson. It all flipped somewhere in your twenties- you began to realize the pattern after being shown the kindness the world could offer. No longer world you put up with bullshit like that. You knew better now and Eijirou always reminded you of that.

You were halfway through one of your favorite flipping shows when Kirishima came in shirtless, letting you know the bath was ready, “Okay my love, it’s ready. Take your time, I‘ll be in the tub.”

You stripped on your way to the bathroom, leaving all your clothes on the bench in the bedroom before padding into the warm-tiled bathroom.

The view you stepped in on was delicious; your huge boyfriend taking up most of the tub, his head tilted back against the wall, eyes closed.

“Gee red, you’re so sexy.” you aimed to tease, but your words came out a bit strained. He chuckles before turning to face you and groaning your name, “hurry up and come in here.”

And it’s then when you’re submerged in all the heat and laying against your boyfriend’s warmth, do you remember that life is what you make it to be. Never accept anything less than the love and care you deserve.

Blink.

#she dreams !#mha kirishima #kirishima eijirou #bnha eijiro kirishima #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima fluff #kirishima eijiro fluff #kirishima x you #bnha kirishima #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha fluff #bnha fluff #hurt/comfort

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 3 years

Text

It’s Just a Movie: Part 15 (Poly!Lost Boys x reader) fic

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Warnings: angst, depression, blood mention

Word Count: 2081

(( This chapter is mainly just exposition cause I actually want to finish this story and not lose mojo for it!! Hope you guys enjoy!! ))

Nightly visits to the boardwalk never seemed to get boring, even if it’s what you had been doing for months. With the boys, your boys, you could never be bored. Time passed like grains of sand in an hourglass, each day slipping out of your fingers and down to the bottom. As the summer months got closer, the less you felt like going home.

Of course, you had your days, and your phases. Something would happen, usually small, and you’d find yourself reaching for your phone. You had stopped bringing it with you to the boardwalk, finding that you couldn’t take it out on the boardwalk and it wasn’t like you could use it much anyways. And sometimes that was it. You’d remind yourself that you hadn’t brought it with you, that you had no use for it, and that was it. But not always. There were days, days that didn’t start occurring until after you’d been there for over three months, where that realization would encircle your heart like a cruel fist. It’d squeeze, and you would suddenly feel out of place. Wrong. Lost.

Those moments racked through you, and there was hardly much you could do to stop the aftermath the first time it happened. Sobs would escape your mouth before you could stop them, and the boys had been just as taken aback as you were. They had, unfortunately, seen you cry before. But that had been from their own actions. Your sudden break, sudden sorrow, had been confusing to all of them. Though, of course, there were a couple of them who were more vocal than the others. You were lucky that you hadn’t left the cave yet. You had cried for nearly hours, with the boys trying in various ways to get you to stop until they finally just let you let it out.

When you were finally able to explain, you found that they understood more than you thought they would. It was then that you reminded yourself that they were lost too.

You had been lying in your bed with David besides you. They were taking turns trying to cheer you up before, but there was something about the blonde that comforted you just a tad bit more than the others. Perhaps it was that he wasn’t telling you it was going to get better. Or trying to make you laugh. Or trying to cheer you up at all. He was simply there, smoking in your room no matter if you asked him not to. You were laying your head on his chest, which was silent under your ear. After an hour of silence, David decided to speak.

“We all went through, well, something similar.” He said suddenly, and you lifted your head. Confusion was evident on your face, and you said an audible,

“Huh?” David blew the smoke towards the ceiling and shook his head, gesturing to you.

“Your- whatever it was. I guess your denial stage is over.” He said, and you sat up. Denial? For some reason, David was the best at flaring your temper, and his words did exactly that. You had been dating all of them for two months at that point, and David knew what anger looked like on your face fairly well by then.

“Denial?” You echoed, and you watched as the blonde took another drag. In the past months that you’d been dating them, you’d learned to read all of them fairly well too, and you could tell David wished he hadn’t said anything. As annoying as he could be, you found that he just liked getting on your nerves. Not getting into actual fights. He sat up as well, but he leaned back against the mountain of pillows that the boys had collected for you.

“Denial. You were telling yourself that this wasn’t really happening. That you weren’t really staying here.” He said, and you couldn’t believe that he had the nerve to bring this up again. You scoffed, shaking your head as you moved away from him. Now, some things made sense. Why he’d dropped the topic so many months before. He knew you couldn’t control it, and he chose to chalk up your reluctance as denial. You couldn’t believe him, and you had half a mind to tell him to get out before he was reaching for your hand. “I’m saying this because we went through it too, y/n. We all had to mourn our old lives.” He said, and you stared at him in a whirlwind of confusion and anger. But there was something about what he’d said that struck you. It never occurred to you that the boys had anything to leave behind. Sure, you had read the prequel script, but there wasn’t anything solid. Anything that had made it to the screen. You shook your head.

“But I’m not- I’m not like you. I’m not a vampire. And I’m not- We don’t know if I’m staying forever.” You said, and he stared at you. You watched the way his eyes changed. How just the tiniest bit of disappointment had crept into them. In the two months since you’d started dating, David had become more affectionate. You weren’t surprised when he reached out to cup your cheek, and you let him. Even if your anger was still brewing.

“I know.” You could tell that he wanted to say more. Hell, it was rare that he was ever this quiet, and now you almost wished that he would monologue at you. But, whatever he wanted to say, it seemed he had decided you weren’t ready for it yet. Or that he didn’t want the fight that would follow it. Instead, he held out his arms and said, “C’mere.” It was a small command, and you narrowed your eyes at him before you sighed and gave in. You crawled back into his arms, tucking your head under his chin as his arms wrapped around you. Neither of you spoke of the topic anymore, even if his words had caused a new flurry of thoughts inside your head.

You’d been depressed for a few weeks afterwards. Angry and irritable. And, sometimes, just the tad bit resentful of the four. But, you quickly reminded yourself that this wasn’t their fault, and those feelings dissolved as time moved on and the wound began to heal. There were other moments when the wound would reopen, just as painful and wrenching as the first time that you realized you may be stuck there for good, but those times became fewer and farther in-between until the approaching summer brought on a whole new wave of something else. Excitement. Anxiety. Doubt.

And the closer it got, the more difficult it became to ignore your situation. It was finally a week in late March that you asked David what he had in mind for when you met Star, and it had taken all of the boys by surprise. It wasn’t that you hadn’t been planning for the summer, but none of them had dared to discuss any plans that involved factoring you into it. And when you asked, you couldn’t help but notice how it had pleased your boyfriends. Even if they did their best to hide it, though some were better than others. It was growing increasingly difficult to pay attention to David’s ideas when Paul kept kissing down your neck, and Marko wasn’t helping either. He was holding your hand, and if you dared to look in his direction then he would take that as an opportunity to lean in and steal a quick press of your lips. And if you didn’t? Well, he would simply nuzzle your cheek instead. Finally, after a glare from David, you had settled to sit in Dwayne’s lap. Even then, the brunette kept squeezing your waist every so often, and you swore that you could feel him smiling, just ever so slightly, into your hair.

By the time June arrived, acceptance was inevitable. It was officially summer, and there you were. Still in sunny Santa Carla. Not that you got to see the sun that often. But you had been in their world for seven months, and your world seemed like a thing of the past. And as your nerves for the upcoming events grew, you could hardly spare a thought for your home.

There was no clear indicator as to when the Emersons would arrive, and you didn’t have the internet to research. The best you could do once summer arrived was wait. You weren’t the only one that this was proving difficult for, and certain boys seemed ready to pull their hair out when a hint of what was to arrive finally came. Max, no matter how well the boys hid you, had asked if the boys had started seeing anyone. He assured that he hadn’t actually seen you, but he’d said he could rather smell you. Apparently, a feminine scent was hanging off of all of them. The boys did their best to dodge the topic, and dodge mentioning you. The five of you were worrying about how you were going to cover your tracks when you finally caught sight of a curly haired brunette just at the turn of the month.

The five of you had been on the boardwalk together, going on one of your weekly group dates. Dwayne had his arm around you, even if Paul was trying his best to snatch you out from under him. Your breath had hitched when you saw her. You had to admit. She was gorgeous, even if the sight of her made you feel like you were going to faint. Or throw up. Or both. It was Dwayne that called your name before he asked,

“You okay?” And you quickly looked up at the brunette. You looked ahead, pointing with your eyes, at the barefooted and red lipped girl floating through the crowd. When the others saw her, it sobered any fun that they’d been having. It was time. You’d all been discussing it for literal months, and now it was time to put that plan into action. You reached out for the boy besides you, your hand tangling into Pauls’, and you gave it a hard squeeze. The thought repeated in your mind. It was time.

You didn’t know if it was anxiety or adrenaline, but the night seemed to pass by in a blur. You remembered David approaching her, the drive back to the cave, and now you were sitting on the couch with the girl, Star, sitting besides you. You felt a similar feeling as to the first time you met the boys. Disbelief. Surprise. A strange feeling that this couldn’t be real, even if the past seven months made it obvious that it was.

You didn’t expect to get along with her, but it came as a welcome surprise. Stars face had a way of lighting up as she laughed, and it was helped with how much Paul joked with her from his spot on the wall. Both you and Dwayne smiled, Dwayne’s arm wrapped around the back of your seat on the couch. Marko stood besides David’s chair, egging Paul’s joke on further while David sat in his chair, smoked, and laughed at their banter. You were having a good time, even if what was going to happen soon itched at the back of your mind. Even if you knew the events of the future, it was hard to imagine, at least right now, that Star would be alright with betraying them. Even if you had just met, you had to admit that she fit into the group almost a little too well. And you tried to not let jealousy crowd your thoughts, even if it was David's flirting that had gotten her to come to the cave. You reminded yourself that she ended up with Michael. Whatever she thought of your boys now, it'd change the second she saw Michael. If not the second she turned.

When David finally offered her the bottle, you almost felt bad. Almost wanted to stop it. You even went as far as flicking your gaze to David's. But you couldn’t change what needed to be done. Not when she was the one who reeled in Michael. Not when Max was starting to become suspicious. Not when the boys' lives were at stake. That's exactly what David's eyes told you. So, you watched as Star drank the blood.

#the lost boys #the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys david #the lost boys paul #the lost boys marko #marko the lost boys #david the lost boys #paul the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #The Lost Boys 1987 #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys imagines

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degrassi-fanatic · 3 years

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Window Sill

As Kakashi wanders through the streets of Konoha, absentmindedly flipping through the pages of Icha Icha Tactics, he hears children’s laughter ringing through the alleyways as a familiar brown and blue blur races right past him, towards the direction of the hospital.

Shaking his head, Kakashi laughs softly at their antics; Konohamaru really is just another Naruto.

And just like Naruto, he’s about to be beaten half an inch from death.

As he predicted, in the distance, Kakashi can hear Sakura-chan shout, followed by the loud crack of a chakra enhanced fist and the sounds of Konohamaru and his little gang of delinquents wailing in pain.

He’s about to sprint off towards the hospital to save the children from Sakura’s rage when he notices Ebisu’s already halfway there, shouting something like “Just because you can fix bones, Sakura-san, doesn’t mean you should break them.”

A wave of nostalgia washes over him. It only feels like yesterday when Kakashi had to be the one to stop Sakura from giving Naruto permanent brain damage from a grade 3 level concussion.

Speaking of the little punk, Kakashi senses his familiar chakra pattern not too far away.

Shutting his book, he turns around only to bump into the younger man, who seems to have been standing only a hair-breadth away from him. Naruto looks uncharacteristically nervous as he darts his eyes everywhere and anywhere that isn’t Kakashi’s own.

“Naruto.” he greets, as he takes a step back to put some space in between them.

“You were in ANBU, right, Kakashi-sensei?” Naruto asks out of the blue, wringing his hands out in front of him.

Dread begins to build up in the pit of his stomach.

There’s only one reason why Naruto would be so anxious asking about Kakashi’s time in the ANBU forces.

In his whole life, Kakashi had never expected for Naruto to figure him out. He had always operated under the assumption that Naruto was simply young enough for those memories to have disappeared as he grew older, or that his ANBU commissioned mask was enough to hide his identity, or that maybe Naruto would simply learn to let the matter go.

It goes without saying that he’s a fool for believing in that last one.

“Yes.” Kakashi answers back, a touch wary.

“Do you know who Hound is?”

The question confuses him to no end.

Why on Earth would Naruto ask Kakashi who Hound is? Was it some weird tactic to get him to tell the truth? Was it a last chance to own up to everything? Doesn’t Naruto know that Kakashi is…

That’s just it, Kakashi realizes, Naruto doesn’t know that he is Hound.

He doesn’t know that it was Kakashi, who up until Naruto had entered the Academy at the age of eight, had been spending every available night in between his ANBU mission with him.

“Hound?” he pretends to ponder as he tilts his head to the side, “Why do you care about him?”

Suddenly, Naruto drops his chin down to rest at his chest, his hands curling up into fists as his whole spine does ramrod straight.

He mutters something under his breath but it’s unintelligible, even to his heightened sense of hearing.

“Sorry?” Kakashi asks, as he leans in closer to listen.

“He used to take care of me.” Naruto mumbles out.

When Naruto was still only a baby, Kakashi remembers standing guard inside of his nursery. Sometimes, when he would wake up in a crying fit, Kakashi would either have to bottle-feed him milk or rock him back to sleep. Other times, the only thing that would soothe him would be the hushed stories Kakashi would whisper to him about his parents and all their feats.

Afterwards, when Naruto had begun to totter around, Kakashi remembers having to keep watch from the window. It worked well up until one day, when the boy had flung open his window in the middle of the night, giggling at the sight of a masked man outside of his bedroom. Naruto tugged and tugged at his arm, whining about wanting to play, until Kakashi had no choice but to climb inside.

The openness of his actions had made him worry because surely Naruto was old enough to understand that letting in a stranger was dangerous but, his worry was outweighed by the sheer amount of trust that was offered up to him when Naruto continued to open up his window for Kakashi.

Unfortunately, all of those nights spent playing with Naruto and his toys came to a screeching halt when the boy turned eight.

Naruto enrolled into the Academy, and Kakashi never bothered coming back to his window.

“He was the only person who— he was the only one beside the Sandaime, who used to hold me and play with me and… yeah.” Naruto explains, kicking at the ground, “He never talked, which was weird, but I guess that just made him a better listener.”

It felt like the Earth had stilled beneath Kakashi’s own two feet.

Kakashi was the only one to hold Naruto?

“The only one?”

All Kakashi gets in terms of a response is a shrug of his shoulders.

“Y’know, when I was little,” Naruto reminisces with a small grin, “He used to bring me toys from wherever he had his missions.”

It was Kakashi’s favourite thing in the whole wide world, seeing little Naruto’s reaction to all of the toys he had brought back for him; a physical reminder that no matter where he went or what he was doing, he was always thinking about Naruto.

His smile had been Kakashi’s only motivation when it came to staying alive.

Every night, Naruto would sit by his window sill, waiting in anticipation for Kakashi to come back from a mission. The two of them had even created their own special password and as soon as Naruto would hear that quick three-two-three knocking pattern, he would throw open the window for him.

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“Hound, he, um, he stopped coming by once I got into the Academy.” Naruto continues.

The phantom smile on Kakashi’s face vanishes as he fights back a flinch at the reminder of his actions.

“At first, I thought he was just caught up in a mission but then days became weeks, which became months, and soon a year went by and I realized that he was never going to come back.”

“Do you miss him?’ Kakashi asks quietly.

“If I’m being honest, I’m pretty pissed at him,” Naruto explains, clenching both his jaw and his fists, “He just left. He didn’t bother explaining why, and eight year old me just had to deal with it, deal with losing one of the only people in the world who cared about him.”

Blinking back tears, Kakashi cannot bear looking at Naruto right now, so he averts his gaze to the ground.

“I’m sure he had a good reason.” he lies.

“Yeah, well, no reason is good enough for me,” Naruto spits back, “So, if you can’t tell me who Hound is, can you at least tell him Naruto is still pissed after all these years?”

“I will.”

It seems as though Naruto has given up on his mission to find out who Hound is because weeks pass by without incident and without Naruto popping up to have any more startling conversations about the past.

Kakashi is really starting to believe that Naruto has finally learnt the art of letting go, only to be proven extremely wrong when he’s shoved up against a tree.

Naruto’s arm is pinning his shoulders against the harsh, splinter-y bark of the tree trunk, while his other arm goes to rest beside Kakashi’s head to maintain balance.

He’d commend Naruto on his improved sneak attack skills, if it weren’t for the fact that his precious, signed copy of Icha Icha Tactics is page-first in a pile of dirt. He’s a moment away from yelling some sense into that nonsensical head of Naruto’s when he notices the stream of tears dripping off of his jaw.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” he asks, his voice cracking, “I’ve been stalking you for two weeks because I desperately wanted to know Hound was, and you haven’t met up with anyone that could be him.”

It’s in that moment that he comes to the overwhelming realization that he needs to come clean; it’s either that or let Naruto experience more pain than necessary, and Kakashi will always do anything in his power to prevent the latter.

But, how do you tell one of the most precious people in your life, that you have deceived them?

“Naruto…”

“That’s the reason he stopped visiting,” Naruto says, gritting his teeth, “It’s because he was dead and no one thought to tell me and now I have to mourn someone I never really knew all because—”

“It’s me, Naruto,” he blurts out, “I’m Hound.”

For a minute or two, nothing happens as the anguish on Naruto’s face dissipates. He studies Kakashi’s own face, presumably for any signs of deception or lying.

Then, as if a whirlwind erupts from within him, Naruto grabs Kakashi by the collar, hauling him off the tree and throwing him onto the ground. Before Kakashi can scramble to get up, Naruto climbs over his body and wrenches his fist back behind him.

Within a second, he feels a burst of pressure at his jaw, followed by the unsettling clashing of his teeth in his own mouth. Faintly, he tastes metal and with some poking and prodding, he realizes he’s accidentally bit into his own cheek.

“You jerk!” Naruto cries as he slams his fists down into Kakashi’s chest, “Why didn’t you tell me! Why did you stop coming around! I used to cry myself to sleep because I thought you finally realized I was a demon!”

His punches grow weaker and weaker by the second until soon Naruto is collapsing atop of Kakashi, hiding his face in Kakashi’s neck like he used to when the other kids were being especially cruel that day.

“Hey, hey, shh,” he murmurs as he strokes the back of Naruto’s head, “ You did nothing wrong, okay?”

“Well, it felt like it.”

Kakashi’s chest caves in on itself.

Before he can say anything else, an explanation, an apology, anything, the warm weight atop of him is gone. He can only vaguely register Naruto mumbling out a shunshin no jutsu.

Soon, all he’s left with is a puff of smoke.

Days keep adding up until it’s been more than a week without Naruto giving Kakashi the time of day, and for once, it’s not because of the lack of trying on Kakashi’s part. In fact, he’s attempted all sorts of plans to get the man to even look at him.

He bought enough ramen from Ichiraku’s to last him a lifetime, he tried to entice him with promises of teaching him a new jutsu, he bought him a brand new orange jumpsuit, hell, he even swallowed his pride and tried to enlist Sakura’s help only for her to shake her head while softly telling him this was something he needed to do on his own.

It’s a complete mess and one he wishes he weren’t so concerned about cleaning up.

And he wouldn’t be, if it weren’t for the simple fact of the matter that Kakashi misses Naruto and he misses his company and his stupid ramen and his stupid orange jumpsuits.

Sulking as he strolls alongside the bank of the river, Kakashi kicks pebbles into the water while he thinks up various ways to get Naruto to talk to him.

Konohamaru could maybe help him out but, then again, he’d probably side with his big brother Naruto on the matter at hand. Perhaps, Sai or Gai could help, they seem level headed enough to come up with ideas that could work. Actually, Sai isn’t well versed in emotions and Gai would just say something about the Springtime of Youth. Tenzou, maybe…

While deep in thought on what to do, Kakashi doesn’t notice a person walking in front of him, until he barrels right into them. Before the person can fall into the river, Kakashi catches them by the wrists and drags them in close.

Looking down, he realizes it's Naruto that he's caught.

Once he’s made sure that Naruto is safe from losing his balance, Kakashi takes a step backwards. Awkwardly, he shoves both his hands into his pockets as he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“Thanks.” Naruto mumbles out, his cheeks burning.

For longer than he’d like to admit, Kakashi debates with himself on what he should say to the man in front of him.

“Y’know, you have to talk to me some time.”

Immediately, Kakashi cringes at the words leaving his mouth.

“You stopped talking to me for four years and were going to spend the rest of our lives lying about it.” Naruto accuses, the flush on his cheeks now being a result of anger rather than embarrassment.

His heart aches at the underlying pain he can hear in Naruto’s voice. Without thinking twice, Kakashi reaches out for Naruto’s arm.

“I’m sorry, if you’d let me explain—”

He’s cut off by Naruto knocking his hand away.

“I don’t need to know why you left,” Naruto says as he begins to walk away, “My brain can fill in the blanks.”

“Whatever you think my reasoning was,” Kakashi explains as he follows Naruto, “I promise you, it’s not.”

All of a sudden, Naruto stops in his tracks, only a few short steps away from reaching the dirt path back to the village. He whips around to glare at Kakashi, his eyes lighting up with fury as he raises an accusatory finger in Kakashi’s direction.

“Did you even want to be my sensei?” Naruto questions as he takes a step towards him, “Or were you disappointed when you realized the kid you ditched years ago was your student now?”

“I wanted to be your sensei.” he says earnestly, but it seems as though Naruto isn’t even listening to him.

“Why did you bother coming around if you were just going to leave?” Naruto snarks out as he shoves his finger into Kakashi’s chest, “Was it me? Did I drive you off?”

“No, just let me—”

Before he can get another word out, he watches as all of the ire and all of the incendiaries building up inside of Naruto fade away, only to be replaced with a bone-deep sense of weariness that should never be worn on the face of someone so young.

“You want to know something, Kakashi-sensei?” he asks, not looking for a real answer, “For the longest time, I used to wonder if you ever thought about me, if you saw potential in me or if you just saw me as a roadblock for Sasuke and Sakura’s success. I used to wonder if you even liked me.

“Now, I know my answer.”

How could Naruto think that? How could Kakashi let him think that?

For a second, it looks like Naruto is about to say something else but then he simply turns around and continues walking in the direction of the village.

Remaining where he is, Kakashi stands still as he stares at Naruto’s back.

“Minato-sensei and Kushina-san had just died.” he says, the name of his parents causing Naruto to halt, “Rin and Obito had died before that. My parents long before that.”

Twisting his neck to look over his shoulder, Naruto meets Kakashi’s eyes; a puzzled look on his face

“But, you were still alive.” he continues, “Up until you were eight, I could keep you safe. You weren’t a shinobi. You didn’t have to take orders from higher up. You didn’t have to go on suicide missions. You were okay.

“Then, you entered the Academy and suddenly, I couldn’t protect you anymore.” Kakashi croaks out as he scrunches his eyes closed, “I couldn’t face the possibility of losing you so, I left. Like a coward.”

Naruto doesn’t say anything else so Kakashi assumes that he’s already gone and left but then he feels a pair of arms hook around his shoulders and the telltale tickle of Naruto’s hair against the side of his face.

Letting out a ragged breath, Kakashi returns the embrace, fighting back the onslaught of tears in his eyes.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” Naruto murmurs into his ear.

“Thank you for not dying.”

#naruto #~fic~#uzumaki naruto #hatake kakashi #kakanaru #ish #only if you want it to be

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hannie-dul-set · 4 years

Text

when jaehyun said he was picking you up to go somewhere, you didn't exactly expect to be found in the middle of nowhere. trees were lining the field from a faraway distance and the tall grasses sunk from underneath you. the two of you were leaning against the side of his car on top of a hill on god knows where with no one else but the stars, the moon, and the both of you.

"drinking wine straight out of the bottle— aren't you a classy man?"

a laugh reverberated from jaehyun's throat and he looked at you under the solace of the inky night sky. "let me have my moments, miss y/n."

you sat beside him on the grassy clearing, lightly playing with one of his hands and you looked up to him, only to see downcast drenching his pretty features. letting go of his hand, you sighed and sat up straight, stirring confusion from the male.

"alright, mr. jung," you narrowed your eyes at him. "what's going on in your head? why are you being all sad?"

he let out a huff of air, lips upturned into a semi-forced smile as he gently took your hand back into his, lacing his fingers into yours. "is it that obvious?"

"you're transparent, jaehyun."

sighing, he adjusted his position and took another swig at the hard drink. "you know how overboard some girls may get around me, right?"

"i've witnessed first hand during your party," you laugh, remembering how panicked he looked during that time. "it was a pitiful sight."

"it wasn't pitiful."

the words left like a soft whine from his lips and you continued to tease him, saying that he looked like a small mouse (ironic, considering his stature) being fought over by a group of wild cats, much to his displeasure.

"anyways," he coughed out, a light wash of pink dousing his cheeks, both from your previous joking and the slight chill of the night's wind. "there's this one girl named seonha— i've never told you about her— and, uh, i wouldn't say she's obsessed with me, but—"

"she's obsessed with you?"

you finished, quirking your brow at him and he hesitantly nodded. "yes, you can say that."

"hm," you hummed. "why, what'd she do?"

"a lot of things," he sighed. "her family is closely knitted with mine so i'd met here during one of their charity auctions. since then, she wouldn't stop following me around— in my office building, when i'm out with mark and johnny. hell, even when i'm out of the country."

jaehyun's exasperation ran through his voice as he continued to tell you about the girl.

"she'd even stir up dating rumors about us two which is messed up all on its own. you could argue that at least there's only one of them bothering me, but it's like selling off a few floods for one gigantic storm," the now empty wine bottle was long forgotten on the ground. jaehyun went on with his rant, raking his free hand into his hair. "johnny and mark had told me to file a restraining order, but that wouldn't do anything considering their family's influence, so i have no choice but to deal with her."

the light chirping of crickets amplified the depth of the evening. you guessed it was already around ten, maybe even later than that. it crossed your mind for a short moment that you had work tomorrow, but that thought quickly diminished into thin air.

"has she still been bothering you lately? i don't think i noticed her around you before," you asked, moving your head away to look at him. his hair was in a slight mess and he was slightly tinged pink. yet underneath the glow of the moonlight, he was still as tantalizing as the nighttime sky.

"she's been on a trip to italy these past few months," he softly replied, gazing down at you like your very own moon. "but she's also been texting me nonstop so that's something."

"well, at least she's not here right now."

"about that," jaehyun enunciated. "she's coming back here in a week."

you went silent and jaehyun could feel his heartbeat slowly but surely rising. were you upset that he'd just told you now? did knowing about seonha bother you? it's not easy for jaehyun to read people's emotions— he'd always been lacking with that category. the longer your silence, the tighter his chest got.

"will you be okay?"

like a sudden breath of warmth, your voice pierced through him and suddenly he can breathe again.

"do i have to protect you like last time?"

the teasing tone in your voice relieved him but at the same time it caused him to glare at you, feigning fake offense and you laughed at him. at least he knew you're not upset.

"i'll be fine, you don't have to worry," he said, giving you a smile of assurance. you detached your hand from his and decided to scoot closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder and he naturally found his arm around your waist. "but, enough about that— how was your day, miss y/n?"

"you don't wanna hear about my day. it's as boring as it could get," you reasoned, letting out a small yawn afterwards.

"i do want to hear," he pressed. "i don't mind if it's boring or not. i like listening to you speak."

he caught you off guard with that, to say the least, and you quickly snapped your head to face him. your mind concluded that it was a fatal mistake to do that since now your faces are mere centimeters apart, noses nearly touching. the cold air that was once biting at your skin was suddenly deemed nonexistent due to the sudden rising of the heat.

"a—alright," you stammered, diverting your attention to the sky instead. "if you fall asleep listening, then don't say i didn't warn you, jaehyun."

and so you went on about your day. starting from how you almost got late to your first job because jungwoo and donghyuck thought it was a good idea to barge into your house at four in the morning for a sudden non-sleepover sleepover. then you told him about the adorably gigantic dog you spotted while you were headed for lunch. and now you were talking about one annoying customer you had earlier in the bakery.

"there were five other people in line after her, but apparently getting her blueberry muffin to exactly a hundred-ninety degrees fahrenheit was much more important," you groaned, dropping your head back against the steel of the car. "and of course, i went and reheated one damned muffin just so she would stop complaining."

jaehyun swore he was listening to you. he was attentive— very attentive, and paid the utmost attention to any changes on your features— the way brows bunched up whenever you stop to think for a moment, the way your cheeks were slightly flushed and how you tried to hide it with your hair, the way your lips enunciated each vowel and each consonant and—

fucking hell, your lips.

halfway through your muffin story, his ears were suddenly muffled, his surroundings were a blur, and all he could think about was how your lips would feel against his.

"hyuck always tells me that i'm a bit of a pushover sometimes, and i'm starting to think he's right."

he could hear his heart ringing against his ears. you paused for a moment, sinking your teeth over the plush of your lip in the midst of thought and jaehyun felt like he was being driven into a dangerous corner.

"do you think i'm a pushover, jae?" your head jolted to face jaehyun and his breath was suddenly caught inside his throat along with the sudden thoughts of you overlapping with more thoughts of you, bringing his mind to a combustible state of disarray. "jaehyun? you alright there?"

"oh— um, sorry," he coughed out. "i got a bit distracted, uh, what— what were you saying?"

his fluster was not only demonstrated by the cracks in his voice, but also by the way his cheeks were flaring scarlet and how he refused to look at you.

"distracted by what exactly?" you questioned.

jaehyun was a smart man. having graduated earlier than his peers and landing such a respectable spot in the company at a young age, you'd think he'd be articulate in every situation thrown at him, but somehow he found himself tripping over his own words."will— will i sound stupid if i say i got distracted by you?"

oh my god.

"no no," you laughed, your heart suddenly caged inside an untamed whirlwind. you gently moved your left hand over his face, making him look into you. giddiness tugged at your cheeks, releasing an uncontrollable smile. "it's not stupid at all."

a simultaneous burst of dizzying bliss ruptured between the both of you— coming in the form of the identical beams on both of your faces, staring into each others' eyes as if the moon wasn't the brightest thing in the night.

and somehow, under the spectacle of a million stars,

you kissed.

it hadn't dawned on you that you'd waited for this moment to happen until it actually did. soft lips brushing against yours, rousing an unspeakable rush of heat. it was gentle at first— like the light tremors on the sea until the waves suddenly crashed onto you. his parted lips incessant against yours, leaving you in a buzz and on the brink of gasping for air.

until you felt him stop, abruptly pulling away from you with guilt ridden eyes.

"jae? is everything alright?"

"y/n, i— i'm sorry."

in the midst of your shared kiss, jaehyun realized something. and he couldn't bear the thought of it.

he had realized that he was in love with you.

so, so in love with you.

"i can't— i can't do this to you, y/n."

you felt a lump in your throat and you stared at him, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. was there something wrong— did you do something wrong? everything felt normal until now, everything felt right. but as you looked at him with tears threatening to spill, you'd thought that maybe none of this was right in the first place.

and maybe jaehyun had realized that, too.

"oh," you sucked in a breath, avoiding eye contact with him, and stumbled to get up from the ground. "right, of course. it— it would be damaging to your reputation if you're with me."

the icy breath of the air hit your face once you managed to stand up, the cold flooding your senses once more. "we both know that this wouldn't work out," you gazed down at him, only to see the glass stained heaviness in his eyes and you nearly broke down. turning your back at him, you swallowed, closing your eyes for a brief moment before choking out,

"i— i should go—"

"y/n, i love you."

you froze. everything froze.

"my reputation, my image— god, all of those disappear when i'm with you," jaehyun's trembling voice seeped into every corner of your mind, restricting the air from coming into your lungs. "i'm… i'm not an expert when it comes to this but there is no denying that i am in love with you, y/n."

slowly, you went back to face him. jaehyun stood there, bearing his heart to you. the wind brushing against his hair as he looked at you with mist in glazing over his eyes. it was hard to not just run into his arms, telling him that you were also stupidly in love with him, but you held your words back, waiting for him to finish.

"but... with my job and everything," he stutters out. "i—i won't be able to dedicate all of my time to you, i won't be able to take care of you like i should, i—

i can't make you happy, y/n"

"but you already do."

there was a strong gust, breathing against your skin. you felt your heart drop to your knees, a constricting grasp replacing it in your chest as you felt the tears well up even more like a dam itching to break.

"do you think i don't know that? yes, i know you're busy— i know you have a shit ton of responsibilities to the point where you'd probably suffocate from them, and—and i know that sometimes finding time to have a single fucking conversation with you is sometimes impossible," your breath hitched, nearly choking over your own words but you went on. "but that has never stopped you from making me feel happy, jae. because even a single second spent with you can make make me happier than the rest of my life combined, so don't ever say that you can't make me happy because for fuck's sake— jung jaehyun,

i'm at my happiest when i'm with you."

silence flooded. your breathing was scattered after all the things that you said, chest rising and falling in a repeated rhythm. jaehyun says nothing, only looking at you with an unidentifiable glimmer of heaviness in his face as he slowly walked towards you, closing in the space between you until it was practically insignificant. you could hear his heart beating.

he brings your face into his hands, not even realizing that you were crying until he gently wipes away the tears streaming down your cheeks. you look into him, his eyes pooling with oceans and oceans of emotions.

"i'm at my happiest when i'm with you, too."

a second kiss was shared that night— with a million stars watching over you.

gold painted canvas

the classic rich boy and poor girl love story but with less prejudice and more happiness

28 // make you happy

a/n: woah it took nearly 30 parts but at least it happened ;)) this took three days of utter procrastination but i hope you liked it jhhxjsjsjs

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#jung jaehyun #nct #jung jaehyun x reader #nct x reader #jung jaehyun social media au #nct social media au #jung jaehyun texts #nct texts #jung jaehyun scenarios #nct scenarios

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neitherlightnordark · 2 years

Text

Still caught up in the whirlwind, the past months are a blur They try to trace the lines, they tangle in their mind

They only love her 'cause she's beautiful and sweet Complex and mysterious, and mildly delirious She's also something of an exhibitionist

But they both love her and that’s all that matters to them now

#i'm very tired.#but admire the architecture feels like a mansion gang™ song #she's only staying here cause sylvia asked her to #now that she's gone away what's she supposed to do?#sweet talk on the phone ugly doubts that won't leave me alone...#personal

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calpops · 4 years

Text

falling facade | c.h.

falling fragment: alone time

Calum and Arden’s time away from the facade. The fragment between falling failures and falling fame.

2.5k words

falling facade masterlist

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Calum and Arden found escapes at his own home. Time spent together was always quiet and lowkey; made of real feelings and secrets made and uncovered. Calum was still amidst his quest to figure out Arden, to unravel the pieces she was so good at keeping hidden beneath the surface. There was so much more to her than she let on, more than she was comfortable parading around for the rest of the world to see, but she gave glimpses of those pieces to Calum when everyone else was tucked away. She wore a hard and determined exterior for the world but softened for him; was small and warm in his arms when paparazzi followed, was shy and blushing when Calum caught her off guard with compliments and genuine sentiments. He preferred those moments and chased after them with everything he had.

Some days they were content to sit in the living room with Duke, a bass in Calum’s hands as he plucked at chrods and hummed tunes while Arden lounged beside him and listened; offering small comments and noises of approval at bass lines Calum was proud of. He relished her praise, loved to hear her thoughts and wondered how he had gone so long without trying to know her again. She was an ever evolving story that was unfolding before Calum’s eyes.

A day alone brought them to Calum’s house, as it usually did, and over to the pool where they lounged with their feet in the water and hands nearly brushing as they rested on the ground below them. Arden’s cheeks were rosy and her hair was pulled back, she glowed under the light of the sun and smiled as softly as the sun would set. Calum felt a stirring inside him, something deepset; a secret simmering beneath his surface. He couldn’t say what was on his mind when his mind was too caught up in a whirlwind to comprehend the words whirling around. All he really knew was that he enjoyed sitting by Arden, that his fingers may have flinched and sparks and warning bells may have gone off at the brush of contact.

“Thanks for letting me come over,” Arden said and Calum noted that she didn’t react when their fingers brushed, but she also didn’t pull away. “Again.”

Arden often found her way over, whether it was due to their contracts and needing to be together or due to the people and chaos that swirled through Michael’s house and needing to have a get away. Calum was there for either purpose. His house had quickly become a solace. One filled with secret and lingering feelings—at least for Calum. He wasn’t so sure about Arden. She gave him a smile after the thank you and waved her legs that were shin deep in the water, making ripples in the pool ahead of them.

“Anytime,” Calum promised once more. He’d assured her after their first day turned to a nap at his place she could always find an escape with him. “We could go to the diner for lunch.”

The diner was one of their other means of escape. Calum loved that Arden was so at ease in a place that had kept him grounded for years. She pondered his proposal for a minute, tapped her fingers on the ground and let her ring catch in the sunlight. Calum sometimes forgot it was a permanent weight on her hand but when his eyes were drawn to it it made his heart rate quicken. She shifted closer to him and let out a breath.

“Could we just bring the food back here?” Arden asked, voice low and tired and eyes sweeping to the gentle water. She kicked her right leg out and slowly brought it back in. “I don’t really feel like going out today.”

“Are you okay?” Calum asked after her admission.

Their first night back together left Calum yearning to know how Arden might measure things; okay or not as okay. Their discussion with backs to a house and a dying party had instilled the wonder into him. His genuine concern for her kept it present.

“Sure,” she said around a sigh and turned back to face him. He knew she was honest and comfortable when their gazes met and she didn’t flinch or shy away as she continued on. “I’m just tired. I haven’t slept the past few nights”—she gave a shrug and swept her fingers through her pulled back hair—“I was just thinking about the rest of our time. What it’s going to be like. What’ll happen after it all. If we’ll still have days like this…” she trailed off and a blush claimed her cheeks as modesty swept through her. She looked down, suddenly too abashed to meet Calum’s eyes.

Calum had stayed awake for those same reasons. Their time had truly just begun; they were only a month and some change into their year long contract but a decade into knowing each other. An expired contract didn’t have to end their time together. His hand reached for hers, fingers gentle as they wound around hers. He voiced that thought aloud but left it all open ended and up to her own interpretation.

“Yeah,” she agreed and shook her head. Calum could see the way she was trying to keep herself together. “You’re right. But I’m still tired.”

Her blunt response made Calum laugh and brought her back around to lighting up with a smirk. Calum conceded. “We can bring the food back. Watch a movie. Take a nap?”

Arden nodded, smirk turning into a full fledged smile as she said, “I would love that.”

***

The diner was busier than its usual abandoned and empty status when they arrived. A few people lingered at the booths and knowing eyes spotted Calum and Arden. A fan. Calum slung his arm over her and she didn’t question the action as they waited for their order at the pick up counter. Calum kept the fan in his peripherals and was grateful when they minded their own business aside from a few awe struck glances. His gratitude turned to a wave as they left with their food and a smile when the fan brightened and waved back.

“That was sweet,” Arden commented on their way home. “I guess you were right again. It’s not always cameras and intrusions. Some people are okay.”

Calum made a noise of agreement and sent out a mental thank you that things hadn’t gone awry; unlike just a few days past on the beach. Calum knew Arden was still rattled from it, that her sleepless nights might be due in part to that though she wouldn’t admit to it. The ride back to Calum’s place was spent in a bliss filled silence. It was enough to be alone together, words weren’t always needed when they sat side by side. Sometimes, silence spoke louder than words. Often times with Arden, silence was a prompt to offering truths Calum desperately wanted but wouldn’t push for. That day the silence only brought comfortability until they lingered inside and unpacked the take out they arrived with. Arden had her eyes on the couch; the place they usually congregated for take out or snacks and a movie with the volume on low. This time Calum stopped her short.

“If we go in my room we can close the curtains. The dark might help you sleep better,” he offered apprehensively. He swallowed down his nerves.

They’d shared a bed before, once in Las Vegas where memories were still a blur but waking up together was undeniable. They’d shared the couch numerous times, always starting on their own cushions and waking pressed against each other; her head on his shoulder, his arm around her waist, content heart beats thrumming soft and slow as eyes opened and met. This was a different world. A decision made with memories in tact and only one place to settle into. Arden’s gaze shifted from the living room and found Calum, she peered at him for a moment, only a second needed to make up her mind. She nodded, grabbed a container with her favorite menu item—veggie burger and fries drizzled in vinegar—Calum followed suit then led the way to his room.

Arden had been in there before, sparing moments to grab things or pass through to the personal bathroom with the walk in shower. This time was for something much more than a moment. Duke trailed them, waddled up his doggy steps and curled up in a ball at the end of the bed. They both hesitated, a beat of an awkward pause ensuing in which neither knew which way to go, what side to settle on, how they would go about doing it all. Calum was the one to break the ice, to pick a side when he realized Arden always ended up on his left when they dozed off on the couch. It quickly became okay again once the initial uncertainty broke and melted away. They turned the tv on but left it on quiet when they got wrapped up in conversation.

“I still can’t believe you eat those,” Calum teased and shot a look at the fries in the container.

“They’re good,” she defended and picked one up in offering to him.

“It’s soggy,” he laughed and scrunched up his face.

“Just try it,” she insisted and neither flinched or thought about it when she fed him—Calum might have thought about it more if he didn’t need to concede and admit she was right. It was good.

“Why did you even try these in the first place?” Calum wondered out loud and paused as Arden shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to trust you more often.”

Arden arched an eyebrow and smirked, glossy lips upturning and making Calum’s stomach flip. “Well, our marriage would be nothing without trust.”

“Oh, we’re married now?�� Calum asked around a chuckle and looked down at the real diamon but fake symbol of engagement on her finger once again.

“According to the lady at the pick up counter,” Arden explained and discarded a fry to twist the ring around her finger as was her newfound habit. “She called us mister and misses. You didn’t hear that?”

Calum thought back and supposed he could vaguely recall the faux pass but it had swept past him; as if it were only natural to be referred to in such a way. The realization was frightening. He wondered if it was part of the charade they were playing, or if the jokes they made about it all—jokes just like trust in their marriage—had started to meld into his reality.

“I guess not,” Calum answered and felt his cheeks heat at the alteration of the truth. It’d be too much to explain he might have heard it but didn’t register it as it didn’t ring anything wrong or off in his mind. “We are a pretty convincing couple though, huh?”

Arden sent him a crooked smile and paused her ring twirling. “It’s almost like we’re dating,” she said and gestured to their set up of eating bed with closed curtains and one lone light on in the corner. Looking around, Calum realized how past platonic it may have looked. But Arden’s laughter punctured that possibility, at least in the moment. It was still a joke to her; or so Calum thought, in any case.

In the silence that followed Calum stole a fry from her and helped finish off her plate as she was never able to eat the massive servings on her own. They discarded the containers and settled back in, content to lay together with minimal background noise and soft, tired sighs escaping them. Calum’s gaze flickered from the movie he had no mind for over to Arden. She was a soft glow from the glare of the screen, dark circles under hazel telling of her exhaustion if the sighs and yawns didn’t scream loud enough already. They both laid with their backs against several pillows piled against the headboard, Arden with eyes fighting to stay open and body easing down further into the pillows as her eyelids fell. Calum turned onto his side, hyperaware of the minimal distance between them and how easy it might be to close it when sleep took over. They always wound up closer together when they woke.

“Sure you don’t mind if I sleep?” Arden asked in a whisper and Calum heard the strength of staying awake leave her voice.

“No, sleep,” he encouraged in an equally as soft whisper and allowed himself to tuck a strand of fallen hair behind her ear, smiled when she smiled as a reaction and let his fingers trail along her jaw in a feather light touch.

His words bid her into slumber and Calum stayed awake as he watched her relax. Duke let out a huff and stood to wander his way over towards them, to settle at Arden’s side and take up position looking out the door—the small dog always in defensive mode, especially when Arden was around. Calum found himself falling into sleep not long agter, the tv screen fading out, the rest of the world put on pause as alone time was punctuated by something so intimate. Peaches and sugar lingered between them and Calum wondered if it would stay tangled in his sheets once night came and Arden was gone. Sometimes it drifted through his house after her visits.

Waking up in bed proved much the same as waking tangled up together on the couch. Somehow, at some point during their afternoon nap, they had both drifted toward the middle of the bed, Calum had opened his arms for her and she made a home in his embrace.

“Did you sleep well?” Calum asked instead of waiting for an awkward breaking of their embrace or silence fused by words neither knew how to say to consume them.

Arden nodded against his chest and made no move to break away from him. A yawn escaped her as she woke and Calum knew residual tiredness was working its way out of her. One nap did not restore exhaustion. He wished she would sleep well through the nights.

“Your bed is comfy,” she admitted and found the ceiling with her gaze, let her stare linger for an indeterminable amount of heartbeats before finally breaking away from the situation, from Calum, and sitting up to rub the sleep from her eyes.

“You can nap here whenever you want,” Calum promised and because the words held implications he lightened his tone and the mood. “My bed is your bed. That’s what fiancee’s are for.”

Arden turned to him, hands falling from her eyes as they gleamed and a smile captured her. She maneuvered towards him, closed the gap and brushed her lips against his cheek in a thank you that was all too familiar yet all too missed at the same time. “I’ll be taking you up on that offer,” she said around a slight laugh. “Until you get sick of me.”

“I could never,” he swore and meant it. Hoped that she truly would come back to his bed, back to his arms, back to a world meant just for the two of them.

<< >>

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nobodyeverasked · 4 years

Text

00:00; mark tuan

(6293 words) - large

summary - there’s one small second where the world holds its breath. In that second, you feel okay.

Y/N tried to withstand the symphonies of the sunlight lulling him to sleep as he pinched himself through his sweatshirt sleeve and squinted at the projector ahead of him, really debating why he took Art History for the third year in a row despite how much he hated it. He needed the credit for his internship program in the summer, but he didn’t know he was going to have to withstand this kind of torment.

He let his sighs dissolve into the pages of his textbooks which piled up his heavy eyes and tried to focus on the man gesturing enthusiastically at a black and white picture of a historic art figure Y/N swore he saw two slides ago. Professor Cross was a tall, gaunt man with nothing in his wardrobe other than those sweater vests that were so washed out of their colour Y/N almost sympathised with them. They looked like they were tired of his lessons too; the threads bouncing around his writhing arms looking like they wanted to rip themselves off and hide away in the nearest washing machine. Y/N thanked them for staying on, though, he ran out of eyebleach when he had to sit through an entire presentation by the junkies behind him on why erotica is the pinnacle of artistry and how modern interpretation and segregational stigmatism is the bane of humanity.

Don’t worry, Y/N didn’t stay awake for that one either.

He almost gave into the sleepiness that pulled at his eyes and weighed down his shoulders until a head leaned onto his, and heard a dramatic huff he knew all too well. He combed those famous brown and blonde box-braids out of his face and turned to face the one person in this entire college he didn’t entirely dislike. Gloria Antoine. One of the only people that was there to dash to his front door and cook some month-old ramen from the back of his pantry and be there to hear his rants that seemed to only surface under the veil of the moonlight.

“Remind me why this is important…?” Gloria groaned and Y/N struggled to hide a chuckle in his sleeves. “I’m like, I get it, but why…?”

“You don’t find Cezanne’s works transcendent?” Y/N poked Gloria’s cheek before she lifted her head off his shoulder. “I wonder if Mcdonalds is still hiring?”

Gloria stifled a cackle and they both looked forward to the screen, letting the whispers of their laughter flutter around them and fuel the flames that lay smouldered under his fingertips. Y/N turned his hand over, the memories of the night prior still ingrained in his mind, still blessing every beat of his heart that pounded at the thought of the guy that made every second they spent together - in and out of each other’s arms - so special. Mark Tuan. He remembers the knot of devotion tied between them as they laid back on the hood of Mark’s mustang and looked at the canopies of ivory stars that gleaned like spotlights and spilled on their skin. He remembers Mark taking his lips with his own and the cold metal under them rendering itself useless. Mark was the arms of sanctuary that wound around his waist and would never let go. The feeling of safety and freedom, the moments that made Y/N feel like a bird soaring through a cloudless heaven.

Mark was his everything, the vows of affection that tumbled out of them on their lazy Fridays, the sheets between them that scorched their bodies and drowned them in the waves of their own admiration. He was almost too good to be true sometimes. He sometimes felt so unworthy to feel the heat under Mark’s fingertips, to be scorched by the skin that runs so sweet under his tongue, like the stars under Mark’s skin always shone too bright, were always too beautiful for Y/N’s skies whenever they aligned.

Even so, he couldn’t wait for the bell to sound so he could fall into Mark’s embrace, drown himself in the haze of coffee and cherries that always reminds him of the clementine skies they shared on rooftops together, brings him back to when they had the golden sunlight carve out their leather-studded kisses in the sands.

Their nights draped in the Shanghai moonlight are all just a blur now, blissful memories that hang on the edge of their tongues-

The bell sent Y/N careening out of his trance and up to the students that scrambled for the exit, hoping to escape the clutches of black coffee are boredom that swelled in the room like pungent stench. He could hear Gloria whoop before jumping out of her seat and tossing her back over her shoulder, barely able to contain her excitement for the fact that this lesson was finally over. She tugged at Y/N’s arm, gesturing her head to the door and Y/N followed her out, the stiff smile he held out to Professor instantly falling off his face as he stepped through the doorway like a breath he didn't know he was holding.

He followed Gloria to her locker where her friends waited there expectantly, tapping away at their phones to distract themselves from the concept of socialization. Abbey - the blond one…? He didn’t remember - greeted Gloria with a hug and an avalanche of words came tumbling from their lips, frantic chatter taking over their small circle. Y/N just leaned onto the lockers behind them, taking in all of the latest ‘tea’ Abbey had to spill, wishing he could take in the melodies of his midnight conversations with Mark instead. Gloria snatched him down from the clouds of euphoria that began to swallow him up and wrapped her arm around his shoulders, bringing him back into the circle and turning him towards a new girl that he somehow didn’t notice stepping into their conversation. The shy hunch in her shoulders and the demure shimmers in her hazel eyes danced in the amber sunlight contorting to the busting chatter going on around them.

Was she Abbey…? Or was she Britney…? He didn’t remember, and he genuinely didn’t know if he wanted to care.

“Hey Y/N, this is Stella, she’s new here and I met her in my Bio class.” Gloria gestured towards the girl whose eyes were taken over with a flourish of confidence as she heard Y/N’s name.

“This is Y/N?” Stella’s smile was weirdly wide and brilliant. Y/N just smiled back awkwardly, Gloria’s arm that comfortingly wound around his shoulders failing to shed the shivers of awkwardness that slithered down his spine. “You’re the one that’s dating Mark, right?” Stella stepped closer, he could see the brilliance of admiration shine in her eyes, light up her smile. The same light which ignited every one of Mark’s laughs as they swayed in their living room, the light that wound around them and dyed their most cherished memories, the light that was caught between their lips as they sealed their kisses in their indigo night. “Oh my God, Mark Tuan… I’m sad he transferred schools, he’s so hot.” Gloria could feel Y/N tense up and opened her mouth to cut in, but Y/N stopped her with a shrug.

“Yeah, he’s pretty amazing.”

“I know we just met, but I’m gonna be honest with you Y/N. Just for the one-time.” Stella building up her statement didn’t help the blissful toxins that bloomed under the violet tapestries of Mark’s admiration adorning Y/N’s chest from running bitter like as and stinging with regret. “I have no idea how you copped that. You’re lucky as hell.”

“Well, Mark’s pretty lucky too, Stella. Y/N can actually stay awake in art history.”

“Thanks Gloria…” Y/N shook his head. Gloria was always there to be his hype-woman when he needed her. “It’s not that impossible, right?” He turned back to Stella, trying not to let the doubts that boiled in his stomach and spilled out in smokescreens in his mind leech into his resolve too much. Y/N forced down a frown, trying not to snarl in the face of Stella’s unyielding persistence to make his kisses on mark’s skin feel paper thin, feel stone cold, like the paradise in his hands that Mark said was always there was nothing but a mirage.

“I mean-”

Gloria slammed her locker closed with a nudge of her knee and whipped her head towards Stella. “Thanks for the Ted Talk, Stella, but Y/N and I need to get going. I’ll see you girls tomorrow.” She didn’t pull back the punch of her glare into Stella’s hazel eyes as she nudged Y/N around the corner, taking his hand and escaping the estrogen-fest that did nothing but beat Y/N down. “I’m sorry, Y/N. We were vibing in Bio, I don’t know what happened.” Gloria shifted her gaze over to Y/N, his resolve crumbling in one defeated sigh. Y/N tried to focus on the clicking of Gloria’s heels against the white tile floors of the hallway before pushing his words past his teeth.

“It’s okay, Gloria.” He tried not to let her words bite too deep into his skin, to keep the stars under his skin that would always wait to align with Mark’s from fading in the whirlwinds of Stella’s words that kept Y/N with his fist clenched in his pocket and the hold on his textbook tightened to his chest. “How did I get a man like Mark? He’s literally everything, and I’m just a guy with a seventy average and a dream laid to waste..” Y/N stopped walking, gaze trained to the shine in the freshly waxed floors and the reflection of his eyes that held too many questions and not enough answers. Gloria froze where she stood and snapped her head to her best friend, someone usually so confident, so in love with themselves in others, now his voice was barely above a whisper fading in their breaths that echoed in their silence. She grabbed his shoulders, and brought his gaze up to hers, looking at him with a wildfire of determination lapping at her dark brown eyes.

“Hey, I know it’s been hard cause everyone seems to have a hard-on for comparing you two just because you’re dating, which sucks. Stella sucks. But you’re the best and you deserve to know it, okay? He’s so lucky to have you, because you’re so dedicated to him and me and us and you, and you’re so loyal. You’re beautiful, okay? You’re beautiful and talented and amazing.” Neveah took an exaggerated breath, a smile beginning to frame her lips as Y/N’s chuckles resonated between them. “Don’t-”

“Ah! Y/N! I’m glad you’re still here!” Y/N and Gloria turned their heads to the monotone voice they’ve grown to fear. It was Professor Cross, walking up to them and waving his arm above his head.

“Can’t catch a break, huh?” Gloria and Y/N let their laughter fade into the evening air. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, and coffees on me.”

“Six shots of espresso or I’m suing.”

“Your wish is my command, Y/N.” Gloria wrapped him up in a hug before scampering towards the exit.

“Y/N!” Professor Cross called again despite their distance. Y/N tried not to scrunch his nose as he could smell the coffee and disappointment in his Professor’s breath, wedging his teeth into his lip as he suspected the hundreds of things that this could be about. He knows that he’s been falling behind, the worries and stress that riddled his mind like a plague and withered his willpower leaving him to stare at his essays with nothing but doubt, nothing but his knowing that he’ll never be smart like Mark. His favourite moments with Mark were when that didn’t matter, when knowing complex historical milestones or bisecting segments on invisible squares never came spilling from their lips like their vows of affection did. “We need to talk about your marks in my class…”

“I-I know, Professor Cross, I’m in a slump right now but the summative will bring my mark up, I’ve been working on a piece-”

“I know, I know, but I didn’t expect you to hit a slump, Y/N. You’re one of the most enthusiastic students in my class. Granted, it’s art history, that’s not saying a lot, but I was surprised when I got the numbers for your last few tests. You know, I thought Mark would have a better influence on you, after all. He was always first in my classes.” Professor Cross tried to joke around, tried to bring some hollow laughter into the stale air trudging between them, but he knew he took it too far. He could see the fluorescent lights above chipping away at Y/N’s resolve, the hands clutching his anthro textbook gripping onto the spine. Y/N’s gaze shifted to everywhere except on the professor, deep breaths drying his throat and weakening his forced smile.

“I know, Mark’s smart, he used to be the top in the class, he’s been making art, fixing cars and changing the world, I know…” Y/N tried to wring the sweat out from his hands, doing his best to not let the sunlight streaming from the classroom windows to scratch into his skin too much. “I know, he’s the best, I know…” Y/N only shied away as Mr. Cross took a step closer. “I’ll get my grades up, I promise, I’ll try hard.”

“Y/N-”

“Have a good night, Professor…” Y/N could barely raise his gaze up from the ground, the weight of his professor's words dragging down on his shoulders and keeping his breath lodged into his throat. He turned away without a second thought and barely spared a glance towards his Art History professor before whipping himself around the corner of the nearest doorway. He needed to escape, he needed to escape from the spotlight that burned into his head and constantly sung his inadequacies into his ears whenever he let his mind wander. This was no swansong that so easily fell from between Mark’s lips, and this light was not the ivory whisper of the starlight that would alway drape over their entwined fingers.

He tried not to let his inner thoughts consume him as he made it to the main gates, the smokescreen of his doubts boiling, bubbling under the breath he finally let out as the amber sunlight followed in his footsteps to the main courtyard of the campus.

Mark leaned against the side of his car, playing with the edge of his sleeve as he waited for Y/N in the front of the parking lot, bathing in the amber sunlight streaming from the golden sky. It’s been a few months of this routine, picking Y/N up and heading home to bask in the fires of their admiration together, and Mark could not get enough of it. Seeing Y/N’s tired smile bloom as they sat next to each other in the front, the lazy kisses and intertwined fingers making them grateful his windows were tinted. Mark couldn’t get enough of it, he wanted more, just to take Y/N in and all of the wonder that spilled out from between those beautiful lips - heaven’s gates - the edge that their secrets used to tremble on and now free fall into the oceans of their trust, their love.

He couldn’t help but beam as he saw Y/N finally scamper out of the entrance to his design college, but he didn’t notice Y/N’s shifting gaze and the dejection weighing on his shoulders. Mark only focused his gaze on Y/N’s eyes that seemed to sparkle in the gilded sunlight and his skin that glowed under the golden skies, his lips that always wrenched his gaze on them and reminded them of how sweet they tasted under his tongue and between his teeth. The stories they told, they could go on and on and he could spend hours listening to what they had to say. That head of hair still singed by his wandering hands and burning touch where he could bury his worries, and revel in the softness that he tangled between his fingers. Those shoulders he would wrap his arms around and feel the tides of their cherry chapstick crash on the shores of their adoration, the shores like those beaches they burned black with the circles they danced in the sands.

“Hey, baby.” Mark wrapped his arms around Y/N’s waist and kissed the top of his head, lips trailing down to his cheeks and waiting, longing to paint his skin in tapestries of their compassion. Y/N just hid his face in Mark’s hands, eyes taking sudden interest in the pebbles on the concrete. “How were classes today?” Mark cradled Y/N’s cheeks between his hands and kissed his lips, his smile slowly fading as the one that shone behind Y/N’s pressed lips didn’t budge. “What happened? Did Mrs. Fletching go on about why colour theory is JUST A THEORY, A COLOUR THEORY!”

Mark nudged Y/N’s chin up and pecked his lips, unknowing of the judging stares and jealous glares that dug into Y/N’s back and ripped out his spine Mortal Kombat style.

“Something like that…'' Y/N’s lips finally budged with a shrivelled whine, his head leaning onto Mark’s chest, hoping that his leather jacket and beautiful hands could hide him from his own shame and the girls that he knew were whispering about him by the library entrance. Y/N’s smile always sweetened the sparks that ignited between their teeth, and Mark wants to get that blissful glow under Y/N’s cheeks again. “Can we just head home?”

“Of course baby.” Mark opened the door for Y/N and then wound around the front to head in himself. “Do you want to talk about what happened? I really like your smile and…” Mark paused, trying to choose his words carefully so the heavy silence practically crushing the car could feel just a bit lighter. “I haven’t been seeing it a lot nowadays, you know I’d do anything to see you smile.” Mark caressed Y/N’s cheek, seeing a weak smile spread across his baby’s lips made him feel a tiny bit better, at least the words spun like silk from his lips could always make Y/N feel safe. He meant every word and wanted Y/N to know that.

“Maybe later? I just wanna get out of these tight-ass jeans and sleep…” Y/N shrunk back in the seat, with Mark’s touch melting from his cheeks and smoothing across his hands, the demons thrashing about in the pits of his stomach made and making him question his worthiness of such a man. A man who smiles in Y/N’s adversity…

I don’t deserve him, Y/N thought as they pulled out of the parking lot and headed home.

Y/N sat on the couch, doodling on his tablet, one of Mark’s many sweatshirts that found their way into his closet on his body. Mark couldn’t resist the way Y/N looked in his clothes, the scent of coconut and lavender staining all of his shirts and the admiration that dripped down their necks in the nights under the moon drenching the collar of everything he put on. It was the smell of home to him, the touch of home to him, the feeling of home to him. Y/N’s fingers between his, the coffee flavoured kisses starting every one of their slow mornings. He shuffled over from the other side of the couch, raising to his knees to tower of Y/N’s huddled form and looked to the tablet to see what masterpiece he was conjuring on that screen this time. He played with Y/N’s hair, kissing his forehead and stroking his arms before scrunching his nose at Y/N’s focus on the brilliant screen between his hands.

“Y/N~” Mark kissed Y/N’s nose, earning the cutest little squeal he has ever heard in his life. “What d’you want for dinner…?” Mark straddled Y/N’s legs, playing with the hand that wasn’t vigorously scribbling on the screen with his stylus. Y/N leaned forward - eyes finally off that screen - to press his forehead to Mark’s. His big baby. Sometimes, in moments like these with the evening sunlight draped over their shoulders and the gleam of their smiles taken between their lips, he feels like he deserves this. Sometimes he deserves Mark, the most caring, affectionate, optimistic and beautiful man he’s ever met. But it just takes one day, one thing, one word to break that all down, to tell him he’s not worth him, not worth anything. The sting of his classmates’ glares still burned into his skull, etched themselves into his memories every time he and Mark kissed.

Maybe they were right - he thought. Maybe…

“Uhm~” Y/N sang into Mark’s skin, the fingers tracing the lines in his palm and the body inching itself between his thighs breaking his melody a little. His heart burned for Mark, longed for him, but did he deserve a man like that to fester the flames? To ignite the weathered stars under his skin? Sometimes when he ran his hand through Mark’s hair or listened to the symphonies of his precious heartbeats on the nights that used to leave him sleepless, he could feel his skin burn. Not with the sparks that writhe between their sweat-soaked chests, but with a toxin of those doubts that leech into every hesitant kiss he plants. “How about pizza?”

“Sounds good to me.” “You wanna come?”

“I think I’ll stay here, gotta get some stuff ready.”

“My hero.” “Turning on netflix and everything.”

“I know, superman was found jobless.”

“You’re everything superman wishes he was.” Mark headed to the door with a parting kiss Y/N wanted to last forever, until the sunset bled black. “And so much more~”

“I don’t deserve you.” Y/N widened his eyes as he realized what tripped over his tongue, he hoped Mark didn’t read into that too much.

“You deserve the world, baby.” Mark hummed into the coffee-stained air of their house before slipping out the door, making sure to send a wink Y/N’s way. The scarlet in Y/N’s cheeks bit into his skin. He wanted it to feel good, the way Mark’s sweet nothings made his cheeks burn like wildfire. But so many voices in his head, Stella, Professor Cross, that one teacher that constantly calls him Mark’s boyfriend. They all started screaming, voices in his head that tore the feeling of Mark’s lips from his skin.

As the door shut and Y/N sighed into the haze of silence settling in the house, he just let the voices twist and echo in his head and rip into his heart. He let them stifle the flames stoked between the symphonies of their twilight, he let them wash away the footprints in strawberry sands and make the coral sunlight that melts on their skin on those summer nights they’ll always cherish submerge him in pools of guilt.

“I don’t deserve you…”

Mark stumbled through the front door, kicking off his shoes with a stagger and proceeding into the surprisingly dark house. Pizza boxes in one hand, house keys in the other, he stalked into the kitchen with a cocked eyebrow. He presumed Y/N may have been napping, but he knows Y/N hates having all the lights off. Mark learned his mistake the last time they did that during one of their many journeys to thwart the waning moonlight together, Y/N in Mark’s arms as they tried their best to keep their eyes on a horror movie Mark said would be ‘just fine~’. He could still remember the popcorn they had to clean off their carpet and the nails that dug into his arms. Neither of them slept that night, but at least they had their midnight conversations and entwined grins to help ignite the starlight between them and ease the nerves that rumbled through their nervous laughter.

He sighed at the memory, still feeling the cinders of their admiration staining his fingertips as he dusted off his hands and walked towards the bedroom - going to retrieve Y/N from whatever blanket cocoon he was probably in - but instantly halted when he heard sobbing scratch at the bathroom door. Desperate and fragile sobs freezing Mark in his place. He scrambled to the sound and rushed towards the bathroom, pressing his ear up against the door.

“Y/N?” Mark didn’t hide the panic beating senseless at his throat or the stress that fested under his shaking hands. He remembered Y/N’s silence, the hollow light of his weak smiles. He remembers how Y/N’s gaze always fell to the floor and how the kisses to his fingers as of late weren’t moulded by the grin he loves to see. Why couldn’t he see this before?

He kept his forehead on the door, wincing as the sobs and whines from behind it instantly stopped as Mark called out Y/N’s name again. “Y/N… What’s wrong? Can I come in?” Mark didn’t know how to handle this… The stench of grief that oozed from under the door and rose to his ankles. He didn’t hear an answer, but pushed past the silence and saw Y/N in the corner, knees hugged to his chest. Y/N’s head snapped up to the sound of footsteps and let a gasp rip through his sobs as he clambered to his feet.

Mark put his hands on Y/N’s shoulders, stopping him in his place before he could escape.

“Y/N…”

He didn’t like this, seeing the tears rolling down Y/N’s cheeks, staining his hands and carving rivers into his skin. He sat Y/N back down onto the floor wrapping his arms around Y/N without a second thought. “What happened?”

“I...I…” Y/N tried to choke out some sort of excuse for why he was feeling this way, battling through the smoke and breaking the mirrors that housed a reflection he despised. He brought his knees closer to him, his efforts to wipe away the onslaught of tears staining his sweatshirt stopped by Mark, who took Y/N’s hands into his own and kissed his knuckles softly, his face contorted with confusion and worry. “I really don’t deserve you… The more I thought about it, what everyone’s been saying, the truer it seems.”

“Y/N- what are you talking about? You-”

“You’re the most beautiful, empathetic, loving man I have ever met. You can do anything you set your mind to and even when I decide to let my thoughts take over and consume me, you’re still there to hug me and kiss me and hold me even when I ignore you or dismiss you. Everyone is so right… You’re too good for me, your everything is too good for me, Mark. I-”

“Stop!” Mark shook his head violently, taking Y/N’s face in his hands and standing him up. “What are you talking about? Who’s making you feel this way?” Mark’s voice was barely above a whisper as he brought Y/N away from the corner, wiping his tears as he waited for an answer. Something.

Even with Y/N’s face between his hands, his eyes still looked everywhere but him, Mark couldn’t stand it. Y/N was hurt, someone was hurting him, and he wasn’t telling him who it was! “Please, Y/N tell me, who-”

“ME!” Y/N tried to push himself away. “I… I don’t have a reason, but every day I look at you, I realize how worthless I am, how I could never do anything you do, and yet you come home or pick me up and you take me in your arms and tell me that I’m perfect…”

The girls in the wallways...

“Every day I start to hate myself more and more because of who I am, what I look like, what I do or what I CAN’T do… And no matter who tells me to get over it, or that it’s just in my head, doesn’t understand that I can’t stop it!”

Stella… Professor Cross… Everyone… Everything!

“I don’t know what to do, Mark… I love you more than anything. But I don’t deserve you… I don’t deserve your smile, or your love or your compassion because I’m ME! I’m a failure, I’m just another guy who’s trying to make his dying dreams a reality. I’m a guy who thinks he has everything down pat until the test comes up and I fail again, I’m the guy who lies about his problems ‘cause I’m always told they don’t matter. I’m just a commendable, malleable second choice for everyone around me and I don’t know how to stop it!” Y/N’s sobs ripped through from between his teeth, hitched breaths boiling in his throat as he hit his head against Mark’s shoulder. His cries took up the silence in a cacophony of sadness and anguish, and the light in his eyes that Mark could embrace himself in for hours died out like the withering flames of whatever confidence he had left.

“Y/N…” Mark pulled Y/N into his embrace, hoping that his kisses to Y/N’s neck could straighten his frown or stop the chills of his cries from biting so deep. “I didn’t know you were feeling this way… I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t notice and I’m so sorry I let these thoughts get the better of you. They’re not true, not a single one.”

“It’s not your fault, Mark… It never was, please don’t blame yourself.”

“We’re each other’s responsibility, right Y/N?” Mark angled Y/N’s chin and fixed their gazes, trying to take solace in the fading galaxies that embraced his boyfriend’s teary-eyed gaze, the stars that light his nights ablaze.

Mark pulled Y/N forward and turned him towards the mirror, wrapping his arms around his waist and setting his chin on Y/N’s shoulder. With a shaky breath, he entwined their fingers and pointed towards the mirror, leaving Y/N to cock his head their reflections. “You know what I see?” Mark kissed Y/N’s neck, feeling the fires of their adoration start to dance under his skin with every second Y/N spent in Mark’s embrace. “I see the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid my eyes on-”

“But-”

Mark stifled Y/N protests and let his tongue take their place, looking at Y/N with so much purpose, so much love. Even now, when the flames between their skin are just tiny sparks, even when the sunsets in their skies are pale with their cries and the tears drenching their hands and cheeks dwindle the lights in their eyes. Mark’s admiration never wavers, will never waver even if anybody wants to tell Y/N otherwise.

“You know what I see…?” Mark nudged Y/N’s nose with his, the small chuckle he earned from between Y/N’s lips made his hopeful smile that much brighter. “A gorgeous, compassionate individual, who is also an amazing artist and the best boyfriend a guy like me could ever ask for. You will never be a failure, Y/N, the mistakes you make now will only help you become an even more perfect guy if that’s possible. I know it’s hard to realize, especially now babe, but what those people down the hall or up the creek or whatever say, shouldn’t matter. They’re the same people that will marvel at every single thing you’ll create through those beautiful, beautiful hands. I can’t completely understand what you’re going through, but I’m here to stand with you, I’m here to help you respect yourself because you deserve it, Y/N. It’s hard to hear the love when the hate speaks so loud, I know… What others say though, shouldn’t affect you like this, they aren’t you, they don’t know what your can do or what your precious, pure heart is capable of. I know you love me so much. I know that. Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve you, with the weird looks we used to get in public or those people that don’t know what love is or how free it should be. But when I drop by to pick you up or come home and see that smile and hear your beautiful voice, it helps me believe. It helps me believe that I’m worthy to wake up next to you or to see you embody the moonlight you hold in your hands.” Mark took a breath, looking up into the mirror to see Y/N’s teary-eyed gaze and a smile as brilliant as the sheets of starlight that drape around their shoulders on the nights they’ll never forget.

Y/N whipped around and threw his arms around Mark, the arms instantly tightening around his waist and the lips ghosting his ear leaving Y/N’s sobs as nothing more than shrivelling whispers behind Y/N’s grin. The flames of their admiration that lapped at their hearts in delicate flames burst under their fingertips and spiralled between their breaths. Mark pressed his forehead to Y/N’s, the sweetness of Y/N’s skin that ran under his lips like velvet and the light of his smile that made the sun look like a shadow made his chest swell in happiness. The wildfires embracing them and their hearts lifting the haze that choked out their sobs and letting their breaths of ease mould the soft kisses Mark traced Y/N’s cheeks with.

“I love you, Y/N. You mean so much to me… I just want to show you how special you are, not just to me, but to yourself too…” Mark’s breath was caught in his throat as Y/N entwined their lips with a flourish, tongues caressing lips that curled into grins as soon as Mark’s back hit the wall. Tear stained breaths burned up in cinders to reveal languishing sighs, the streams of sunlight now stained with their quiet laughter and the ruby red that painted their kisses.

“I… I don’t know what to say…” Y/N held the hands that cupped his cheeks and pressed them to his chest, kissing Mark’s knuckles as their giggles ignited the dreary darkness of their bathroom. “I didn’t expect all of that, thank you, Mark. I love you more than anything and you mean the world to me. I’m sorry-”

“No apologizing!” Mark freed his hands and messed with Y/N’s hair, scrunching his nose and burying his kisses into the hair he would knead through as the summer rain sang it’s melodies at their window, or when the glow of the clementine skies of their autumn evenings finished carving out the ripples of their sheets and ran weathered between their restless hands. He draped his arms around Y/N’s waist, looking down to his pout he couldn’t help but kiss away with a blissful, lovestruck grin plastered onto his face. Y/N just leaned onto Mark’s chest, breathing out into the symphonies of silence that surrounded them and the violet evening that began to bloom above the rooftop of their house.

They enjoyed the silence that draped over them like the ashen sheets just two doors over that housed their safest sounds, the amber sunlight stepping through the door and painting their grins gold like the honey that embraced their most cherished memories.

“Now, I, as your amazing, loving boyfriend brought home pizza that’s probably freezing cold by now. Would you care to accompany me on my journey to the microwave?” Mark let his stray fingertips prod at Y/N’s waistband, failing to hide his smile as playful shrieks soaked into his neck - music to his ears.

Y/N just remembered why Mark went out in the first place, making him wince into Mark’s skin. He hummed at Mark’s proposal.

“Microwaved pizza… How romantic…” Y/N followed Mark out of the bathroom, tightening the knot of devotion that burned between their interlaced fingers, their giggles spinning into the gold that dripped from their smiles. The sweetness of the air following them out into their hallway that surrounded all of their midnight walks down the block shoving their heads under the reckless waves of their ocean.

“I’m honoured, my beloved.” Mark playfully nudged Y/N towards the wall, pressing him up on it and taking his skin between his lips. “I love you, baby…”

Y/N looked into Mark’s eyes, auburn gemstones of untainted beauty. The one place he could truly see himself - suspended in Mark’s star-studded gaze. Mark was the flowered path of happiness and acceptance he longed for every day the full moon peeked out to talk with him on his lonely nights. He did deserve this, he thought. He deserved to savour the air that stings with the sunlight they stir every morning, the fingers that tangle in his hair and worship him like a treasure, the ivory spotlight that hangs over their dancing tongues, the desire stuck between their teeth and dripping from garnet lips. Maybe he did.

As he cradled Mark’s cheeks with hands scorched by the beautiful novas that burned between their lips, they let the blissful silence ignite between them and allowed their fingers to wander across skin they were blessed to memorize every inch of under the spotlight of the stars.

“I know, Mark. And I’ll never forget it.”

“You better not.”

#kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop lgbt #lgbtq #kpop x reader #kpop x male reader #got7 x male reader #got7 mark x male reader #mark tuan x male reader #got7 x reader #mark x reader #mark x male reader #mark tuan x reader #writing

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samthemarvelfan · 4 years

Text

Graveyard: Prologue

Summary: Waking up on a trash heap is never ideal. Getting imprisoned on a planet you’ve never heard of? That’s way worse. Ella was one of Asgard fiercest and most cunning protectors, but when Loki’s rebellion threatens her people’s safety, she’s made it her mission to do one thing and one thing only; kill him. By any means necessary.

Pairing: Loki Odinson x OFC

Warnings: Imprisonment, fight scenes, general calamity, canon typical brouhaha.

A/N: So idk where this is gonna go just yet, but here’s a lil tasty morsel. This is my first non-Bucky fic! and it features my first Marvel love--Loki <3 Tags are open :)

The acrid smell of rust and filth surrounded you as you woke.

Sitting up, you realize that, once again, you’d awoken in your cell. Wishful thinking kept alive the hope that this was all a dream.

“Raaagg!” The guard with the tentacles shouted as he chucked the tray of mush under your door.

You grimaced at the sight of the chunky grayish-blue mush. “Thanks a lot.” You mumble as he walks away.

“...asshole.”

The substance jiggled when you poked it. Begrudgingly, you spooned some into your mouth. How could something this color taste like rotten carrots?

“Morning, Ella.” Korg said through your bars.

You smiled halfheartedly at him. “Hi Korg. Where’s Miek?”

“Ah, he’s part of the welcome wagon today.” He said cheerfully. “I guess a special guest arrived last night.”

You nod, eating your mush. “Really? Who is it this time?” You didn’t care, it was just nice to have a conversation with someone who could actually speak your language.

“Not sure, you know. But rumor has it he’s a King.” He said.

Rolling your eyes, you looked to him, “Aren’t they all.” The words dripped with sarcasm.

“No. Not everyone.” He said plainly. Korg was a...simple guy, sarcasm often escaped him.

“I know, Korg...I—forget it. I’ll see you tomorrow?” You ask.

“Actually, rumor has it a few prisoners are being released to the work shed to make room for new ones. I put a good word in for you!” He said happily.

Your head perked up. “Really? Thank you, Korg!”

“No sweat. Well, I have to go draw and quarter some Skartelians. Bye-bye, then!”

When Korg had left your cell front, it was once again just you, your slop, and the first glimmer of hope you had. A chance to finally be out of this fresh hell.

You’d forgotten how long you’d been in this place; a week? Maybe two? A month?

The days were long and they all blurred together. Your only solace was plotting your revenge against that repulsive megalomaniac who put you here in the first place.

The day before your capture:

“We must get to Heimdall.” Sif whispered to you. “The people need to leave this place before he enslaves them all.”

Your bloodshot eyes scanned the area. The sound of the riots outside grew louder, and guards patrolled every exit.

Almost every one.

“Sif, look.” You said, nodding to the archway just off the main corridor.

Your stealth is something you were known for. Being as clever and cunning and careful as any warrior before you. Not only that, but Sif had been the one that trained you for battle. You were just as fierce and skilled as she was.

The cold stone of the pillar pressed against your back, “I’m going. One of us needs to tell Heimdall to open the bifrost.”

Loki had cloaked the palace in a spell, blinding those in and around it from Heimdall’s sight.

She nodded, “I’ll give you as much cover as I can.”

You crouched and rolled a ways to get to the next pillar. Your steps and movements were so light, not even you heard them.

The palace guards had just done a rotation to the next corridor, and that’s when you made your breakaway.

You slipped through the archway with ease and began running down the stairs. The cobbled flights of steps were your last hurdle, then it was just a long, but mad dash down the bridge to get to Heimdall.

“Going somewhere?”

You froze. Your foot had just touched the last step, but it was too late. You’d been caught...he had caught you.

“Hm, it looks like you are. Perhaps running to that golden eyed oaf to tell him what I’ve done?”

Loki.

You swallowed thickly.

“What’s the matter, darling? Cat got your tongue?” He smirked.

“Another cheap trick? Had to conjure up a spell because you couldn’t find me yourself?” You spat back at him.

Loki began circling you. When he was right behind you, he spoke next to your ear. “Why don’t you make a run for it and see?”

It was a test. But you knew Loki would never be out here, so close to the riots. The ‘scourge of the kingdom’ rebelling against his reign and rule over Asgard.

“Alright.” You turn quickly on your heel and sprint.

You made it 20 feet when a log appeared out of no where right under your feet. You hurdled forward, stumbling and rolling on the ground.

The slam of the dirt knocked the wind clean out of you.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk...” Loki tutted. “Next time toss a pebble. That’d be a much wiser test.”

You stood as quickly as you could, and charged him. “I’d rather toss a dagger.” Your blades dropped from your sleeves into your grasp.

Slashing at him, the blade narrowly missed his throat. He stepped back smoothly, circling himself around you, before casting his duplication spell.

Suddenly you were surrounded by dozens of him. Each of them taunting you.

“Come and get me.”

Slash

“I’m over here!”

Slash

“Did you miss me?”

All attempts futile. The God of Mischief certainly was worthy of the name.

“You coward! Fight me!” You shout.

In a snap, the copies disappeared. Loki stood behind you, and cleared his throat. “Would you really kill your King, Ellaria?” He asked, using your full name.

“I’m not loyal to a throne, nor am I loyal to a murderer.” You seethe breathlessly.

Loki’s jaw clenched as he took a step away from you.

“Guards?” He said simply.

Suddenly, a dozen Asgardian soldiers surrounded you. “Please escort this little minx to the dungeons.”

You were trapped. The golden men circled you as Loki watched, enjoying the torment.

“Ella! Now!” You heard Sif shout. She had her crossbow at the ready, and fired on the guards. At her fastest, she could fire 30 arrows a minute, plenty to take out a dozen guards.

In an instant, their shields went up, and Loki crouched behind them. “Stop her!” He shouted, staring at Sif.

“Loki...” you called.

He turned quickly, and you slashed you dagger across his face, leaving a small gash on his cheek bone.

His fingertips went to feel for blood, and sure enough, it began to drip.

Loki laughed, his teeth chewing on his lip.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” You smirked.

You planted your boot on the shield of the guard next to you. They were all crouched so it was easier than expected. Backflipping out of the circle of them, you ran as fast as you could down the bridge, praying Loki’s spell didn’t cast that far.

“Heimdall! Heimdall!” You scream.

A quick glance over your shoulder confirms your wonder if you were being chased yet.

“Heimdall! Open the bifrost!” You’re screeching now.

Suddenly, the bridge shakes. He’d heard you!

“Ellaria, stop!” Loki shouts from behind you. You glance to see he’s on a horse, riding fast.

Your lungs expand once more, but before sound escapes you, you see a tidal way approaching you. Angry water pulled from the sea beneath you barreling down from behind you.

“Heimdall! Open the bifrost! Please!” You’re desperate. The maniac chasing you had indeed cast a spell; one to end your life.

You watched as the bifrost began to spin, he’d heard you at last!

Suddenly the wave over took you, launching you down the length of the bridge towards Heimdall.

You were rolling and churning in the waters Loki had cast, running out of air fast.

You’d gotten sent so far by the massive wave, somehow you been forced past Heimdall and into the still-turning stream of light that was the bifrost.

The surge of energy sent your body into a whirlwind. You were soaring through the universe in an iridescent ray of light made of enough energy to light up a continent.

After what seemed like mere seconds, you felt yourself enter and atmosphere. Shortly after that, you’d landed on a pile of...trash?

The tingles rushing through your body drained you. You’d never been in the bifrost alone before, and it was clear your body couldn’t handle the amount of power surging around it.

Clicks and pops made you open your eyes. Shielding them from the sun with your hand, you found yourself surrounded by humanoid creatures of every size and color.

They were speaking. Communicating to one another.

“Help me. Please help me.” You begged, hoping feigning weakness would stop any unwanted hostility.

The orange creature reached his hand out--a hand with eight fingers, and you took it. He hoisted you up to your feet, and gave you a half smile.

“Thank you.”

He nodded, “Mezbanjala fo tutu.” He clicked his tongue quickly.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t understand you.” You said, shaking your head.

The group of creatures eyes suddenly widened, and the lot of them began shouting and running away.

“Hey! Wha--”

You felt a sharp pain in your neck, and then everything went black.

#Loki #Loki Angst #loki x reader #loki x ofc #loki fanfic

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izaswritings · 4 years

Text

Title: Faults of the Mind

Synopsis: Having escaped the perils of the Dark Kingdom, Rapunzel finally returns home—but all is not well in the Kingdom of Corona, and the black rocks are quickly becoming the least of her troubles. Meanwhile, over a thousand miles away, Varian struggles with new powers and his own conscience.

The labyrinth has fallen into rubble. A great evil stirs in the world beyond. The Dark Kingdom may be behind them, but the true journey is just beginning—and neither Rapunzel nor Varian can survive it on their own.

Warnings for: violence, cursing, aftermath of trauma, references to past blood and death, references to past character injuries, and lingering effects of trauma. If there’s anything you think I missed, please let me know and I’ll add it on here.

AO3 version is here.

Arc I: Labyrinths of the Heart can be found here!

Previous chapters are here.

Chapter IV: The Question

At last, the radiant Sun met the lovely Moon—but in her excitement, she had unwittingly chased her away.

In the days that followed, their failed first meeting haunted the Sun, dimmed her light and joy. Though she had never been bothered by her loneliness before, now it ached deep within her, an arrow to her heart. No matter what she did, her mind drew back to the woman from the water, her soundless dance and her peaceful face. That instant in which they were in harmony—that single, breathless moment when song and dance were one—tortured her throughout all the coming days and nights.

The world did its best to comfort her, but Sun could not be consoled. Even singing could not ease the ache, for when she sang, her thoughts turned always to the lovely stranger, and her voice would falter and catch. And soon the Sun could not deny the truth any longer. She wanted to apologize. She wanted to explain herself.

But most of all, she wanted nothing more than to see that lovely moonlight woman once again.

The lovely Moon, however, did not agree…

Varian doesn’t know how long they run.

Time passes him by in a blur, the world distant and fuzzy to his eyes. Yasmin drags him forward, and Varian follows, his mind blank, his thoughts dead and cold. He is aware, distantly, of what’s happened—the pirates, the black rocks, Moon, escaping—but it’s a distant kind of awareness, as if belonging to someone else. He feels numb and uncomfortably far away, floaty without the freedom.

It must take ages to return to the house, but Varian isn’t cognizant for any of it. He blinks and the city is gone, replaced by dirt roads. Blinks again, and the sun is low in the sky, the coastal sand fading to farmland. Blinks yet again, and the sun is dark red against the horizon and evening is swiftly approaching them, and Yasmin is shoving open the door of her home, the shadows long and stark against her face.

She pushes Varian inside roughly, turns on her heel and closes the door with a bang. The sound makes Varian jump, but Yasmin drags him down the hall before he can even think to speak. The kitchen is backlit by a warm sunset glow through the windows, Ella and Adira both sitting down with food before them, and the quiet peace of it all makes Varian’s head spin.

It is a peace, however, that is swiftly shattered. Ella looks stunned by their rapid arrival, frozen still in surprise, but Adira stands outright, alarm flashing across her usually composed face. She looks between Varian and Yasmin, the blood on their clothes and the dust in their hair, and inhales sharply. “What—”

“Sit,” Yasmin says to Varian, ignoring her, and pushes him down in a chair before striding to the stovetops, a whirlwind of motion and focused intent. Varian slumps in the chair, feeling dazed. Ella’s eyes dart back and forth between them, and something in Varian’s expression must give him away, because she stands too, rushing to the cupboards.

“I’ll put on some tea—”

“Thank you, Ella, and if there is any food left, the boy needs to eat something before he passes out—”

Adira raps her hand against the table, her eyes flashing, drawing attention back to her. “Yasmin. What happened.”

“Pirates,” Yasmin snaps back, taking Ella’s offered cup of tea and downing it in one swallow. She snatches a heavier winter coat off a nearby hook and throws it over her shoulder, then goes to rummage through a kitchen drawer. From the depths she draws out a sheathed dagger, wicked sharp in the light, and hitches it to her side. “Pirates and cannons and unfortunately timed earthquakes, and your little Moondrop proving he is very much haunted by the gods after all, you goddamn liar.” She slams the drawer shut. “I am going out. I cannot say when I shall return.”

“Haunted?” Adira repeats sharply. Her eyes flash to Varian. He stares blankly at the floor, feeling her gaze bore into the back of his neck. A small loaf of bread is forced into his hands by Ella, and he picks at the crust and says nothing.

“Black rocks have sprouted all over the city. Few in the farmlands, from what I saw coming back, but Port Caul itself?” Yasmin shakes her head, as if unable to put the sight into words. “Watch him. He has not spoken since.” She turns to Varian. “Do not leave. Do not do anything to push yourself past your limits. If you summon the rocks out here, who knows what will happen?” Her eyes flash to Adira. “Keep an eye out for him.”

Adira stands, hand white-knuckled on the hilt of her sword. “I’m going with you.”

“No, you will do no such thing.” Yasmin tugs on the heavy coat, leaning down to relace her boots. “If this is what I think it is, what we discussed, then it is more important than ever that things continue as planned. There is no time to waste, Adira.” She straightens. “Please, old friend. I understand your feelings, but I would feel infinitely better if you stayed here.”

A tense silence. At long last, Adira gives a short nod, mouth twisted half-way to a grimace. “…Of course. I’ll keep them safe.”

Yasmin’s shoulders drop, a near-invisible relief. “Thank you.” Preparations seemingly complete, Yasmin steps towards Ella, pressing a brief kiss against her lips. The other reaches up and tangles her hand in Yasmin’s hair. For a moment they linger, foreheads pressed together.

“…Be safe,” Ella says, at last, voice tight. Her words are nearly a whisper, something soft and pained, and Varian looks away, feeling like an intruder.

“I will.” Yasmin presses one last kiss to Ella’s cheek, then pulls away, marching off to the door. “Stay close to the house, all of you! Watch the windows. It is unlikely the pirates will come this far out, but more unlucky things have already occurred today. I will be back as soon as I can.”

And then, just like that—the pound of her footsteps cut short; the door, swinging shut. Yasmin, gone again.

The others go quiet once the door shuts, caught in a stillness. Adira looks at Varian briefly and then shakes her head, marching away. Ella exhales soft and shaky and leans against the wall, eyes closed in something like prayer. Then she too pushes herself upright, inhaling deep and steady before walking out of the kitchen, her footsteps pounding up the stairs, her voice a distant murmur as she begins to mutter.

Varian alone is left in the kitchen. He stays there, feeling weak, chewing half-heartedly on the bit of bread still in his hands. It’s fresh, sort of salty, not too hard or too soft—and yet. It tastes like blood and ash in his mouth, and it takes all he has to keep eating it. It’s that or pass out, and—

Well. Varian can’t risk dreaming, not right now.

(If he has to see the Moon again, so soon, after all this—)

The world fades in and out of awareness again; he finishes the bread sometime between spacing out and waking up. Varian stares at his feet, breathing shallow and heart aching. His hand hurts. He is so tired he can barely stand, exhaustion like a stone tied around his neck, bone-deep and striking. He closes his eyes.

He doesn’t understand what’s happened. The satchel—Rapunzel’s satchel, and for some reason that fact is at the forefront of his mind right now—is heavy on his shoulders, the strap digging uncomfortably snug against the side of his neck. Inside, the hollow crystal and the alchemical materials still rest secure in their neat packaging. It’s—it’s almost laughable. This morning feels like something from a dream. His conversation with Yasmin—the market—

It feels like a different world, now.

It’s been so long. Six months! Six months since the labyrinth, since the Moon, since Varian took Rapunzel’s hand and the Opal with it. Six months of waiting, of moving on… of dreaming, of hearing that whisper in his ears, of feeling that echo of a presence by his side.

He can’t deny magic, anymore. Can’t deny that this is all way, way more than anything Varian’s ever dealt with, no matter the miracles he’s made through alchemy. But… he doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want any of this. Six months ago, when that whisper first started and the dreams first began… he’d felt a terror so deep and endless that he hadn’t known what else to do except ignore it.

And so. For all these past few months, Varian has pretended otherwise. He has ignored the way pain spasms up his hand—the hand he took the Opal with, the hand marked with magic, veins so blue it no longer looks natural—ignored the whispers in his ears, the presence by his side, the chills down his spine. Has ignored, for months, that—that feeling, that strange, immeasurable distance within him. The sense of a cliff-edge, of a darkness, and if he looked too far and for too long, he’d fall, and never be able to drag himself out…

Months upon months of pretending he was fine, and now it’s all come crashing down on his head.

That feeling—that awful pit, the hollow, the power unnatural—is gone now. Varian gets the awful, looming sense that whatever happened today, whatever happened in Port Caul… he has already fallen.

The voice, he’s heard. The—the sense of someone else there, he’s felt it. But this is the first time he’s seen the Moon. The first time her voice has rang clear and cold in his head, instead of distant and ghostly. The first time Varian has ever, ever summoned the rocks.

I did that, he thinks, remembering the way the pirate’s scream cut off, the way the rocks tore through the city. I did that.

His eyes itch. His tears burn down his face. Varian stares at his closed fist, white knuckles and red-half circles from where bitten nails are clawing into his palm, and thinks: I can never go home again.

Stupid thought, really. He can’t go home in general. But he can’t shake the feeling that this is it, the last line crossed. The final—hah! —black mark. The rocks that destroyed his life and his hometown, the thing that started it all… and now, they’re his. Varian’s problem. Varian’s fault. Varian’s.

It’s all very ironic, Varian thinks, half-hysterical, and lays his head down on the kitchen table in a useless attempt to stop shaking.

“Varian.”

He flinches, curling in on himself. He doesn’t look up. He doesn’t want to deal with Adira right now. He doesn’t want to deal with anyone.

“Varian.”

Oh, good. The No-Nonsense tone.

Varian forces himself to lift his head, well aware that ignoring her won’t make her go away. Adira, back from wherever she’d wandered off to, stands tall in the kitchen doorway, frowning down at him, her arms crossed. She looks the same as ever, despite everything—annoyed at him, bored with the rest of the world, etcetera—yet, somehow, there is something strangely off about her too. Something in the set of her shoulders, maybe, or the pull of her mouth, or the tension around her eyes. If Varian didn’t know better, he’d say she looks troubled, oddly restless, her eyes flickering back over Varian’s shoulder like the weight of her gaze can bore through the wall and reveal the rock-invested image of Port Caul on the horizon.

Varian stares dully back at her, unsure of what to make of it. Her heavy gaze makes him self-conscious; he shifts, uncertain, and scrubs at his face with his sleeve to wipe away the tears. To his surprise, his cheeks are dry. He’s barely cried at all, Varian realizes. It just hurts—a tension in his face, behind his eyes, like a dam built up full to bursting. He is—quite hilariously—apparently too anxious to cry.

Adira still hasn’t said anything. Varian drops his eyes to the floor. “What do you want?”

A pause, and then the soft rustle of her footsteps. Her shadow falls over him. “How long have you been moping here, Moony?”

The nickname, usually just annoying, makes him flinch. He grits his teeth.

Adira’s cheek twitches, an aborted wince. Something almost like regret shadows her face, but it’s gone by the time Varian blinks. “…I know this may be a hard concept for you to grasp,” she says, recovering neatly. “But overthinking this will just make things worse.”

“Oh, yeah?” Varian lifts his head, something bitter twisting in his gut. “What else should I be doing, then? If you know so much.”

Adira’s expression doesn’t even twitch, the spoilsport. Her jaw is tight, her expression firm and decided. “Not this,” she says, and steps back, gesturing him up with one lazy hand. “Head out to the backyard. I’ll bring the staffs.” She nods to herself. “Training will help.”

Training has never helped, but Varian is too tired to argue with her. Besides—even training must be better than his own thoughts, right now. He pushes up from the table and follows her to the backyard garden.

Still, his mouth goes dry. When Adira tosses him the training staff—dense, wooden, and blunt due to Adira claiming Varian would sooner stab himself on live steel than excel at it, in her own exact words—he almost fumbles the catch, his hands clumsy and slow. The staff weighs heavy and awkward in his inexperienced hands, still as graceless as he was six months ago when these training bouts first started. This is going to be a disaster.

Across from him, Adira slides into a stance. Varian mutely copies her, feeling like a puppet in his own body. The weight of the staff pulls hard at his aching arms.

“Begin,” Adira says, and swings her staff for his head.

The world falls away again, confined to this small patch of grass and the trading of blows. Adira hits him more than he dodges her, and Varian never manages a hit against her at all. The sharp rap of her staff against his knuckles and side are harsh but not painful. The worst he’s ever gotten from these sessions are faint bruises and sore muscles.

Still, every failure strikes him all the harder. He can’t dodge right. He can’t even hit her. He misses alchemy, he misses not fighting. His head spins. Adira’s staff smacks against his ankle, his forearm, his back. He’s doing worse than usual. He can’t remember what he’s supposed to do. He forgets how to block, the right way to parry. He can’t…

Varian misjudges a swing, and Adira’s next hit sends him crashing to the ground, flat on his back. He gasps for breath, dizzy and sick, and closes his eyes against the sting of tears. Oh, look, there’s the waterworks. Too little, too late.

Adira raps her staff against the ground. “Get up.”

He throws a hand over his eyes. “No.”

“Moony—”

“It’s not helping.”

“You aren’t even trying to let it help.” She sounds irritated. “What the hell happened at the market?”

“…I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Tough.” Adira bears down on him, and Varian only just rolls out of the way from a hit that would have ended with him wheezing face-first in the dirt. “What happened?”

“The rocks—the Moon—” Soft laughter in his ears, an echo of the wind—he almost trips. It’s his imagination. It’s his imagination. “There, there was this pirate, and she was in the mirror, the Moon was, and then—and then—the pirate—” He stops mid-motion, understanding striking him numb. His eyes burn. His words tremble. “I think I killed him.”

Adira pauses, then pulls back. Her expression is unreadable. “Moony—”

He turns his face away.

“You didn’t kill him.”

“I heard him scream.”

“If the rocks got him, if the rocks got anyone… then it wasn’t you.” He looks up, reluctant. Adira stares down at him, her expression grim. “It was the Moon. Maybe she used you as a conduit to do it, but it wasn’t your hand, and it wasn’t your fault.”

“But I was—”

“Summoning enough rocks to cover a whole city, on your first try, when you didn’t mean to or want to?” Adira scoffs. “Trust me, Moony. With a power that new, the only way that’d be possible is if it wasn’t you who did it at all. It wasn’t you.”

Varian looks away.

Adira sighs, and he sees the tip of her staff lower, digging into the dirt. “What else.”

His fingers curl. “That’s it.”

“You’re so goddamn tense you’re actually shaking with it. What else?”

He glowers at the ground, stubbornly silent.

Adira’s lips press in a thin line. “…Did the Moon say anything, when she appeared to you?”

Varian twitches, unable to stop himself. Hello, child. He tries to hide his flinch with a scowl, but by his side, his fists clench. “That’s… who gives a damn what she says, anyway?”

Adira shakes her head, frustration bleeding through her tone. “There must be a reason. Why now? Why not sooner? Why was this event the spark?” She scowls. “It’s been six months—so why did she show up today?”

Don’t go. Don’t go there.

You don’t want to be here.

The memory of this morning, that strange whisper, hits him suddenly. He turns his head away, unsettled, but the words echo, persistent in his ears. Soft and ghostly, and, if Varian is being honest with himself—familiar.

Hello, child.

Varian picks himself off the dirt and brushes the loose soil from his shirt. The sun has fallen entirely behind the horizon by now, only the faintest hue of burning red left to illuminate their not-quite training session. The shadows stretch long and thin, like reaching fingers—Adira and Varian both cast in darkness.

“I don’t know,” he says, finally, his voice quiet. “I don’t know.”

He wishes he knew. He mulls over the echoes, the dreams, the flashes in the mirror. Thinks back on that odd, ghostly whisper in the back of his mind at all hours of the day, the sudden shock-cold warning. This morning, as he walked to the city with Yasmin… he cannot deny it any longer. The Moon had tried to warn him away from the market—away from Port Caul.

He’s almost certain it was her. Varian just doesn’t understand why.

To be fair, though, he’s never understood the Moon. The tower, the Moondrop… the labyrinth, and why she trapped them there—whatever her reasoning, whatever her goals, Varian hasn’t a single idea.

Adira searches his face, then steps back. Her staff thumps hard against the ground, frustration given form. “Well. Don’t beat yourself up about it. I’ve been chasing stories about that stupid god for years, and even I don’t have much clue.” Left unspoken, but clearly implied: if even Adira doesn’t know the answer, then Varian has no hope at all.

“Mm.” He hates not knowing, though. How annoying.

Still. It’s not his only worry, and… and Adira’s being oddly talkative today. Oddly helpful, in her own frustrating way. He peaks through his bangs at her, wondering. Yasmin’s comment on him being the Moondrop… the way Adira’s acting… he wishes he hadn’t run away, that night. Yasmin’s right. He should have stayed and eavesdropped on all of their conversation, if all this change is what came of it.

He dares to ask. “Adira…?”

She turns to him.

“…What are we going to do now?”

Adira considers him. Settles back on her heels. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—” The merchants’ talk, the pirates, the attack on Port Caul. The way everyone in the market seemed terrified when the pirates had attacked… but not surprised. “This is happening all over, isn’t it? And now Port Caul’s been…” His throat closes up. “You’ve been chasing this, haven’t you?”

Adira tilts her head, expression oddly unreadable. “…I have.”

“So—” Varian bites his lip. “We didn’t get to Port Caul in time to help. So what now?”

Adira looks at him for a long moment. In the growing evening gloom, it’s difficult to read her face, but in the fading reaches of light, her dark eyes almost seem to glow.

“I didn’t come to Port Caul to stop an attack,” Adira says, at last. Varian almost falls over. Is she—actually telling him!? “I admit, I didn’t think one would happen this soon. I just came for the information.”

She pauses, grimacing briefly. “There’s something about all this that rings—false, to me. Yasmin agrees. The attacks on the port cities read less like a battle and more like…” She trails off, hesitating—then sighs. “Like practice.”

“Practice?” Realization strikes. “You mean—the market was just—?”

“A test run? Probably. You may have noticed it yourself. The pirates come in, kill a few guards, burn a few homes… and then they’re gone. Nothing stolen. Nothing gained. Just… brutality for the sake of blood.” She taps her staff against the ground, tracing a route through the dirt. “Yasmin’s sources all collaborate. The pirate attacks—instead of riches, they’re gathering threat, credibility, danger. Countries all across the continent are beginning to panic. Trade is life. These pirates are threatening that… and so far, they’ve yet to be caught.”

His mind races. Varian doesn’t know much about politics, but in this, he doesn’t have to. It’s like a logic puzzle. There’s really only one true conclusion. “They’re gearing up to take on a bigger target. A… large-scale attack.” Something in his own words chills him. “Worse than the market?”

Adira’s expression is grim. The sunset turns her bright face-paint to a bloody red. “Far worse,” she says, cold and certain. “Given what happened today… when the real battle starts, it’s going to be a bloodbath.”

Varian swallows hard. He feels like a heavy stone has fallen and sunk straight to his belly. His mouth is dry. He can imagine it all too easily. The chaos and destruction of the market, blown up to a city-wide scale. For a moment his mind flashes back, vivid and violent: the guard on the ground, newly dead, and the way the pirate looked up and smiled.

He bites his tongue against the bile, lightheaded from the memory. The wind howls up a storm around him, and Varian shivers in the evening air. “…What’s the real target?”

Adira doesn’t answer.

“Adira? Do you know?” Something cold settles in his chest. “Do, do we have to find out? But—if we don’t figure it out in time—”

“You seem oddly invested in this,” Adira interrupts, toneless. “Playing hero, Moony?”

“I—I’m not—” Varian flushes. “Well, you’ve dragged me into this, haven’t you?” Besides. “And after today, I don’t—I don’t want to see that again.” The pirate, smiling. The guard’s still form, blood scattered across the cobblestone. Like something from a memory.

It’s different. It’s different. It has to be. Varian’s attack on Corona’s capital with Ruddiger’s beast form may have ended in a lot of injuries, but no one was killed. Hurt, yes, but no one died. It’s not the same—

But still. His heart is lodged in his throat. “I don’t want that to happen again. Not to somewhere else. And, and if I can help…”

Adira looks down at him. There is something heavy about her gaze. Something oddly judging. “I see,” she says, and something firms in her voice. Her jaw tightens. And then—

“It’s Corona.”

Varian opens his mouth. No sound comes out.

“Yasmin is certain. So am I. Corona Kingdom is the greatest trade power on the western side of this continent, and further, the pirates are closing it in on all sides. Scuffles are already being reported on the Coronan border. The capital hasn’t been attacked just yet… but then, it’s only a matter of time.”

“Wait. Wait.” Varian can’t breathe. “That’s—it can’t—I—”

“What’s the matter?” Adira’s voice is light. Her eyes are hard. “I thought you wanted to help.”

“I—I do, I just—I can’t—!”

“Can’t what? How does Corona being the target change anything?” Adira slams her staff against the dirt, as if in emphasis. “I don’t plan on making my presence known. If you do as I say, you won’t be caught—so there are no worries there.”

“That’s not it! I just—”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“That’s—”

He fumbles for the words, not even knowing what it is he wants to say. The beginnings of fury flashes bright in Adira’s eyes, and deepens with every second of silence, a storm clouding her face.

“I can’t,” Varian says, at last, uselessly, and Adira’s patience finally snaps.

“This is your problem, Moony!” Adira whips the staff up and points it right at him, smacking him lightly in the chest. The force is enough to send Varian rocking back on his heels, stunned. “This, right here! You get upset—you get angry—and then you run, and nothing gets solved!” Her voice sharpens. “It’s been months. I gave you space, I gave you time to come to grips with things, but all you’ve done is ignored them more. Well, Moony, we’re both out of time. I’ve bought three days of sanctuary from Yasmin. Then I head to Corona. That is fact.” Her chin rises. “The question is, boy, are you coming with me?”

Varian is silent, struck speechless. His head spins. Whatever calm he’s managed to regain is lost, fallen through his fingers like loose sand. Trying to put these feelings into words is like trying to catch rain with only his hands; no matter how hard he tries, it slips away from him. All he knows is this—the sudden grip in his chest, the breath strangled in his throat, his dry mouth and his aching head and his sudden clammy palms. Corona. Corona, Rapunzel, Eugene, Cassandra—Old Corona. The King and Queen.

Dad.

It’s too much. First the pirates—then the Moon—the black rocks… and now, this? He can’t do this. He just can’t.

“Varian.” For all that Varian has always hated Adira’s nickname for him, somehow hearing his actual name from her is worse. “Are you coming with me?”

“I—I—”

The pirates. Corona. A bloodbath, Adira had said. Images dance behind his eyes. Blood on the cobblestone, still bodies in the streets.

I didn’t kill anyone!

But he’d hurt them.

(They hurt me.)

It’s too much, too soon. His vision swims. Varian backs away from her, shaking his head. “I—I don’t know.”

“Look, kid—”

“I don’t know, okay!” His hands rise, tangle in his hair. He tugs hard enough for it to hurt, but it’s not enough to distract from the sudden burning pain in his ear, the awful awareness of his own scars. “I don’t care!”

Something flashes in Adira’s eyes, an emotion halfway between anger and grief. “You should care. This is—”

“I don’t care!”

“Varian!”

“I don’t care!” He yanks at his hair, fingers catching on the knots, pulling hard. “I can’t—I don’t want—I don’t know!” His blood is burning. His torn ear tingles. “I don’t know, I don’t want to know, I—”

“Varian!”

Later, he will think—she probably didn’t mean to do it. Likely did not intend. Maybe she was reaching for his wrist, to stop him from yanking his hair; maybe she simply meant to shake him. Or maybe, he will consider, hesitant, unsure: maybe it was this. Maybe Adira was frightened too, and simply reacted.

It changes little of the facts.

In the end, the backhand takes Varian completely by surprise.

Adira’s hand cracks so hard across his face his head snaps to the side, his shouting cut off to a gasp. Everything blanks, his thoughts and emotions all snapped away by the shock. The force of the blow makes him stumble, just barely keeping his feet, and already, pain starts to creep across his face, bright and searing.

Varian touches at his face, his cheek already stinging, and feels numb. He doesn’t even breathe. She’s never—for all her training, for all their fights, Adira has never, ever hit him—

He looks up, and—he doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t understand the expression on her face. She’s gone pale, wide-eyed, and yet, that emotion—it’s not anger. He has seen Adira angry before, rolling eyes and snapped insults. This is something else.

Fear, Varian realizes suddenly, and ice bleeds through his veins, a sudden shock of cold. It’s fear. She is looking at him like she’s seeing something else in his place. She is looking…

…right past him.

Behind him.

No.

But already, Adira’s eyes have fallen to her hand, horror bleeding in her blank expression. She looks as surprised as Varian feels. Her eyes go wide. Her hand drops. She steps back. “I—”

But Varian isn’t listening anymore. Some awful shadow has fallen over him, a budding suspicion creeping its way through his lungs. He turns around, following her gaze, and the sight nearly brings him to his knees.

Oh. Oh.

The black rocks.

He can’t breathe. His cheek hurts, but this is so much worse. Horror snakes down his spine. It’s—it’s nothing compared to the city, but that almost makes it worse. Only three, only small, a tiny starburst cluster growing at his feet, but the rocks are glowing bright and blue and he had—had he—?

It’s too much. Tears burn in his eyes. Varian backs away from her and the rocks both, his head shaking, his hands trembling.

“I can’t do this,” he tells her. “I don’t know why you keep thinking I can do this!”

The back door is still open, and Varian almost crashes right into it in his haste to get away. The kitchen, now lit by soft candles, seems almost mocking in its warmth, a false sort of serenity. He practically slams into the room, running for the guest room, shoving past Ella as he makes for the stairs. Ella calls after him, her voice high and alarmed; Varian does not answer.

Adira doesn’t call after him at all.

Varian bangs through the guest room door, ignoring Ruddiger’s chittering. His breathing is loud and raspy in the room, and his crying has reached an almost wheezy pitch. He ignores it, falling to his knees by the cot, rifling through his small bag of stuff with shaking fingers. His thoughts are a mess, tangled like loose thread, looping around again and again. The black rocks. This stupid power. He’d almost—and if Adira hadn’t stopped him—

This lovely, tiny cottage nestled in the fields. That warm kitchen. The distant, endless horizon. Would he have destroyed that too?

He hates this. Corona. The Moon. The pirates. Adira is right, damn her, and he hates that most of all. Why now? Why him? Why is this happening to him?

He digs through the satchel—Rapunzel’s satchel, don’t forget that, don’t forget—with an almost mindless fervor, unaware of the way Ruddiger paws at his side. He brings out the crystal and the materials for the nightlight with shaking fingers. The memory of this morning is a warmth he clings to.

Alchemy. He still has alchemy, despite it all. Alchemy will help him. Alchemy will give him the answer he needs. Mistakes are easy, when its science. If he fails here, he can always try again. It’s the real world that isn’t so forgiving.

(Are you coming with me, Varian?

But maybe it is this, instead. Maybe it’s Varian who isn’t so good at forgiving.

Or at being forgiven.)

He shoves the intrusive thought away viciously, focusing desperately on the items in hand. The crystal, hollow; the paper packets of materials. He gathers them in his arms and sits down in the coat, laying them out in his lap. He barely even notices when Ruddiger climbs up his back and settles around his neck like a scarf.

He fumbles with the packets, tearing them open, measuring with only half a mind. He goes through the motions of making with numb hands. His mind whirls. His fingers won’t stop trembling. His cheek is really starting to hurt.

The pirates are going to attack Corona. Like the Port Caul marketplace, only worse. They’re going to attack, and Varian…

He thinks of the voice in the back of his head, whispering warnings on the breeze—the Moon, distant and spectral, right up until this morning. He thinks of the way all his tantrums and all his anger never once woke up the black rocks—not until today. Not until the pirates.

Varian doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t understand any of it. Why would the Moon try to warn him? What was she warning him of? How did she even know? They were pirates. Awful, sure, cruel and terrifying and only going to get worse—but they were just pirates. Only pirates.

Only human.

But suddenly he is not so sure.

Varian curls up on his cot and works on the nightlight without stopping. He hears Adira come back inside, but she doesn’t come up. No one enters the room. Ruddiger is heavy on his shoulders, grounding and firm. Slowly, his wheezing breaths start to ease. Slowly, the tremble in his hands starts to fade.

And far outside his window, in the growing evening gloom, the moon slowly but surely begins to rise.

“Not hungry, Rapunzel?”

Rapunzel startles from her thoughts, just barely managing to avoid dropping her fork. Curse her shaky hands. “Oh!” she says, and looks up sharply. “Oh, no, mom, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

Her mother smiles back, but there is something thin in it, almost fragile. This whole night Rapunzel’s parents have been looking at her like that: like she’s something distant and unknowable, and they can’t quite make themselves believe she’s back.

Rapunzel doesn’t really blame them for it. It’s nearing a whole week since she’s returned to Corona, and yet, this is the first meal Rapunzel’s deigned to join with them. Or perhaps, to put it better, it’s the first family meal Rapunzel has felt strong enough to sit through. Alone, unfortunately. She wishes Pascal were here with her, but… right now, he is the only one of them with any freedom in wandering the castle, and that means all the spy stuff is falling to him.

Even now, even here, Rapunzel still isn’t free from scrutiny. For all the finery of the dining hall, it’s hard to ignore Elias’s presence at her back. The poor boy is practically shaking in his boots.

It’s understandable. The tension is palpable, as heavy as their silences. Beyond the scrape of their forks against the fine china plates and muted pleasantries, conversation is sparse and awkward. Rapunzel’s father is unbearably silent, his words curt and oft one-syllable. Her mother is… doing her best, and usually Rapunzel would be grateful for that, except she’s too focused on trying to hold her fork properly to appreciate it.

It’s not that she’s… chosen to lie to her parents about her hands, exactly, her scarred palms and now limited mobility. She just—hasn’t told them. And after all these days, she has simply continued to just… not mention it. Let them think the gloves are fashion. Let them think her clumsiness nerves. It’s not that Rapunzel doesn’t trust them, but—

(She doesn’t really trust them. Cassandra, delegated to the dungeons; Eugene, only safe once he’d left. If they knew she’d been injured—if they knew how close Rapunzel brushed with death—

She doesn’t know what they’d do.

And she isn’t willing to risk it.)

Still, they are her parents, and they love her—and they are trying, Elias’s presence notwithstanding. Case in point: the determined cheeriness in her mom’s voice when she replies, light and airy, as if nothing is wrong. “Well, make some time for the food, Rapunzel. Thinking can always wait.” She reaches out and smooths a strand of Rapunzel’s hair behind her ear, and then shoots the King a pointed look. “Is dinner okay?”

“It’s perfect,” Rapunzel enthuses brightly. In truth it doesn’t taste much like anything; a lingering nausea has made eating harder than usual, and every bite feels like swallowing a spoonful of ash. But it is actually good food, even if she can’t really taste it, and besides. Rapunzel doesn’t want to worry her parents any more than she already has. “I really missed this.”

Her mother’s smile flashes bright. “Us, too,” she says warmly. She draws back her hand, looking across the table. “Right, Frederick?”

Rapunzel meets her father’s gaze with thin lips. He catches her eyes and sighs heavily, then straightens, refusing to look away. “Every day,” he says, with quiet genuineness. His expression is open, bare with regret and resignation, worry knotted into his brow.

Rapunzel knows they did. It doesn’t make this any easier.

She looks away first.

She’s missed them, too. In a funny way, she thinks she’s still missing them—missing the easy dinners, the casual conversation, the bask of warmth from being trusted and loved and uplifted. She hadn’t realized how deeply she’d relied on that until it was gone, and even now, the distance between them makes her chest ache.

But she’d promised. And she’d decided. She is their daughter, she is the princess of Corona… but she will always be that girl in the tower, too, and that time matters more than they know. Because it’s that time, it’s that girl, who looks at the castle and whispers, this is wrong. That girl who looks her parents in the eyes and thinks, I don’t know if I can trust you, after everything. That girl, that simple girl, who followed the floating lanterns, who broke Varian’s chains, who looked the Moon in the eyes and demanded a different fate.

I want to be happy.

And Rapunzel knows anger. She knows tension. She knows lies, and this castle is steeped in them. There is something wrong, something coming… and Rapunzel refuses to ever be taken off guard again.

She knows they love her—but she never wants this castle to become another tower.

Her hand tightens on her fork, the painful pull at her scars grounding in its own way. She takes a breath, remembering last night, her promise to Cassandra. The answers are all right there under her nose, and Rapunzel is certain she’s getting close. If she could just know what concord or deal that has Nigel and the castle so up-in-arms…

Well, Rapunzel thinks, trying to stay positive. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? She clears her throat before the quiet can turn awkward again, and lifts her head with a determined smile. “Um, actually…”

“Hm?”

How to broach the topic without making them suspicious? Cassandra’s voice echoes through her head. Start small, Raps. “I never really got the chance to ask—how are things, since I’ve been gone?”

There’s a beat of silence, an awkward halt. Behind her, Rapunzel can hear a sudden creak as Elias shifts in place, as if startled. Interesting. He might know something, too…

But right now, her focus is all on her parents. In response to the question, her mother pauses, glancing back at the King. He takes a moment to sip at his wine, and sets the glass down gingerly, every movement slow and careful. The moment stretches.

“Under control,” her father says, at last.

“Well.” Rapunzel keeps smiling, but her fingers tighten on the fork. Right. Of course it won’t be that easy. “Um, okay!”

Her father eyes her. “Why do you ask, Rapunzel?”

“I’m just curious.” Rapunzel’s eyes drop. She feels bizarrely shamed, which is ridiculous, because she wouldn’t have to do all this if they would just tell her. “Things have been… tense, these past few months. I keep feeling like… I’m seeing it everywhere else I go, too.”

The words are a little too honest, and Rapunzel winces. She forces a laugh. “Never mind! It’s, um… probably just my imagination.”

Her mother pauses. “Well—”

“Arianna.”

Her mother stops, and gives her father a dark look. “Well,” she says, pointedly. “It’s been a while, my dear. Give yourself time to adjust back to home.”

Right. Okay.

There’s a game to politics, Rapunzel has found. And it is a game that everyone’s playing. It’s sneaky and underhanded and quiet, things implied but never said, and—

And Rapunzel is terrible at this game.

If she’s going to get anything out of this dinner, then she’s got to stop playing.

Rapunzel takes a deep breath and puts down her fork. Tilts up her chin. Looks them right in the eyes, and dares them to tell her the truth.

“What’s this deal that’s got the castle so upset?”

Silence. Behind her, Elias makes a choked wheezing noise.

Rapunzel meets their gaze head on, and waits. She suspects they didn’t expect her to ask outright. Maybe once she wouldn’t have. But if Rapunzel’s time in the labyrinth has taught her anything, it’s how to stand her ground.

Her father’s voice is blank. “How do you…”

Rapunzel smiles at him. It’s almost genuine. “Ah, it wasn’t hard, actually. I just… looked.” Her smile fades. She meets his gaze and does not falter. “What is it?”

Her mother takes a deep breath. “Rapunzel—”

“Where is Eugene Fitzherbert?”

Her mother cuts herself off, and Rapunzel looks back to the King. Her hands tighten on her lap. The scars pull. “He left.”

That, at least, catches her father off-guard. “He—?”

“He didn’t feel safe here.” Not exactly a lie, even if it isn’t the whole truth. Gods, she hates this. Once she would have never considered keeping this from them. How did it all come to this?

Rapunzel steels herself. There’s no use in wondering. Here they are, and she has to make the best of it. She continues, merciless. “I’ve come to agree with him, actually.”

For a moment he almost seems to falter. “…Rapunzel, I—”

“What’s the deal about?”

The moment passes. Her father grits his teeth. “We are not here to talk about politics. We are here to have a nice meal, and—”

Rapunzel is undeterred. “What if I want to talk politics?’

“Rapunzel!”

“It’s my kingdom,” Rapunzel insists. “If it’s so important, don’t I have a right to know? How can I learn to rule if you won’t even let me—”

Her father stands up. His chair scrapes loud against the tile floor, and Rapunzel’s mouth snaps shut at the look on his face.

“It is none of your concern,” the King says, and his tone brooks no argument. “I have the matter handled. There is no deal, there is nothing to be concerned about, and until you can prove to me you can be trusted with state secrets—I’m afraid, daughter, that you simply have no room to talk about them.”

The rebuttal hits her hard. Rapunzel flushes. Her fingers curl. “Then be mad at me,” she cries, momentarily losing her composure. “Not Cass, not Eugene! I—I was the one who decided Varian’s fate, not them!”

Her father has already turned away. “Eat your dinner, Rapunzel.”

Useless, all of it. Pain radiates up her hands, a sure sign she’s pushed them too hard. Her head aches from sleepless nights, insomnia and nightmares both. But worst of all is the sudden flush, the awful shame, the sense of being small and childish and dismissed. After everything—after all she’s been through—and this one thing is enough to topple it, this one small thing—

Hasn’t she proven herself by now?

Can’t they trust her?

(Do they really think she would have let Varian go without thinking?)

But there’s no nice way to ask, no means to explain her reasoning in a way they’d understand. Cassandra and Eugene hadn’t really understood it either, after all. All these months, all her lessons, and still Rapunzel is searching for the words—how to explain that the girl from the tower and the princess aren’t so easily separated after all.

Her mother reaches out, placing a cautious hand on her arm. “Rapunzel, dear…”

Rapunzel tosses her napkin on her plate, pushing away from the table and her mother both. She can already feel the tell-tale burn behind her eyes, and the last thing she wants is for them to see her cry. She hates crying when she’s angry. “Excuse me,” she says, stiff, and marches for the door without so much as a goodbye.

Her mother stands too. “Rapunzel, wait!”

Rapunzel pushes through the doors, and two sets of footsteps follow her—Elias, breathless, looking fearful and shaking… and her mother too, standing tall, eyes wide and concerned.

Her father stays at the table. Head bowed. Shoulders slumped. Looking almost tired, old in a way that makes Rapunzel flinch to see it. She turns away from the sight of him, continuing down into the hall.

“Rapunzel!”

She wants to leave, so bad, but still—she stops. Elias, following after her, stops too; he is between her and the Queen, and looks terrified about it.

Her mother waits. Rapunzel doesn’t move. Behind them, pushed by a breeze, the dining room doors swing shut with a muffled thump, leaving them isolated in the hallway.

The Queen moves first, sighing heavy. “Guard,” she says, to Elias. “Leave us.”

Elias hesitates. The young teen looks spooked near out of his boots, but still, he glances to Rapunzel, wide eyes almost worried. His hands are shaking on his halberd, but still, he stays where he is, as if to hide Rapunzel from the Queen. “Um, y-y-your Majesty, I-I-I’m not, not supposed to—”

“It’s okay,” Rapunzel says, softly, almost touched. Elias stops mid-word, staring, and she offers him a weak smile. She hasn’t been sure what to make of Elias—he’s kind, but still meant to watch her, and is Cassandra’s replacement besides—but this odd act of support helps soothe some of the roiling tension in her gut. “I’ll… I’ll just be a minute.”

He bites his lip hard, but nods, reluctant. Giving one last glance between Rapunzel and the Queen, Elias hurries away down the hall to wait for her, out of earshot but not out of sight.

Rapunzel watches him go, and exhales softly through her teeth, trying to calm down. Her mother clears her throat, drawing the attention back to her. For once, the Queen doesn’t look nearly as composed—her brows are knotted, her lovely face set in a frown, seeming almost as troubled by Elias’s actions as Rapunzel is touched by them. Then that frown turns to Rapunzel.

“Oh, daughter,” the Queen says, at last, and the disappointment in her voice makes Rapunzel want to hide. “What has gotten into you?”

Rapunzel looks away, unable to meet her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this,” she says, before the Queen can speak further. “Please, can I just be alone for a bit?”

“No. This has gone on long enough. Talk to us!”

“I have! I tried.” Rapunzel crosses her arms over her chest, trying to hide the tremor in her hands. “You guys just—you don’t listen.” She grits her teeth. “I’m… I don’t want to do this right now.”

She turns away, trying to flee before her mother can catch her in another argument. But for once, Rapunzel’s mother is faster.

Her fingers close around Rapunzel’s wrist, and pain flares bright as a spark.

The yelp is entirely involuntary. Rapunzel snaps her hand back purely on autopilot, pain radiating up her arm, down her palm. She backs away, arms held protectively to her chest—then goes still, horror flashing down her spine, as she realizes what has just happened.

Her mother is frozen. “R-Rapunzel?”

Rapunzel clutches her aching hand to her chest. Her eyes are hot. She blinks past the pain, and her fingers tighten on the glove. Oh, no. No.

She forces her voice steady. “…What’s the deal about?”

Her mother seems stunned. She stares wide-eyed at Rapunzel’s wrist. “I… Rapunzel, what—your hand, are you—?”

“Mom.” Her voice is tight. “Please.”

The Queen stutters to a stop. Behind her eyes, Rapunzel can almost see her storm of thoughts. “I… That is…” She trails off. Rapunzel waits. Her mother’s eyes fall back to her hand, and for an instant her expression tightens, almost pained.

And then she shakes her head, and Rapunzel’s heart drops down to her feet. “Your father is right,” the Queen says, sad, certain. Rapunzel feels ill. She looks to the ground. “Dear, it isn’t your concern. We can handle these attacks ourselves. You don’t need to get involved.”

And Rapunzel stills.

Attacks?

Rapunzel looks away, doing her best to keep her face blank. Attacks. But the streets, that night when she returned… it hadn’t looked that bad. No new houses being built, no signs of battle on the road. And she would have heard if such a thing had happened recently. But then, if not the city, what kind of attack could force anyone into an unwanted agreement…?

Think, Rapunzel! All those lessons on being a Princess have to pay off sometime. What part of Corona is the most crucial to the kingdom?

The answer comes to her in a flash of inspiration. The closed merchant roads. The lack of boats back to Corona, the closing seas; they hadn’t been able to catch a ferry across and there’d been a reason for that, because the waters weren’t safe anymore…

The boats. Corona is a trade kingdom. If someone had enough power to cut off the trade routes—

A hostage situation? No, maybe not—maybe it’s more than that. The castle is divided, and they wouldn’t be if there was a common enemy. So…

The deal. Take that, think it through logically. The docks might be attacked… and if Corona couldn’t handle it themselves…

A third party. Someone offering protection?

Rapunzel meets her mother’s eyes, stunned by her own conclusion. Could it be? “Someone’s blackmailing Corona into working with them?”

Her mother’s eyes go wide and shocked—and then narrow, her surprise hidden. She’s not quite fast enough. Her reaction is all the answer Rapunzel needs.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Rapunzel realizes. She frowns. But then—why the division in the castle? Who could the guards possibly be so against working with? And why? “Who is it?”

Her mother draws back, linking her hands before her. “It isn’t your concern, Rapunzel,” she repeats, firm. “Your father and I have it handled. More importantly…” She takes a deep breath. “Why are you wearing gloves?”

This time it is Rapunzel’s turn to look away.

“You flinched from me, just now.” Her mother’s voice is hushed. Not quite scared, but close to it. “Rapunzel—”

“I don’t want to talk about that right now,” Rapunzel says, voice tight. She still can’t meet her mother’s eyes.

“Rapunzel. Listen to yourself! You ask for information but refuse to give it, surely you see—”

Yes, it is pretty hypocritical of her, isn’t it? And yet. Rapunzel looks up. “And what would you do, if you knew?” she asks quietly, cutting her mother off. “Ground me? Have more guards follow my every move?” She swallows hard. “Lock me away in a pretty tower, all in the name of keeping me safe?”

Her hands curl, involuntary. Her voice shakes. “I-I’ve heard that one before.”

Her mother exhales hard, as if she’s been hit. Her eyes are wide and stunned. “That’s not fair,” she whispers.

“Maybe.” Rapunzel closes her eyes. Her nineteenth birthday. Her coronation. Even now, even this, Elias’s presence by the hallway doors, ordered by the King not to let Rapunzel out of sight unless she’s in her rooms. “But you’ve done all that before.” Her throat is tight. “You’re doing it now.”

The Queen seems struck silent. Her hand falls. For a moment she looks at a loss for words.

“I don’t understand,” her mother says, at last. She almost seems to be pleading. “We love you. We aren’t doing this to hurt you. Rapunzel, why can’t you just trust us?”

And Rapunzel finally meets her eyes.

“Why can’t you trust me?” she returns quietly, and watches with a sinking heart as her mother falters to a stop.

The silence stretches between them. The Queen’s mouth opens. Her mouth closes. She takes a deep breath, a shuddering exhale, and in the end says nothing at all.

The moment passes, the last chance left untaken. Rapunzel gives her a watery smile, twisted lips and aching heart. “Thanks for the information,” she says, brightly, trying to hide the tremor in her voice. “It’s really helpful. I—” Her voice cracks. “I just wish you guys could have told it to me yourselves.”

Her mother has nothing to say to that. That’s okay. Rapunzel doesn’t have much left to say, either.

“Night, mom.” She turns to the end of the hall, where Elias is waiting, feeling tired, feeling trapped. The anger and hurt has faded. Now she just feels worn. “Let’s do this again at breakfast, I guess. See—see you tomorrow.”

Her mother says nothing.

Rapunzel leaves the dining room and her parents behind, and doesn’t look back.

Yasmin returns halfway to midnight.

Varian doesn’t see her; he knows only because the front door slams loud enough to reach him upstairs. He stays still and silent, sitting numb on his cot, listening to the murmur of voices turned indistinct and wordless by distance. Yasmin, sounding stressed and snappy; Ella, softer and sure; Adira terse and clipped. Footsteps thump. Lamplight flickers by his door.

With effort Varian drags his eyes away, back to his hands. The nightlight is half-way assembled, items spread out on the floor. The shimmering liquid is ready to be poured, glowing a soft and delicate pink, a pastel dim color like spring flowers. His hand tightens on the crystal. He finished the solution hours ago. He should have gone downstairs, talked to Ella, asked for something to seal the hollow crystal. He hadn’t. He’s been sitting here, fiddling with a finished product, waiting and waiting and trying not to fall asleep.

He hears footsteps on the stairs, approaching the room. A second later, and there’s a knock on the door. Varian lifts his head. He doesn’t speak. His throat is abruptly tight, strangled shut. If it’s Adira—

The door cracks open. Yasmin looks in.

Varian slumps, but doesn’t relax. Something in Yasmin’s expression gives him pause. He remembers the black rocks he summoned in her backyard and feels cold. There’s a shadow to her, to Yasmin—a darkness in her eyes, a tension to her shoulders. She meets his gaze and juts her chin. “Up,” she says, simply. She doesn’t sound angry, but he doesn’t know her well enough to really tell. “With me.”

Then, a pause. She frowns. “…What happened to your face?”

Varian brings a hand to his cheek, still tender. It’s bruising, he thinks, though it doesn’t feel too bad—molted green, maybe, instead of black or blue, but still unfortunate. He looks down and shrugs.

“…if Adira struck you—”

“We were talking.” His voice is dull. “I got upset, and… a-and the black rocks…”

Something like realization flashes across Yasmin’s face; she looks aside and grimaces. “Still. That is no excuse.”

Varian shrugs. He can’t put into words, really, his thoughts on it all—how the fact he summoned the rocks at all, of his own accord, had struck worse than the blow. He doesn’t even think Adira meant to do it. But still—he understands the logic of her worry, the emotion. He nods again, but he can’t quite bring himself to reply.

Yasmin looks him up and down, and her sigh is almost soundless. “As expected, I suppose,” she murmurs, and then gestures for him to stand. “Well. I will deal with it. Come, boy—I doubt you’ll be getting any sleep tonight, so might as well put the time to use.”

Varian stares at the glowing nightlight. Stares at the crystal. Stares at his hands, and slowly levers to his feet. Ruddiger winds around his ankles.

“The raccoon can come too, but do not pick him up.”

Varian doesn’t have enough energy to wonder about that. He nods, silent, and follows her beckoning hand.

She leads him across the hall into a large room, one he hasn’t seen yet. Judging by the big bed and stacked bookshelf, it must be her and Ella’s bedroom. He doesn’t have long to look around before Yasmin pushes him into the bathroom, a smaller room with dark wood walls and stone flooring. A bathtub sits in the corner, and a vanity with a mirror is set up to the side. She sets him down on the vanity chair, facing the mirror, and hands him a towel already soaking.

“There’s soap on the side table,” she says, turning away. “Wash your face. We’ll have to draw you a proper bath later, you are filthy, but for now this will do.” When Varian just looks down at the towel, blank and still, she sighs.

“Clean off the blood, boy,” she says to him. “You will feel better once it is gone. It’s hard to heal when you carry all the grime of the past with you, yes?”

“It’s too early for philosophy,” Varian mumbles in reply, and hides his face in the towel so he doesn’t see her laugh.

He scrubs the blood and dirt of the market from his face, hearing the clink of metal tools as Yasmin rummages through the bathroom drawers. When his face is clean she takes the towel back from him, and ties a new, dry towel around his neck, knotting it behind his head.

This, at least, gives Varian pause. “What…?”

“Your hair is a mess. Have you never heard of a brush?” Yasmin peers down at him, her gaze critical. “Do you have any problem with haircuts? You can do it yourself, if my holding the scissors makes you uncomfortable, but I refuse to have you walking around my house with a bird’s nest for a head.”

Ruddiger pats his foot, then scurries up onto his lap. There’s a beat. Varian looks at Yasmin. Yasmin makes a face.

“…Ugh, fine, the raccoon can stay, whatever. I give up. But do not let him on your shoulder, I refuse to cut your hair with that raccoon in my way.”

“His name is Ruddiger.”

“Wonderful for him. Haircut, boy. Your thoughts?”

Varian looks down. “I don’t have a problem with it.”

She hmms. “Good. Any preferences? I can keep it long, cut it short…”

He shrugs, and keeps his eyes on the ground. “I don’t care.”

A moment of silence. Yasmin exhales hard. “Very well,” she murmurs, and doesn’t push, just spins him to face the mirror and tilts his head down. Silver flashes in the mirror, and a lock of hair falls on the towel as Yasmin gets to work.

For a few minutes silence is all there is: the snip of Yasmin’s scissors and Varian’s blurry stare at his socked feet. The candlelight flickers bright and yellow on the countertop; the mirror is awash in a golden tint. Locks of hair scatter across his shoulders, soft and itchy against his skin. The back of his head already feels lighter.

“You should know,” Yasmin says, apropos of nothing. Her hands are secure and warm, holding his head in place. The press of her fingers is oddly grounding. “They are still gathering information, but… it seems as if there are fewer casualties than expected. The rocks chased many of the pirates away… and though the rocks’ appearance is unfortunate, it looks as if no townspeople were further harmed in the outburst.”

Varian’s hands are white-knuckled on his knees. “That’s…” His throat catches. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“About the rocks? Hm.” The scissors snap. “Adira is vexing,” Yasmin remarks absently, “but not so vexing as to keep dangerous information from me. She mentioned you had the Moondrop. It was not hard to assume from there…” Another snip at his hair. “Regardless. If you are blaming yourself for the city, I implore you, do not.” She sighs. “Though the rocks now in my backyard… well, we will deal with that later.”

Varian’s throat is tight. “I don’t understand.”

“Truly? I thought I was being quite forthright.”

“No, I—I don’t—” He gets the sense she’s laughing at him, but Varian can’t find the humor in it. “Why are you telling me this? Why are you being so…”

Yasmin is quiet for a long moment. When she speaks again, her voice is soft. “Why do you think you are here?”

“I told you—I don’t—”

“Don’t know, yes, I remember. But you are clever, child. A little foolish, perhaps, but no less clever.” She tugs a strand of hair straight and snips it. “Well? Why did Adira bring you here?”

His eyes drop. The shopping trips. The nightlight. Even this—the haircut, and Yasmin’s constant presence. She said she’d been paid to help him, but then, this is all help of a different sort. Good deeds that don’t quite fall under Yasmin’s job description, things that can’t be explained away as a whim.

“She brought me here to get me help.” He can’t help the bitter twist to his lips. “Intervention from a stranger.”

He is still looking down, so he doesn’t see Yasmin smile, but he can almost hear the echo of something amused in her voice. “See? Clever.” She tilts his head down further, starts cutting his hair closer to his scalp. “Though of course, that is not the only reason.”

Something unpleasant coils in his gut. “She came for information.”

For a moment, the snip of scissors by his ears goes quiet. “...Ah. She told you? Well, I suppose that explains my backyard.”

He grits his teeth. “Why did you tell her that Corona—”

“Because it is true.” Yasmin tugs hard at his hair— not painful, just firm, like a warning. “I know not how much Adira told you, but trade is being cut off at all corners of the continent, by pirates or natural disaster or both. Pirates attack one city, earthquakes take out the next… and one by one, little by little, the attackers cut off Coronan trade routes.” She puts down her scissors. “I have traced the paths myself. It is only Coronan trade routes. If Corona is not the main target, I will be truly astonished.”

Varian hisses a breath through his teeth, caught by something he cannot name. His throat feels strangled silent. He stares at his knees until his eyes water, and clenches his fingers in Ruddiger’s soft fur. The raccoon quietly licks at his hand.

Yasmin sighs, and when she speaks again, she almost sounds apologetic. “Listen,” she says. “I will tell you what I have told Adira—of all the trade powers, Corona is the kingdom that thrives on the sea. If it is not hit next, then it will be hit soon. Of this, I have no doubt.”

“I can’t—” His voice is hoarse. The words wither on his tongue, dry and aching. He clears his throat and tries again. “I can’t go back.”

“No one says you must. It is not necessary for you to go. But Adira thinks to warn them—I know the look in her eyes. She will go there, sooner or later.” Yasmin takes up the scissors again. “And you cannot stay here forever, I would go mad. So the real question, little criminal of Corona, is this—if you do not go back, then where else will you go?”

“I—” The words fail him. “I don’t—”

She is silent. Patient. Waiting. Something nasty curls in his chest. “I can’t go back,” Varian whispers, but instead of angry, the confession comes out—small. Aching. “I just… I can’t.”

Rapunzel, letting him go. Eugene, turning away. The echo of rage on Cassandra’s face, the hatred. And beyond even that—beyond the criminal charges, the King’s hatred, his own actions—his dad. His dad, dead in the amber, buried in the ruins of Old Corona.

No. He can’t ever go back. Not like this.

Yasmin is toneless. “I see.” Her tool scrapes down the back of his neck, cutting hair close and neat. “Is it that you do not wish to make amends, or that you are too scared to?”

The sheer audacity of the question momentarily mutes him. Rage loosens his tongue. “You don’t— you don’t even know me! What do you care?”

“Oh, I don’t.” Yasmin’s voice is cold. Her eyes, in the mirror, are dark. “But it matters not.”

“I can’t go back,” Varian insists, tight. “I don’t want to go back!” Never mind the ache in his chest. Never mind the fear. For all that he’s come to understand his own fault, this still rings true: Corona, Rapunzel, Cassandra and the others—they hurt him. They hurt him, and even now, Varian is not willing to forgive. “What they did—”

Yasmin tugs hard at his hair again; Varian’s mouth snaps shut. “I will stop you there,” she says, simply. “Do not tell me. A waste of breath, that’s what it is. Boy, I do not care why. I have no interest in your story. I am sure it was very interesting—but it has nothing to do with me.” She waves her hand dismissively through the air. “But really. It is not about what they did to you, is it?” Varian stills. “I think the problem is, instead… what you did to them.”

The scars on Rapunzel’s hands. The amber. The arrow.

“Am I right?”

His fingers curl tight into the arms of the chair to keep from pulling at Ruddiger’s fur. Ruddiger coos up at him anyway, a comforting weight on his knees, a grounding warmth. “…You don’t know anything about me.”

“True.” She pulls a strand out as if to measure it and lops it off with a casual twist of her scissors. “But I have known many people like you. Angry people. Prideful people. So certain they were right, and always struggling to be wrong, and so sure they could fix the world just by telling it sorry. Or, alternatively, by doing nothing at all.” She frowns down at the back of his head. “You know, Adira tells me that you want to be better. That you have reasons and need to become more. Is that it? Do you want to do better? Be better? Do you think going back will ruin that?”

He stares at his feet, lips thin, heart hollow. The scissors snip by his ear.

“Or perhaps,” Yasmin continues, merciless, “you want to find a way to make it up to people—to undo what has been done, and you refuse to return until you’ve found it. A usual narrative. See, I am guessing well, aren’t I? But I do wonder.” Varian looks up, sees a flash of her eyes in the mirror, dark and knowing. “What will you do, if when you finally return—good deeds under your belt, praise to your name—telling the people you hurt that you are sorry, so sorry, please forgive me…”

Varian sits up straight, suddenly afraid. Ruddiger whines at him, looking upset. “Stop it!” he says. “Stop—”

But Yasmin is undeterred. “What happens,” she says, so soft, so dangerous, “if their answer is no?”

He can’t breathe.

“What will you do if you cannot be forgiven?”

Ruddiger whines again. Varian stutters. “I—”

Nothing comes. The silence stretches. His eyes burn.

“Oh, child,” Yasmin says, and she sounds almost tired. “Why on earth did you think any of this would be easy?”

Varian says nothing. His throat bobs as he swallows. He has to resist the urge to hug himself, or hug Ruddiger to him; either action feels too much like showing weakness.

After a long moment, Yasmin shakes her head and pulls away. “I have met many like you,” she says, at last, quiet. “Do you want to know something? In the end, it was not going back that undid them. It was what they sought.” She pulls back his hair, and starts to brush it. “They wanted forgiveness, and when they did not get it, they fell back into every awful habit they had tried to outrun. Because forgiveness is never owed, boy… and if you depend on other people to redeem you, then you will never truly change yourself.”

She pulls up his hair, twists it back. He can feel the tug of a ribbon as she ties it up. “If you want to do better, boy, then it is my opinion that you must do better. Always. Every day. Every hour. Whether you are forgiven or not.” She tugs the hair tie secure. “To try again and again, without end, without resolution… it is not as pretty as forgiveness. Not as rewarding. But it is far better, I think, then to never try at all.”

Varian closes his eyes. He swallows hard, struggling not to cry. He curls his fingers back in Ruddiger’s fur, but even this softness is not enough. His torn ear burns sharp with remembered pain.

Yasmin sighs, heavy, and steps away. “Well,” she says, some of the hardness fading from her tone. “There are two days left, still. You need not decide what you’ll do right now. Just… think about it, yes?”

Varian stares at the ground. He nods, short and shaky. His hands are cold, and he brings them close to his chest, trying to rub feeling back into numb fingers.

A soft sigh echoes behind him. A hand threads through his hair, and tugs his head up. “Look,” Yasmin says.

Varian looks, despite himself. For a moment he doesn’t recognize the boy in the mirror. His clean face. His tired eyes, shadowed and bloodshot, irises bluer than he remembers them to be. The red mark on his cheek, the dark scatter of freckles against otherwise colorless skin. But it is his hair that draws his eyes most.

His hair has been cut near unrecognizable. A sharp and clean undercut in the back, while the rest of his hair has been kept long and trimmed, pulled into a high ponytail. A section of hair has been loosened from the tie, framing the side of his face opposite to his torn ear. He looks—older, like this. More controlled. Surer. Less like a boy crushed under the world, and more like someone surviving in it.

He doesn’t know what to think. His eyes fall, his chin lowers—but Yasmin takes his face in her hand and slowly tilts his head up again. “Look,” she says. “Look, boy.”

Reluctant, he does.

“Every time you see your face, you turn away.” Yasmin’s voice is quiet. “I have noticed this. And I understand. But one of these days…” She pulls back his hair, and meets the eyes of his reflection. “We all have to face the mirror at some point.”

Varian stares. He doesn’t say anything.

Yasmin lets go.

“Something else for you to think about,” she says softly, and then she turns and walks away. She pauses at the bathroom door, and looks back at him, and the usual snap is back again in her voice. “I will be back in a moment. Your nails look terrible, I cannot leave them like that, the hangnails alone make me shudder. Stay there.”

The door closes heavy behind her, and then Varian is finally alone.

He doesn’t move. His head falls, eyes lowered to his lap, his mind spinning. There are so many things to think about; so many thoughts swirling about in his head. The Moon, Adira, Varian. Corona, most of all. The questions ring around in his mind, a ceaseless echo. Can he go back? Does he want to?

He’s not sure if he can. If he’s ready. If he’ll ever be ready. If he can really go back as—him.

The rocks are a part of him, now. And more than that… that angry boy, that hateful boy, that boy with the arrow in his hand. He doesn’t want him. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to be Varian, Moondrop, haunted by a goddess. Doesn’t want to be Varian, boy criminal, attempted murderer and dangerous alchemist, his father’s killer. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want this person to be him.

He's not sure if that person, if that boy, can ever go home again.

…And yet.

We all have to face the mirror at some point.

He takes a breath. He braces himself. He hugs Ruddiger to his chest, fingers curled in soft fur, drawing comfort from the raccoon’s soft crooning. He lifts his head and meets his eyes in the mirror, wondering all the while what it is that he’s supposed to see. The Moon, maybe. She’s done that before. Stared at him from amber and crystal and shopfront windows, smiling out from his reflection, cruel and cold.

But when he looks into the mirror, all he can see is himself.

It’s him.

It’s just him.

And when Varian closes his eyes, his cheeks are wet with tears.

It’s kind of funny, Eugene thinks, absently lifting the lantern a little higher. When he first left the castle, he thought it would take him weeks to find a lead.

Well, he supposes he wasn’t too far off. It has, at least, been a week. But still. This is perhaps the fastest amount of time Eugene’s found himself a spooky island, and frankly it’s freaking him out a bit. The creepy island is supposed to be the last clue he finds, not the first!

And yet, here he is: only a week after he left the castle behind and met up with Lance in the Snuggly Duckling, and very, very much stuck on a spooky island somewhere in Coronan trade waters.

It’s a weird place, to be sure—a small island lost somewhere between the Corona mainland and the sea, so small even the maps don’t bother to mark it. Beneath his boots, the ground is half sand and half stone, alternatively hard as rock or soft and giving beneath his feet. There’s no real border between sea and land, and the trees here grow thick and clustered, so close to the shore Eugene wouldn’t be surprised if even their sap was salty.

It’s an island abandoned, an island lost and left to grow wild and free… and that is exactly why Eugene is here. Because a place like this, so close to the capital and easily able to provide at least some harvest, fish, or lumber, would only be empty if people had paid to keep it that way.

Lance however, though Eugene knows for a fact he agrees with this logic, seems to be having some second thoughts. He’s a few feet ahead and looking like he dearly regrets that, shivering in the air like someone’s just walked over his grave. In the dim morning light and heavy fog, Lance looks near-ghostly himself.

And sure enough: “Eugene!” Lance says then, high and bright. He gives Eugene a smile that is half terror and 100% pleading. “Eugene, old buddy, pal, my best bud, are you… sure this is the place?”

“Ye-ep,” Eugene says, utterly unsympathetic.

“Because, you know, on second thought, my sources are terrible. Terrible, no good sources. This is probably a complete dead end, and our, ah, real lead is somewhere nice and warm and very public… like a beach! A nice beach, full of people, where the chances of brutal undiscovered murder are…” Lance glances at the trees, stick-thin and half-consumed by fog, and swallows hard. “Less. Less than here.”

“We’ll be fine!” Eugene dismisses, but notably doesn’t touch on their chances of being brutally murdered, because… Lance is probably right on that one. He switches tactics. “I trust your sources, Lance.”

Lance gives him a look. “You are very obviously flattering me, and I appreciate that greatly, but also.” He clasps his hands, almost a prayer, the lantern held between his palms. “Please. For the love of all the gods, please, let’s just… decide, this once, to not trust my sources?”

Eugene rolls his eyes and pushes past him, walking up from the beach into the trees. Behind them, the small boat they’d taken to get here sloshes silently on the shore. “Look, Blondie said she thinks Corona’s being blackmailed, right? We need to find out who before things get even more complicated. So: spooky island.”

“I mean, that’s a good point!” Lance follows after him, voice lowering to a hissed whisper. “You know what’s also a good point? Not getting murdered on a deserted island.”

“Lance, my friend! Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“With all my common sense, apparently,” Lance mutters, and sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping. “Oh, why did I agree to help you again?”

Eugene lifts the lamp a little higher, squinting off through the gloom. Are those the three trees he’s looking for, or are they just a random bunch of three trees? Only one way to find out. “Our long and undying days of backstabbing friendship.”

“Oh, yes, that. Hmm.”

Eugene grins despite himself, drifting further into the thicket of trees. He doesn’t blame Lance for his hesitance—it is creepy. But the men in the bar had sworn up and down that this was the island where they’d met their mysterious employer. One man got stuck with an illegal smuggling job. The other, paid to look for information on entrances and dock shifts in the capital city.

One meeting on a deserted island? Interesting. Two meetings, though, and both involving details that may or may not help an outside force attack the city…?

Well. Two is not quite yet three, so there’s no ruling out it could be a coincidence, but Eugene trusts his gut, and his gut says there’s something downright fishy about all this. Witness: the fact the thugs talked at all. No self-respecting freelance mercenary refuses a job, but to talk about the details after? Ohhhhh no. That’s a black mark on the mercenary name, and only done if the shady job completed in question is a whole new level of shady.

When the casually morally corrupt start getting cold feet, that’s when Eugene knows things are going wrong.

Plus, Lance had vouched for them. And, for all that Lance has a habit of making ill-fated judgments, he’s also got a good head on his shoulders. He’d promised Eugene his help in a voice gone serious and cold with all the weight of an oath, and Eugene believes him. Believes in him.

And so, here they are—on the empty island in the dead of blue early morning, hidden by the fog and the dark. A low mist tangles at Eugene’s ankles as he steps up; the lantern casts a dim and golden halo in the fog. The shadows seem almost endless, deep and dark like the pit of well. Eugene brings the light closer to a tree and hums. “What do you think?”

“What do I think? Three big creepy trees, big rock, spooky forest…” Lance trails off and shivers. “This was the meeting ground, that’s what I think.”

“My thoughts too.” It matches with the reports from the mercenaries, at any rate. Eugene drifts closer to one of the big trees, leaning in to check the bark. If they’re lucky, maybe there will be a symbol carved in here somewhere. “Anything catch your eye?”

Lance hums. “Not yet. The ground’s pretty clear… even the footprints are gone. Whoever hired them, they cleaned up good.”

“Mm.” Eugene scowls at the trees. “Bark’s clean, too. No convenient carvings.”

“Damn.” Lance straightens up, hissing a heavy sigh through his teeth. The lantern light casts a long shadow across his face. “We aren’t going to find anything here. If there are any clues left, it’ll be…” He shivers. “Deeper… inside… the creepy forest.”

“Took you a bit to get that out.”

“Gods, I regret ever saying it. I take it back. Dead end! Let’s leave!”

Eugene cackles at the look on his face, grinning out into the darkness. “Well, well… bar owners first.”

“Ha! Ha!” Lance places a hand square against his back and shoves. “Absolutely not.”

Eugene shrugs, hiding a grin in his sleeve, and lets Lance push him deeper into the woods. He even plays it up a little—fake staggering and stumbles, little tricks to try and trip Lance ahead of him. He’s a professional, okay, he can be sneaky and still have fun with it.

And it is, bizarrely—despite the creepy island and likelihood of murder—fun.

It’s been a week since Eugene left the castle behind, and as much as he misses Rapunzel and Cassandra… he can’t deny this week has been a breath of fresh air. He’s missed Lance. He’s missed this. The ease of talking, of not hiding secrets. There’s a freedom here the castle has lost in the time they’ve been gone, and as Eugene makes his way through the woods he makes a mental note to drag Cassandra and Rapunzel out here as soon as he can. Cassandra can suck a lemon if she doesn’t like it. Maybe what they’ve needed all along is a life-changing field trip with Lance.

The thought makes Eugene grin, and he is still smiling, even then, as he steps through the trees and lifts his lantern—and the light falls not on trees, but on a small, half-hidden house.

It’s just barely not a shack, and Eugene means this in the nicest way possible. The wood is pale and bleached and peeling, moss crawling up the sides, the door looking half-rotted off the hinges. It looks about big enough for one person to live in and three to stand, but too small to fit more than four through the door. The place is tiny, but also on a deserted island in the middle of nowhere, and it’s that fact more than anything else that makes Eugene’s eyes go narrow.

Behind him, Lance gives a low whistle. “Jackpot.”

Humor cools to a razor edge, and this time when Eugene walks forward, he is careful and conscious—where he steps, where he’s going. Lance is a silent shadow behind him.

He creeps his way to the door, lifting his lamp for a better look. No windows. He glances back at Lance, and gets a slow headshake in response.

Eugene puts his ear to the door. Nothing.

Lance slices his hand across his throat and then makes an ‘X’ with his arms, mouthing “NO” over and over.

Eugene ignores him, and pushes the door open.

It opens slowly. Extremely slowly. Slow, and with a long rising creak like nails on a chalkboard, and Lance covers his face and Eugene shifts his grip on the lantern, ready to strike—

The door swings open to a bare, empty room.

Eugene pauses. He and Lance exchange glances, and then as one, enter as silently as they can.

At first glance, it seems like a useless find. Small shack, barely big enough to fit one person… like a honey trap, Eugene thinks. The house to tempt—the truth to disappoint. But that doesn’t explain why it’s here in the first place.

Lance drops to his knees and starts feeling around the floor. Eugene blinks, and hisses a breath between his teeth. Trapdoor. Of course!

He kneels besides Lance, setting the lantern by his knees as he runs his fingers over the aging, splintered wood. Dust and leaves coat the ground, the shadows hiding any revealing marks. For a moment all is silent but for the shuffle of their feet and the whisper of their fingertips across the floor.

Five minutes later, Eugene’s fingers catch in a dent.

He inhales sharply, biting back a noise behind his teeth. Lance is by his side in an instant. Together they hook their nails beneath the floorboards and begin to pry the door up, except— it doesn’t budge.

Lance brushes a hand over the top again and mutters a low curse. “There’s a lock.”

“Could not make it easy for us, could they,” Eugene gripes, tasting dust, and starts digging for his lock pick.

The lock, small though it is, is high quality. Not a good sign. This isn’t just a random hideout—it’s a rich man’s random hideout. Someone paid good money for this, and it shows: it takes Eugene an extra ten minutes just to jig the lock, and it is, in truth, ten minutes way too many.

The sun is going to rise, soon. They’ve been here too long.

But they’ve come this far, and when Eugene looks up, it’s to see Lance looking back, grim and sure. Reluctant about it, to be fair, but in this they are agreed: they see this through.

They slide their fingers under the floorboards. This time, the door opens.

Eugene steps down first. The ladder creaks beneath his boots, dust drifting down around him like a dirty snow. He climbs down, lantern held high above him, and when the light falls on what’s inside, Eugene’s breath just about catches.

“Jackpot indeed,” he breathes, and Lance nods mutely beside him.

The underground room is small and cluttered, but also clearly lived in. There’s a bed and a locked chest by the foot of it, all dark wood and shiny brass décor. The bed is furnished with dusty but well-made sheets, velvety and rich. On the other side, shoved against a far wall, is a small desk and chair, papers strew along the top, a few drawers latched shut.

“Desk,” Eugene calls immediately, and makes for the papers. He can almost feel Lance rolls his eyes; where Eugene sorts through the papers, Lance heads for the chest by the bed, pulling out his lockpicks as he goes.

Eugene tunes him out, shuffling through letters and journals scrawled with unreadable code, flipping quickly through the stiff parchment. Legal jargon here, legal jargon there… a small book marking up current transactions, the two deals with the thugs who’d led them here marked out in neat ink script. Which, actually—

Something about the handwriting makes Eugene frown, makes a little alarm in the back of his mind twitch with recognition. He bites his lip, uncertain, flipping through some more, trying to see if the writings will jog his memory. A few drafts of an official letter catch his attention, words scribbled out and then torn apart. One scrap in particular catches his eye, and he reads, the city of Vardaros is eager and willing to offer you extra guard against possible harbor attacks at any point, King Frederick, if you—

The rest, lost to rage. The page is ripped beyond recognition.

Eugene’s lips thin further. “Looks like Rapunzel was right after all,” he says grimly, waving the letter scrap through the air. The uneasy feeling only increases. “Sounds like it might be a group in Vardaros—maybe the city itself, from the sounds of things. Though, if it’s just aid from another country, I don’t see why Corona is so averse to…”

A strangled gasp cuts him off. Eugene looks back, alarmed. “Lance?”

Lance doesn’t answer. He is staring wide-eyed and gaping at the chest, now open, looking pale around the eyes. He backs away briefly, then covers his face, swallowing hard. “Oh, man,” he says, in a tight, small voice. “You said… Vardaros? Oh, wow. Wow. That’s bad. That’s… this is really bad.”

A chill crawls down his spine. Eugene hesitates, then cautiously makes his way to the chest. He looks down.

His mouth runs dry. His fingers clench around the torn paper, crumpling it even further. His exhale is a shaky hiss through his teeth. All at once, Eugene knows exactly where he’s seen that neat little script before. He used to tease her about it, once upon a different time.

Because there in the chest, nestled between fancy clothes and gold-edged jewelry, a sheathed dagger lies gleaming—and a symbol, bright and bold, lies stamped ruby red into the sheath.

A spider inked in gold.

The seal of the Baron.

“A message for you, Miss.”

Gloved hands take the letters with a quick motion, waving the messenger away just as fast. The envelope is stiff and flaky from salt, turned crumbly and fragile from the sea. She unfolds the paper along the stiff creases, pressing it flat against her palm, her sharp eyes scanning the cramped handwriting.

The letter is short and to the point, much like the woman who wrote it. Two weeks. Be ready to open the door. –LC

The second letter is standard: another official decline of aid, signed by a no-name advisor. As stubborn as ever.

Her eyes narrow. For a moment her lips press tight, caught somewhere between smug and displeased, before easing out into more professional detachment.

She turns away from the garden, lush and green against the desert backdrop, marching back inside her mansion home. Her heels click sharp against the white marble floors. She walks through the winding halls with her head high and shoulders straight, little queen of the makeshift castle.

When she pushes open the door to her father’s study, she doesn’t even bother to knock.

“I’ve got news,” she says, sing-song poison, and waves the letters through the air.

Her father looks up from his desk, his brow creasing. His frown is set deep in his face, eyes dark with disapproval. “Manners, my dear,” he replies, ignoring her comment. “I taught you better than that.”

Her fingers go stiff on the doorknob. It takes effort to pry them away. “There are more important things to discuss, I think,” she snaps back, and her father gives her a sharp look. She backs down first. “…Sorry, daddy. But this is important.”

His sigh is heavy, but he turns to face her regardless. “And what matter would this be?”

She looks up. “I’ve received word from Corona about my offer of aid.”

“My offer,” he corrects, not unkindly, but his eyes are sharp. “And?”

“They refused,” she says, and stands up straight, lacing her fingers behind her back. “Quite rudely, in fact.”

“As I warned you. Your plan is ambitious, my dear, but it is foolish to assume—”

“I know.” Her voice goes sharp; her fingers clench. She takes a deep breath. “But I’ve received word from my ally, too. And you know? I think Corona will be changing their minds… very, very soon.”

She pauses, mulling over the words. She needs to step carefully, here, if she’s to get what she wants. She has a hideout prepared on that island, but she doesn’t want to go behind his back unless she has to. Not yet, anyhow.

“Though,” she starts, slowly, “I do think… all this could go much faster if one of yours could go there to help… persuade them. Someone you trust to sweet talk the kingdom, maybe?”

He looks at her, frowning deep in thought. All at once, a light steals over his face; something almost like a smile pulls at his lips. He sits up straight and turns to face her, looking pleased with his own idea. For the first time since the conversation began, he sets down his book.

In the pale glow of the lamp, a ring glints ruby red on her father’s bare hand, stamped with the symbol of a golden spider.

“Well, daughter,” says the Baron, “if that’s so… and you do seem to have a vested interest in this… why don’t you go to convince them?”

Her fingers curl to a fist around the paper. Finally, she thinks, and lets none of her thoughts show on her face. For a moment triumph burns bright as fire in her chest. Her shadow, cast long and thin in the dying daylight, flickers deep and dark.

Behind them, unnoticed by both, the lamp abruptly flickers and blows out.

“That sounds wonderful, daddy,” Stalyan replies, sweet poison, and smiles back with all her teeth.

#tts #tangled the series #rta #rapunzel's tangled adventure #varian #rapunzel #eugene fitzherbert #fic: faults of the mind #fic series: the long road back to home #varian tts #varian tangled #rapunzel tangled #adira tangled #iza fanfic #please reblog if u liked it!!!#it really helps me out 💖

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