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spacexcowgirl · 3 years

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Lightning In A Bottle - G.W.

George Weasley x Reader

Summary: There’s no one who makes George feel quite as alive as Y/N. But will making a move ruin everything?

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Slight drug/high mention (blink and you'll miss it), alcohol insinuation, kissing, George being head over heels in love with Y/N, I don’t think there’s anything else but let me know?

A/N: for the anon who requested a George x Reader based on the song “Electric Love” ! I wasn’t sure where I wanted to go with this originally, but I decided to be lightly inspired by the tiktok trend with this song (where best friends kiss at the peak of the song). Pictures are from Pinterest.

message to be added to tags :)

If you were to ask George Weasley what he was thinking about at any given time, his answer may vary, but always stay within a similar realm. Maybe he’d say pranks, or quidditch, or missing his mum. No response would be particularly groundbreaking, and you’d probably move on to his twin brother to receive a more outlandish and off-the-wall answer. What you wouldn’t know, though, is that whatever George chose to reply with, was most likely a lie.

You see, George did think about all of things listed, but there was something else that plagued his thoughts far more often than he’d ever like to admit. Y/N Y/L/N.

The two of them had been best friends for years now, having met during their first year at Hogwarts. Y/N had this presence that even at the age of 11 had pulled him in. His worst days could be brightened by her smile alone, his best days made impossibly better when she appeared at his side. She was like the strike of lightning shocking a darkened night sky to life, the sugar rush that surged energy throughout your body. She was a drug that brought George to his highest highs, and he would be remiss to let her slip through his fingers.

If it wasn’t clear, George was smitten with the girl. It had now been nearly half a decade that he had harbored feelings for her, and he had never acted on them. He was terrified of being rejected or messing up their friendship entirely. Some part of him was addicted to the rush her presence brought, the way she lit up every room and nearly set him, body and soul, ablaze. He couldn’t risk losing that over his silly feelings.

So, now he sat at a Gryffindor party, where he should be celebrating after a victory over Slytherin. But, he just didn’t have the heart for it. Not while he watched her speak animatedly to Roger Davies, a beautiful smile lighting up her entire face. Even from his place across the room, George could see that Davies was contributing very little to the conversation, but rather seemed just as enamored by her as everyone else.

“Keep staring, why don’t you?” A voice startled George slightly, causing him to gulp before realizing that it was only Fred. “Not like that’s creepy at all.”

“Oh shut it,” George grumbled in response, although he couldn’t help a slight blush from rising to his cheeks. He hated being caught looking like a lovesick puppy.

“Seriously, mate, when are you just going to man up and ask her out?” Fred took a sip from his cup, and George didn’t miss his slight grimace as the liquid burned his throat.

“We’re not talking about this.” George groaned.

Obviously, he was closer with Fred than anyone else in his life, but Fred just didn’t get it. He hadn’t met a girl that got his heart racing the way Y/N made George’s heart race. So, any girl that Fred was casually interested in, he went for. And it always worked out. George could take a shot at flirting with random girls that he thought were fit, because they didn’t really matter. But the idea of making a fool of himself in front of Y/N, the possibility of ruining things, it made him feel ill.

Fred looked as though he was going to press his brother further, but was cut off by the music stopping abruptly and a sharp whistle garnering his attention. In the center of the common room, Angelina Johnson stood atop a table, her hands cupping around her mouth as she made an announcement.

“Oi, we’re going to be starting a round of truth or dare, if you wanna join come over.”

Fred glanced over at his brother, a devilish glint sparkling in his eyes before they both wordlessly communicated that they would be playing. They wandered to the center of the room with a few others, Fred immediately jumping over the back of the couch with ease. George took a place on the floor instead, figuring someone else would want to sit on the couch more. He couldn’t help but grin widely when Y/N took a few steps, then plopped down on the plush carpet beside him.

“I‘ve hardly seen you all night, hot shot,” Y/N bumped her shoulder into his, a teasing smile on her lips. “What, you hit the most bludgers in a game and suddenly you’re too cool for your best friend?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” George teased back, chuckling heartily when she gasped and lightly swatted at his arm. “I’m only kidding! Godric, woman, excuse me for wanting to give you your alone time with Davies.” He had intended for his words to come of jokingly, but he heard the way he sneered out the other boy’s name, and he couldn’t help but cringe.

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up, as if she truly had no idea what he was on about, but before the conversation could progress any further, Angelina was clearing her throat and garnering all those who gathered’s attention. She explained that if anyone refused to answer the truth or do the dare they were given, they’d have to take a shot to make up for it. Hums in agreement sounded around the circle, then it finally got started.

George could feel nerves bubbling in his stomach, because it seemed no one was holding back that night. Of course, he was always up for a challenge and very little scared him, but Fred was playing too. And every time he’d catch his brother’s eye, and Fred would shoot him that smirk, George knew he was planning something.

It was Neville who was the one to ask Fred ‘truth or dare?’ And George’s stomach immediately dropped. That meant Fred would be going next, and he was certain he’d be choosing him. After Fred finished his one-minute long hand stand, per Neville’s very PG dare, the older twin immediately set his gaze on his brother like a predator locking in on its prey. George gulped, causing Y/N to side-eye him warily.

“Georgie,” Fred cooed innocently. “Truth or dare?”

George pondered his options for a moment. If he picked truth, there was a chance Fred would ask something that would force him to admit his feelings for Y/N. Of course, he could always refuse and take a shot, but that would look awfully suspicious, wouldn’t it? Then again, he didn’t even want to imagine what Fred would come up with for a dare. Biting down anxiously on his bottom lip, George pleaded with his brother wordlessly.

“Come on Georgie, we don’t have all night.” Fred exhaled.

“Dare.” George settled on, not granting himself another moment to ponder which was the right choice. As the corners of Fred’s lips curled upward, making him looking strikingly like the Chesire Cat, George was certain he made the wrong decision.

“Alrighty then,” Fred leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I dare you to kiss Y/N.”

“You creep!” Y/N laughed out, clamping a hand over her mouth. “Why would you want to watch your brother kiss me?”

George was certain his face couldn’t get any redder, but his expression was contorted into one of anger. Fred had never understood limits, he always took everything a step too far, and usually George was the one to reel things back in. Fred’s expression seemed to soften at the sight of George’s genuine frustration, but it offered little reprieve to the situation.

“Or, he can take a shot. No big deal.” Fred scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck, doing his best to fix the situation he created. Everyone else seemed eerily silent as their gazes shifted between George and Y/N.

“Yeah, I’ll just take a shot.” George sighed.

“Why?” Y/N spoke, a little too quickly. If George didn’t know any better, he’d think she almost looked embarrassed.

“I mean, I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable…” George trailed off sheepishly.

“Right, right,” Y/N nodded in understanding, but George could sense the change in her usual demeanor instantly. “That would be so weird, especially in front of everyone.”

“You guys could go into one of the dorms for privacy?” Angelina suggested, causing both George and Y/N to shoot her a glare.

George was prepared to come up with another excuse, to just take the shot and move on, but then Y/N sighed and glanced over at him, her bottom lip drawn between her teeth. It was like the small action put him under a spell, and suddenly his mind was entirely blank. With a shaky exhale, he nodded, then stood and offered Y/N his hand to help her up.

There was a few shouts and hollers as the two exited the group, and George was certain he distinctly heard Lee shout ‘I expect Georgie to be wearing your lipstick when you two get back!’ But he could hardly focus on anything but the feeling of Y/N’s hand in his own. The people who weren’t playing the game sloppily danced and moved around, and George was careful to weave the two of them through the crowd as he guided her towards his dorm.

It was like a sort of electricity was surging between them, flowing back and forth between the spot of their interconnected hands. He found himself wondering if she could feel it too, hoping desperately that it wasn’t all in his head.

As they ascended the stairs, the music from the party became more and more distant. Still, even when they made it to his dorm and shut the door, they could lightly hear the muffled melody from below. George dropped her hand and looked around desperately, a quiet swear leaving his lips as he took in the disastrous state of his room. Of course, he hadn’t anticipated that the girl he was practically in love with would be in his dorm, so he hadn’t had the good sense to pick up.

“So…” Y/N trailed off, seemingly unfazed by the state of his dorm.

“So.” George repeated, scratching at the back of his neck.

Y/N breathed out a sigh before stepping further into his room and making her way towards his bed. She patted the spot next to her, signaling for him to join her. George was quick to oblige, of course.

Y/N’s eyes seemed to trace every inch of George’s face, her gaze soft. She was usually so energetic and lively, and George adored that side of her, but this newfound quiet demeanor had him weak in the knees. Godric, he longed to know every one of her sides, to memorize every quirk and edge of hers. After her eyes had exhausted the expanse of his freckled skin, they finally landed on his lips, before returning to his deep brown eyes. Then, slowly, she began to inch just a bit closer, her eyes fluttering shut.

George wanted this, so desperately. He wanted nothing more than to cup her face and kiss her senseless and fill her with that same electricity she constantly filled him with. But there was a small voice in his head that was telling him she would never feel the same way as him, and this was a recipe for heartbreak, and the moment their lips met, everything would be ruined. So, he pulled back abruptly and cleared his throat.

“We don’t have to do this.” George spoke hoarsely. “They’ll never know if we don’t.”

Y/N’s eyes remained shut, squeezing just a bit tighter as she let out what sounded like a disappointed huff. George could read the embarrassment on her face when she finally opened her eyes but couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, her eyes remained trained on her lap.

“Is the idea of kissing me really that awful?” Y/N’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

“What?” George sputtered, certain he must have misheard her. “No! No, that’s not what I mean—”

“What else could you mean?” Y/N’s voice raised, her usual fire seeming to awaken. “Godric, every chance you’ve tried to get out of it. Do you know how embarrassing that is, Weasley? Do you know how that makes me feel?”

George sat stunned, his mouth hanging slightly agape as she continued on her rant. She was now on her feet, angrily wringing her wrists. Her nose scrunched up in that little way it always did when she was frustrated, and even though it was clear she was not happy with George, he couldn’t help but be endeared by her even then.

“Obviously, you can do whatever you want. I’m not saying you have to kiss me.” She continued, pausing her pacing for a second. “But… We’re best friends, yeah? Am I really so bad you can’t stomach even a peck? What does that say about me, George?”

She allowed herself to glance at him for one moment, waiting to see if he’d grant her any answers, before scoffing and turning away. She was about halfway to the door when George’s senses seemed to come back to life and he forced himself to his feet to stop her. His hand gently encircled her wrist and she was quick to whirl around and look at him in confusion.

Perhaps it was the fact that George had dreamed about this moment for so long, but there were a number of things that stood out to him about it. For one, the sound of his pounding heart beat mixed with the music below, both gradually building up to a crescendo. And he knew, that was the moment.

Their lips collided right when the mixed sounds of the music and his beating heart seemed to hit their peak. It was as if everything in the universe had been building up to this moment, or at the very least everything in George’s universe had. His lips seemed to tingle where they connected, this mutual energy rushing between both of their bodies. Y/N arched against him, thankful when his arms found her waist and kept her from tumbling over. The passion he portrayed in the kiss made her knees feel weak, and all at once she felt both entirely useless and completely alive.

If George thought that just being in her presence had an effect on him, that was nothing compared to having her lips on his. The feeling of her body curved against his was certainly something he could get used to, and he was certain it would kill him to never experience it again.

Y/N was the first to pull back, slowly, and draw in a deep breath. George found that he couldn’t help himself, though, and chased her lips for another, shorter kiss.

When they finally pulled apart for real, they both gazed at one another with the same question in mind; what did this mean? Before George could speak up and ask, he got distracted by her once again biting down on her lip. He did his best to hold in his groan, knowing damn well she would be the death of him.

“Do you feel that, too?” Y/N spoke, her eyes searching between his.

Y/N didn’t have to explain what she meant, because George knew, and he did feel it. Instead of answering her, he removed one of his hands from her waist and took her hand gently in his own. He placed her palm over his heart, covering it with his own, and let her feel the rhythmic and steady pounding against his chest. Once he was sure she understood, he brought her hand to his lips and placed a light kiss against her knuckles.

“I only didn’t want to kiss you because… I knew I could handle never kissing you, never knowing. But to kiss you once then never again?” His voice was quiet, although he hoped it was reassuring. “I didn’t think I’d be able to do it.”

“George Weasley,” A smile grew on Y/N’s lips, the one he knew so well, the one that sent a shiver down his spine. “As long as you promise to always kiss me like that, I’ll never ask you to stop.”

With that, Y/N used the hand that remained around his neck to pull him down once more, grinning as their lips moved together. He flipped their position around and slowly began to walk her backwards to his bed, only pausing when she pulled back.

“You know, I think we’re gonna have to thank Fred after this.” Y/N teased, eliciting a groan to tear from George’s lips as he tilted his head back.

“Please, love, can we not talk about my git brother right now?”

Y/N’s giggles filled his ears like the sweetest melody, and he was certain that even a siren luring him to his death could succeed if they sounded as beautiful as her.

Y/N made him feel alive in the way she shot him little smiles at breakfast, or how she’d slide her notes to him when she knew he wasn’t paying attention, or how her voice would carry the loudest as she cheered him on during Quidditch. Now, he knew she also made him feel alive from the feeling of her soft lips against his, from the way her body arched into his touch, and how even in a moment like this, she’d find a way to joke. As he gently pushed her back onto his bed, he realized he couldn’t let her go now that he had her.

TAGS: @theweasleysredhair @letsgotothehop @wand3ringr0s3 @sarcasticallywitty15 @mischiefisbeingmanaged @gcdric @lovefromrosie @thisismysketchbook @george-fabian-weasley @evermoreweasley @lunalovecroft @leovaldez37

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n

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journalxxx · 3 years

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By Hook or by Crook (5)

“What do you make of all this?” Toshinori asked, when they were finally alone. They’d momentarily parked the kid in the hallway with a cup of tea while the hero had followed Tsukauchi in his office as he took care of the last bureaucratic dregs of the questioning.

“As I see it, there are two major possibilities we ought to consider.” Tsukauchi said without taking his eyes off the monitor of his computer. “The first is that Midoriya’s quirk is just a mutation, and he is in no way related to All For One. His father is likely a government official whose position grants him knowledge of enough confidential files to make him fear negative repercussions in case his son’s quirk was publicly known, and has therefore enforced silence on the matter. We aren’t looking at any outstanding crimes here, although this man isn’t going to win any Parent of the Year awards any time soon.”

Toshinori grimaced. Wouldn’t that be nice? “And what are the odds of this being our case?”

“I wouldn’t bet my next paycheck on it, for sure.” Tsukauchi typed something on the keyboard, and checked his phone at the same time, before sighing and leaning back in his chair. “The other possibility is that Midoriya is indeed related to All For One, maybe even his son. He’s been fostered to a trusted associate of his and kept in the dark about everything.”

That option could be more statistically or genetically likely, but it still didn’t sit right with Toshinori. “That doesn’t sound like something All For One would do though. Why not raise him as a successor, or even just an underling? Surely another All For One wielder would have made for an important asset to his schemes.”

“You forget that Midoriya’s quirk manifested only two years ago. It is possible that All For One may have planned to do so, but lost interest when the child was deemed quirkless.” Tsukauchi scratched his head pensively. “As for why he didn’t keep the kid close since his birth… we can only assume it was out of caution. Fourteen years ago you had already put a significant dent in All For One’s syndicate and influence. Maybe he was already taking precautions against his own downfall, and didn’t want his potential successor to be involved in case things took a turn for the worse too quickly.”

“... I guess that makes sense.” Toshinori nodded. As per habit, he sent a quiet thanks to his lucky star for accidentally baring his secret to a damnably honest and capable member of the force such as Tsukauchi, God knew Toshinori himself wasn’t exactly cut out for fine deductive work. “In this case, the boy’s father…”

“...Is a former subordinate of All For One’s currently employed by the government, yes. Not a pleasant scenario to work with.” Tsukauchi waited for the printer to regurgitate a disproportionate stack of documents that made Toshinori instinctively recoil. The detective flipped through the paperwork quickly before sprinkling his signature on just about every odd sheet. “Regardless of which of the two hypotheses is true, I definitely want to look into this Hisashi Midoriya. He is by far the most suspicious aspect of the boy’s account.”

“Yeah. He doesn’t visit his family for a decade and a half, he doesn’t talk about his job, he doesn’t follow basic legal procedures, and you can tell he had more of an active role in encouraging Midoriya to hide the quirk than the kid lets on... It doesn’t exactly paint a reassuring picture.” Toshinori sighed. “This isn’t going to be easy for the boy…”

“It never is, when a family member is involved in criminal activities. But the fact that their relationship seems rather distant may make things a little less traumatic for him.” Tsukauchi checked his watch as he tidied up some stationery and turned off his computer. “Well, I guess I’m not too unforgivably late for my other meeting since we don’t have to question Mrs. Midoriya.”

“...Sorry about that. And for springing this on you all of a sudden.” Toshinori said with an apologetic grimace and his utmost sincerity. “You’re a saint.”

Tsukauchi’s small smile implied that he was well aware of the fact. “I’ll drive Midoriya home while I’m on my way to the city hall. Do you need a lift? Or do you want me to let you on the rooftop for a smoke?” That bit of code speak would never not be tragically ironic, Toshinori thought.

“No, I’ve already finished my shift for the day.” All three, scant, scattered hours of it. Japan’s finest, most dependable hero, ladies and gentlemen.

“Then thank you for your hard work.” His friend gave him a quick look and a brief, firm squeeze to his shoulder before heading to the door. No pity, no unrequested sympathy, no disingenuous praise, just straightforward respect and understanding. He really was one of a kind.

Midoriya was exactly where they’d left him, busy fiddling with his phone. He perked up when he saw them return. “Uh, my mother just texted me back. She says she’ll be home in about an hour. If you still want to talk to her.”

Tsukauchi hesitated. “It’s a little too late for me, I’m afraid. I’m expected somewhere else, but…”

“I can wait.“ Toshinori immediately volunteered. “It won’t be as thorough or official as if you interviewed her yourself, but if it can lighten your workload just a little…”

“...Well, I don’t see why not. Hop in the car with us then.”

The return trip was silent. Toshinori glanced at Midoriya a couple of times from the rearview mirror, and he always caught him in an ill-concealed state of unrest. Fidgeting with his phone, picking at the seatbelt, gazing nervously out of both car windows. Toshinori didn’t like that. Why all that agitation, now that the worst of the ordeal was supposedly over?

The boy eventually locked eyes with him. “...Oh. Uhm.”

“Something on your mind?” Toshinori asked.

“Uh, well, I was wondering…” His gaze dropped to his knees. “Are you going to tell my mother about my quirk?”

“I’m afraid so. She is bound to find out anyway, eventually. The police will issue an update on your quirk registration, as per the norm in such cases.”

“...Ah.” Oh boy, now he looked like a kicked puppy. That was just depressing.

“I don’t necessarily have to be the one to break the news to her though. If it makes you feel any better, you can tell her about the incident in your own words.” Toshinori offered, hoping to soften the blow.

“I… I think I would prefer that. Thank you.” The boy quietly acquiesced.

Tsukauchi shot Toshinori a pointed look. All right, maybe that wasn’t the most proper way to go about it, maybe standard procedure demanded the officer in charge to keep mother and son separate during the questioning and explain things personally in the most objective possible terms. But Toshinori wasn’t an officer, he was a washed-up alter-ego of the Symbol of Peace acting in semi-official consulting capacity, and he’d be damned if he didn’t try to make things a little less humiliating for the forlorn child in the back. He condensed that whole argument into a meaningful glance of his own, that Tsukauchi couldn’t hold for more than two seconds lest he drove them all straight into the back of a truck. Toshinori took that as unspoken permission to proceed as he saw fit.

“I’ll be leaving this in your capable hands then.” Tsukauchi said as the two stepped out of the car. The man had a veritable talent for conveying irony while maintaining the straightest of faces and the driest of tones.

“Your trust is deeply appreciated. Drive safely!” Toshinori shut the door of the car decisively and waved him off with a dazzling smile.

“Uhm. Okay.” Midoriya said, his eyes darting between the hero and the speeding car with obvious perplexity. “Mom won’t be here for at least another forty minutes. I can fetch that photo you wanted in the meantime. I think I know where it is… probably...”

“I’ll take you up on that, thank you.” Toshinori followed him across the parking lot and up the stairs of the apartment complex. The boy’s eagerness to please was a sight for sore eyes in this cold, self-serving world. “You really did something commendable today, you know? Not many people would be so ready to relieve the pain of those who hurt them. That villain owes you more than he’ll ever know.”

“Oh…” The boy fiddled with his keys as a light redness tinged his cheeks. “It’s nothing, really. It isn’t my place to judge anyone... let alone steal from them. I just hope he’ll get better soon.”

“I’ll keep you up to date on his condition, if you want.”

“Oh, you don’t need to! It’s fine!” Midoriya’s instinctual politeness clashed against Toshinori’s no-nonsense availability. It was a fierce battle, but one didn’t become the number one hero without developing a certain skill in staring people into reasonableness. Midoriya surrendered with a small smile. “...I-It would put my mind at ease though.”

“Then I shall.” Toshinori claimed with finality. “Honestly, I wish I could have done more today for you and Tsukauchi. You two took care of all the heavy lifting and data collecting while I just stood around doing nothing the whole time.”

“You did, didn't you…?” Toshinori’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Well, he hadn’t been expecting that candid a confirmation of his uselessness. Midoriya flinched and started flailing about in obvious distress as soon as he realized he’d voiced that thought aloud. “N-No! I mean- I don’t mean that you were- What I’m saying is that you didn’t really need to come. But you did anyway! F-For my sake, I get that. Because you promised you’d help me out, even if you surely have better things to do with your time, and… I truly appreciate it. Really.”

Toshinori laughed softly. Yes, ‘truly appreciative’ was indeed the boy’s default mood whenever he was graced with the barest amount of consideration, as far as the hero had witnessed in their short acquaintance. He didn’t think it was some sort of hero-worship-related response either, the kid just seemed that sensitive to it. “Don’t worry about it. It’s part of the job.”

“Is it?” Midoriya finally opened the door and they stepped inside. He let out a small chuckle of his own as they removed their shoes. “I guess I have new insight to add to the online speculation about All Might’s decreasing workload. I guess it is to be expected if yo- if he’s taken to follow up on all his cases so thoroughly.”

Toshinori had to fight back a traitorous cough. “W-well, there is really no need for me to overexert myself nowadays as I used to do in the past.“ He started, automatically supplying his PR-certified response to any inquiry on the topic. Goodness, people really did notice, didn’t they? It was hardly a new concern, but still… “The crime rate has been decreasing steadily, and the industry is so saturated with heroes that there’s someone ready to intervene almost at any place and at any given time. And those heroes could use the money and exposure way more than me…” Toshinori trailed off as they made their way to the living room. The boy was regarding him with unnerving attention, as if memorizing his speech word for word. “There are other reasons too, of course…”

Midoriya cocked his head to the side curiously, expecting further elaboration. Then it clicked, and he fleetingly glanced at the hero from head to toe with open contrition. “O-Oh! Of course! Your… Sorry, I forgot.”

That simple sentence confused Toshinori so much that he couldn’t help but gape back. The silence grew very awkward very quickly. “...Uhm. So, that photo of yours?”

“R-Right! I’ll go look for it! Make yourself comfortable! Be right back!” The boy bolted fast enough to leave metaphorical dust clouds behind him.

Toshinori wandered to the nearest chair with small steps. He forgot. That was quite the feat, while literally standing in front of the sad, wrecked husk that Toshinori had become. Or maybe the kid hadn’t realized that his appearance was a relatively recent development. That seemed more likely. Perhaps he had interpreted his vague answer about his quirk to mean that the number one hero had always been just that, a sickly, overachieving twig in a bodysuit keeping his own skeleton in the closet for nearly forty years.

Toshinori let out a sigh. Quite the uplifting impression he was leaving with this young one.

His circling thoughts were interrupted by a yelp, and the thundering noise of some heavy objects crashing just outside the living room.

“Midoriya?” Toshinori called, jumping to his feet. The second unanswered call had him by the source of the noise in a moment.

“I’m here! I’m fine!” Midoriya’s voice finally answered, from behind a half-closed door conspicuously marked as ‘Izuku’ by a familiar blond-banged nameplate.

“What was that?”

“Just… some stuff that fell down...” Toshinori approached it and peeked inside. Even from his limited perspective, he could see the boy sitting on the floor and rubbing his forehead, next to a tipped-over chair.

“And did that stuff happen to include you?” Toshinori deadpanned, inviting himself in... and pausing on the threshold. Taking in the interior of the boy’s bedroom. Which wasn’t the priority right now. He willed himself to ignore the star-spangled elephant in the room assaulting his senses and knelt down beside Midoriya, gently peeling his hand away from the sore spot. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, it’s just a bump.”

“You should put some ice on it.” There were no cuts or outer signs or damage, which was a good start. Toshinori’s eyes fell on the bottom half of the toppled piece of furniture beside them. “...Did you seriously try to climb on a rolling chair?”

“I do that all the time. It’s steadier than it looks!” There was no appropriate reply to such a claim, but Toshinori’s judgemental glare was enough to make the boy squirm. “I’m fine, really-”

“Ice.” He pointed sternly at the corridor. Maybe there was still a minimal chance of preventing an oversized lump on Midoriya’s forehead from outing to Tsukauchi and other responsible adults the fact the boy had nearly cracked his skull within five minutes of being left in Toshinori’s charge.

“All right. Just a second.” Toshinori kept an eye on the kid, making sure he wasn’t struggling to keep his balance, as he made his way out of the room. Room that Toshinori was now free to observe in all its embarrassing magnificence.

A soft All Might carpet. All Might-themed bedding. Walls plastered with All Might posters. All Might-patterned curtains. Shelves and shelves and shelves of All Might action figures and books.

It was always… humbling to be reminded of how much passion and care people from so many different walks of life could put in something as trivial as collecting hero merchandise - his hero merchandise, more often than not. Popularity and revenue were Toshinori’s very last priorities when it came to his job, but, despite merchandising being exactly about those, he wasn’t opposed to the practice in principle. It did help cement the reassuring image of the Symbol of Peace in the collective mind, which was definitely one of his lifetime goals. It brought a sizable influx of wealth to the agency’s treasury, which he largely redirected to charity and assorted emergency relief funds. It did seem to spark genuine joy and entertainment in both children and adults. And, when none of these arguments were enough to wash away the vague sense of guilt that came with profiting off the love and admiration of Japan’s fine citizens, Toshinori reminded himself that there were much worse, self-destructive indulgences people could waste their savings on. Alcohol. Tobacco. Drugs. Troll 2 DVDs. The like.

Midoriya reappeared nursing an ice pack against his temple. “Sorry about that. The photo should be in one of those boxes.” He gestured towards the wardrobe that sported a brown cardboard box on the top, and then towards the floor, where its twin lay sideways after a presumably rough landing. They cut through the tape of the latter and, after Midoriya emphatically assured him that he didn’t mind him browsing through his personal belongings in the slightest, Toshinori joined the kid on the carpet in their quest for the photographic Holy Grail.

“I probably slipped it inside one of these…” The boy said, pulling out small piles of notebooks and publications. Toshinori confined his perusal to dated magazines, comics and books that didn’t seem likely to invade Midoriya’s privacy. The first box yielded no result.

“Maybe it’s in that one. Let me get another chair- oh.” Toshinori only needed to raise his arms and strain slightly on his toes to comfortably reach the top of the wardrobe and retrieve the second- crap, that was heavy. How the kid planned to pull it down himself while standing on wheels was beyond him. “Thank you.”

Toshinori was sitting cross-legged and flipping through an old gossip magazine lavishing pages and pages of speculation on the meager information they had managed to scrape together on his association with Dave - ah, those were the days… - when Midoriya finally let out a triumphant Aha!

“Found it!” He regarded his prize with joy, but his expression quickly morphed into concentration and then confusion. Toshinori held out his hand expectantly, and the boy deposited the photo into it while indicating a specific spot. “It’s, uh… my father’s this one.”

Toshinori looked at the man in question.

And froze.

“He doesn’t…” He heard the boy say distantly, as if from kilometres away. “He looks… a bit different from the picture in the police file…”

Toshinori coughed. He was different, all right. Subtly, cunningly so. Both men had short, snow-white hair, both had relatively plain features and pale complexion, both had faintly-colored eyes that could pass as blue under the right light. They were similar enough that they could be mistaken for one another, when described verbally. But the man in Tsukauchi’s file was a stranger to Toshinori. The man in this photo wasn’t.

“This-” The hero managed, between small bursts of coughs that he couldn’t restrain. “This is the man that- told you to keep quiet about your quirk-”

“Y-Yes.” Midoriya was gawking at him with obvious concern, and it only got worse when the hero’s words sank in. “I-I mean, he didn’t- he just- we sort of agreed that-”

“And the-” Toshinori covered his mouth with his hand, already tasting iron on his tongue as he patted his trousers to find some tissues. “The last time you spoke to him was…?”

“A little less than a month ago.”

Something inside Toshinori just gave up on trying to hold it together. He erupted into a brutal fit, vicious enough to shake his whole body and squeeze his eyes shut. He heard the boy asking something in alarm, and he felt warm blood trickling down his chin before he finally got ahold of a handkerchief to press against his lips. He hacked and spluttered for an interminable minute, his throat and chest tight and sore from the effort. Eventually it died down, and he found himself hunched over and bracing himself against the floor, wheezing and struggling for breath as something shuffled beside him. He turned to check on the noise, and saw Midoriya tapping on his phone.

“Don’t.” Toshinori rasped, swallowing down the remaining blood coating his mouth and reaching out to gesture at him dismissively with his clean hand. “I’m fine.”

“N-no, you aren’t.” The kid looked on the verge of fainting himself. Toshinori followed his horrified gaze, only to notice he’d sprayed plenty of little crimson stains on both the photo and the carpet, not to mention his own clothes. Damn, that was a mess even by his standards. “B-But- it’s okay, I’ll call an-”

Toshinori unceremoniously plucked the phone from Midoriya’s grasp, made sure that he hadn’t dialed any number, and tossed it on his bed. No need to make the situation even more headache-inducing than it already was. “I mean it. It happens. Don’t worry.”

Toshinori cleared his throat as he contemplated the ruined piece of evidence anew. At least he hadn’t marred the spot containing ‘Hisashi Midoriya’. Despite the less than optimal angle, there could really be no doubt. There was no mistaking that face for anyone else’s, it had been seared in Toshinori’s mind by more than three decades of pain and regret.

...Shit.

Shit.

Toshinori collected the picture from the floor and stood up to drop it on the kid’s desk, where it sat innocently surrounded by dozens of pieces of licensed All Might memorabilia.

“...So this is your father, and he’s alive and well.” He stated it aloud and with scorn, because he felt it was important for the universe to hear that its sense of humor didn’t fly with everyone.

“Ehr. Yes. Do you-”

“All right. Okay. Fine.” Toshinori turned on his heels and headed for the door. “Excuse me, I have to make a phone call.”

“...To your doctor?” Midoriya asked apprehensively, visibly starting to doubt the hero’s mental as well as physical well-being.

“No.” He almost stamped a huge, bloody handprint on his slacks before remembering that he still looked like he’d just slaughtered a pig and devoured it raw. “Can I use the bathroom?”

“Second door on the left.” The boy muttered, too stunned by now to object to any of Toshinori’s tangents.

Toshinori washed his face, neck and hands, and rinsed his mouth. He decided he couldn’t bother to do anything about the state of his clothes. He took care of scrubbing the sink too once he was done, making sure he didn’t accidentally leave any red smears on it. He dried his hands and fetched his phone.

“Tsukauchi? Sorry, can you make it back to Midoriya’s house? Yes, as soon as you can. ...No, but we found that photo. You need to see it, it’s… it’s him.”

He closed the call and stared at his reflection on the mirror. His brain didn’t produce a single coherent thought. He walked back to the kid’s room.

Midoriya was peering at the picture intently, even though he hadn’t moved it from where Toshinori had left it. The man’s eyes fell on the scattered blots on the carpet. In his experience, there wasn’t much hope of removing them completely, but it seemed rude not to try, at least. “Got any cleaning supplies?”

Midoriya blinked at him owlishly. “In the bathroom. Under the sink.”

One short trip later, Toshinori was back with paper towels and rubbing alcohol. He waved the boy off when he made to kneel down beside him to help. He handed him the ice pack that lay forgotten on the floor, and the kid pressed it back on his forehead mechanically as he sat on his bed. Toshinori could benefit from only a couple of minutes of silence before Midoriya spoke.

“You know him.”

“...Yes.”

“You’re upset.”

Toshinori wondered if it showed on his face, or if it was just an educated guess based on the half-baked spontaneous hemorrhage he’d just displayed. He didn’t reply, his attention ostensibly focused on dabbing lightly at each smudge.

“Why…” The boy’s voice faltered. “W-Why is there a photo of another man in the police records?”

Toshinori couldn’t hold back a deep exhale. He wasn’t sure he was the most qualified person to have this conversation with the boy. He surely wasn’t the most eager to.

“All Might.” He felt compelled to raise his gaze. Midoriya was pale, his eyes wide and shiny with unshed tears. His expression was heartbreakingly imploring. “Please.”

He was going to find out anyway, at least the bare bones of it. Kindness was one thing, cowardice was another. Denying him an answer at this point felt more like the latter.

“I know him because he is known to the police. He’s a villain.”

“...A villain…?” The information bounced right against Midoriya’s shock. Toshinori gave him a curt nod. “No… no, that’s… not…”

Toshinori could track the gradual, painstaking process of acceptance the poor kid was going through from the aborted expressions quickly blurring into each other. Horror, fear, confusion, disbelief. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle a sob.

“A-Are you sure?”

Toshinori hesitated. Was there any other possibility they weren’t considering? “Are you absolutely certain that that’s the person you’ve been talking to?”

“I… I’ve never met him in person. B-But mom has, and she’s been talking to him too. She said it’s him.”

“...Then I’m afraid there can be no mistake.” It felt like dropping a boulder on the child’s chest, and the way Midoriya crumpled onto himself, cradling his head in both his hands, reinforced that gut-churning impression. Toshinori made no effort to conceal the sympathy in his whisper. “I’m sorry, kid.”

“H-He said…” The rest of that thought was swallowed into distraught silence.

“He told you he worked for the government?”

Midoriya took his time to answer, and he did so with a half-choked snort. “He… he never did, actually. I thought… He said things that… made me think…”

Toshinori grit his teeth. Figures. That silver-tongued demon wouldn’t spare even a child from his precious little mind games. “I can imagine.”

The silence that followed was only broken by the boy’s quiet sniffles, and it was so long that Toshinori believed the kid to have exhausted his reserve of bravery for further questions. He’d resumed his ill-concealed procrastination via blood-cleaning when the next inquiry dropped.

“What did he do?”

Oh, man. What didn’t he do? “He’s been involved in a variety of criminal activities, both directly and indirectly. He’s… quite the nasty customer.”

“Since when? How long for?” Midoriya gripped his head even more tightly, his fingers digging deep among his curls.

Toshinori had the distinct feeling that his well-meaning honesty was now trespassing into inadvertent cruelty. “We should wait for your mother before discussing this any-”

“Please.” Midoriya’s head snapped up, and the weight and emotion of those emerald eyes pierced through him like a blade. “Please, just tell me.”

Fourteen years of lies. Toshinori couldn’t bear to add even one more to the heap. “...Since long before you were born.”

Midoriya’s head dropped anew. Toshinori got back on his feet, unsure whether a kind word or a pat on the head could possibly ease that burden even slightly-

The ring of the doorbell made them both flinch, bursting that odd bubble of private desolation that had enveloped the boy’s room. They made their way out of the room, Midoriya quietly trailing behind the hero as the man opened the front door.

Tsukauchi opened his mouth to greet them, and froze. His eyes immediately homed in on the blood liberally splattered on Toshinori’s clothes, and on the melted ice pack Midoriya was still absently pressing to his temple.

“...What happened?”

Inko Midoriya had the same dark green hair as her son, styled in a way that made something inside Toshinori’s chest ache with nostalgia and familiarity. She had the countenance of a demure, quiet, respectable housewife that valued stability and her loved ones’ well-being above all, and would never even conceive of starting a family with anyone any less sensible than she was.

That was why Toshinori was thrown for a loop when, upon being informed that her absentee husband was a criminal, she simply closed her eyes and bowed her head with a sigh and a resigned “...Yes, I am aware.”

Toshinori let Tsukauchi lead the questioning, as usual. Inko had met ‘Hisashi Midoriya’ (under a different alias, at the time) when she was twenty-six, working as a secretary at the main branch of Detnerat. The man had been introduced to her as a representative from another support item company doing some preliminary checks on Detnerat for a potential merger.

This was unusual, but not exceedingly so. In the nearly thirty years he’d spent meticulously dismantling All For One’s organization, Toshinori had gathered evidence of him personally handling certain aspects of his schemes with surprising regularity, even relatively minor tasks or dirty deeds that could easily and safely be entrusted to his subordinates. He hardly ever found any specific reasons for All For One’s direct involvement. Toshinori strongly suspected that the bastard simply didn’t enjoy the lifestyle of the cooped-up, invisible puppeteer, and sometimes just felt like wrecking some havoc with his own diabolical hands.

Inko had been charged with supplying him with quite a sizable amount of rather sensitive data, but since the CEO in person had given the authorization, she had performed her task diligently and unsuspectingly.

Now, Toshinori had been expecting the worst to emerge while questioning the circumstances that had led Inko Midoriya to her current marital status. Without exaggerating, the very worst. Any sort of revolting account of manipulation, coercion, even human experimentation, there was no low All For One wouldn’t stoop to. They had confined the boy to his room before starting for that exact reason.

But apparently the universe wasn’t done throwing curve balls at Toshinori that day, and what they’d gotten instead was the succinct description of what seemed to be, by all accounts, a perfectly ordinary and unassuming workplace romance. One instigated mainly by Inko herself, no less. Toshinori’s strained mind didn’t quite know what to make of that baffling information, so it promptly repressed it.

“We didn’t keep seeing each other after he stopped coming to the company, but I did reach out to him when I found out I was pregnant. That was when I became aware that there was much I didn’t know about him.”

“How so?”

“He told me.” Inko replied simply. “He was... forward about it, in a way. He said that he couldn’t settle down in any given place, nor spare the time for being part of a family. He offered to let me join him in his activities, but… the way he worded it made it clear that he wasn’t talking of any sort of legal business.”

“Did he mention any details about what his ‘business’ entailed, in general or in that specific time frame?”

“No, not at all. But considering how we met, I assume he must be involved in industrial espionage.” Grief, brief but intense, shadowed on the woman’s features for a moment. “I… I resigned from Detnerat as soon as I found out. He had been asking rather sensitive questions about the inner workings of the company, and… even though I never technically shared confidential information, I felt like I had exposed it to too great a danger because of my irresponsible conduct. And, honestly… I was afraid of what could emerge if I kept working there in my condition.”

Toshinori rubbed his hands in his lap uncomfortably. No job, a son on the way, a presumably disreputable partner to deal with… What a wretched situation to find oneself in.

“You said he offered you to join him? In what way, exactly?” Tsukauchi asked from above the pages and pages of notes filling his notepad.

“...I am not sure. I didn’t ask, I had no intention of getting caught in that sort of environment. Nor did I want Izuku to grow up embroiled in dubious activities from an early age.” Inko’s brows furrowed, and her fist clenched slightly. “...I didn’t want him to feel abandoned either though. I didn’t want him to grow thinking his father had deserted him. I asked Hisashi to grant us that, at least. Financial support and the decency to call, once in a while.”

Toshinori couldn’t hold back a sharp cough at that. Inko regarded him with a mix of concern and suspicion.

He couldn’t blame her for it. He had accidentally caused her a fair share of grief when, her son having forgotten to warn her to expect guests upon her return, she’d opened the front door and found a freakishly tall, gaunt, haunted-looking, bloodied stranger looming in her hallway. Toshinori had waited in a conveniently secluded corner of the living room, trying to make himself look as small and non-threatening as possible, while Tsukauchi delivered the proper introductions and deflected the few concerned neighbors her terrified scream had attracted. Not exactly brilliant, as first impressions went.

“And he agreed to that?” Toshinori croaked.

“Yes. I was expecting some resistance, but… he agreed almost immediately.”

Toshinori gaped at the remissive-looking, soft-spoken woman who had once been capable of browbeating All For One into exercising a modicum of fatherly commitment. This whole Midoriya case was getting more and more unbelievable by the hour.

Tsukauchi cleared his throat pointedly. Toshinori scraped back together what little dignity he had left and tried to soldier on.

“Please continue, Mrs. Midoriya.” The detective encouraged.

“There isn’t much else to say, I think. I didn’t hear from him for months after that. I contacted him a few days after Izuku was born, and we’ve kept in touch ever since.”

Tsukauchi tapped his chin with his pen for a few moments, his expression deeply focussed. Then he looked Inko straight in the eye.

“You are being… unexpectedly forthcoming about all this, if I may.”

Inko let out a deep sigh. “I was never under the impression that we could escape the consequences of Hisashi’s actions forever. As soon as Izuku was born, I decided that I would never subject myself or my son to undue duresses just to keep my husband’s secrets. I told Hisashi as much as well.”

Toshinori had to stifle another wet cough with his handkerchief. How on earth was this woman still alive?

“And he had no qualms about this declaration?”

“No. It rather amused him, actually. He said that any mother worth her salt would put her offspring’s safety above that of their parents. And… something about natural selection and survival of the fittest…” Inko’s eyes flickered upwards briefly, like those of a very normal wife exasperated by the very normal idiosyncrasies of her very normal husband. “He does go off on such tangents.”

“So you aren’t concerned about any possible retaliations on your husband’s part because of your cooperation with us?”

“Oh!” Her eyes went wide, almost shocked by the mere suggestion. “Oh no, I really don’t think he’d be capable of something like that.”

Oh, how very wrong she was. Toshinori frowned, admittedly perturbed by the level of trust All For One had managed to establish within the family without ever even deigning to step in their household. Precautions would have to be taken to protect the Midoriyas from the tragic fate that usually befell all those who were deemed traitors by the Symbol of Fear.

More and more questions followed. With his habitual thoroughness, Tsukauchi pursued a multitude of topics and leads that hadn’t even occurred to Toshinori, at least not so readily. Timing and means of communications, occasional postal deliveries to and from the family, details about the sums of money regularly deposited in the family’s account, and so forth. Toshinori was rather out of his depth here, but he tried his best to help Tsukauchi sort through the reams of documents, receipts, records, and diverse paperwork Inko produced at the detective’s request. By the time Tsukauchi declared to be satisfied with his preliminary inquiries, he had earned himself two plastic bags bursting with evidence, and Toshinori had developed a burgeoning migraine.

As they finally made their way to the entrance, Toshinori glanced at the door to Midoriya’s bedroom. Amidst that cascade of new revelations, they’d barely touched upon the topic of the villain attack and of Midoriya’s quirk with his mother. Toshinori felt genuinely sorry for the difficult conversations that were sure to follow between those two.

He hadn’t realized how late it’d gotten until he stepped outside the Midoriyas’ apartment. Sunset had come and gone, and the lampposts and the bright squares of the neighbors’ windows were the only sources of light in the moonless night of that unassuming residential area. As the door closed behind his back, squeezing into nothingness the rectangular glow framing him and Tsukauchi, Toshinori felt the darkness weigh on his shoulders and seep in his bones almost physically.

He felt, suddenly, extremely tired.

“I’ll drive you home.” Tsukauchi’s wasn’t an offer, so Toshinori didn’t refuse.

“Thank you.”

They walked to the car as his friend made a couple of quick calls to instruct some agents to watch the house until the next morning. The fresh night air would have felt like a small bliss to Toshinori on any other day, but in that moment it only rattled whatever unpleasant manifestation of his unease had lodged itself in his lung earlier that afternoon and hadn’t left since. He coughed a few times in his fist, then a few more on purpose to make sure he got most of the discomfort in his throat out of his system before he settled in the passenger’s seat.

The drive was quiet. Toshinori gazed absently out of the window, letting the new awareness sink in his mind like a stone in a pond. All For One was alive. All For One was still alive, somehow. Toshinori couldn’t fathom how. They had never retrieved the body, that was true, but there was precious little they had managed to retrieve from the location of their fight back then. It was nothing short of a miracle they’d found Toshinori himself quickly enough to lend medical assistance. The only reason why they’d been able to keep the public from learning of the accident was because it hadn’t happened on the mainland, and the tiny, uninhabited island that hosted it had all but been wiped from the maps. That his foe may have survived that disaster, considering the damage he’d sustained, was almost inconceivable. Toshinori was pretty sure he’d actually caught a glimpse of the man’s exposed brain after landing the last-

“Are you all right?” Tsukauchi asked quietly.

The corner of Toshinori’s mouth twitched upwards. “I’m never going to defy New Year’s fortunes again. Moving away from Tokyo was a terrible idea.”

“This is a good thing. If you hadn’t, All For One would still be out there, and we’d be none the wiser.”

Hell. Five years. For five years they’d been none the wiser. How much strength had All For One regained in five years, while Toshinori’s own slowly went down the drain? How much of his criminal network had he managed to rebuild? How many unnoticed, unreported atrocities had he been plotting and executing, unbeknownst to all? The mere notion made Toshinori’s skin crawl.

But Tsukauchi had the right idea, there was no point in brooding over the current situation. Things could have turned out a lot worse. If Toshinori had already chosen a successor and exhausted One For All’s embers, by now he’d be powerless and useless, and the burden of facing his revived nemesis would have fallen entirely on the new, inexperienced wielder. That truly would have been a worst-case scenario. But as things stood, he could still rely on his quirk for a decent amount of time. He could still tie this dreadful loose end himself before passing the torch, and he’d spare no effort in the endeavor. He’d pursue the monster to the ends of the Earth if he had to, even if it meant wearing himself down to nothing for the rest of his life.

Or meeting his gruesome, bitter end in the process.

Toshinori shivered.

“So,” he heard himself say, “where do we go from here?”

Tsukauchi gave him a stern, silent scrutiny, then he told him.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #All Might #Toshinori Yagi #Naomasa Tsukauchi #deku #izuku midoriya #inko midoriya

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2manyfandoms2count · 3 years

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I love you (not) - Chapter 13

It's only fitting that chapter 13 of this fic would be the one that's most inspired by Taylor Swift (big Fearless vibes in here)... Tackling two prompts of @marichatmay in one, Locked in and oops. Spoiler: they finally kiss! Hope you enjoy the chapter! xx

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Chapter 13: In which it's finally timeTM

“Marinette,” Chat Noir said softly, reluctantly loosening their embrace.

She hummed in response, eyes still closed, and he tucked a strand of her already damp hair behind her ear. The skies were darkening, if it was even possible, the rain turning into a thick curtain around them, yet her soft smile was like a ray of sunshine illuminating them both. He was torn between staying there, basking in her light, and bursting their bubble. The thought that she could catch a cold crossed his mind, though, and he knew where his duty lied.

“Marinette, we should find shelter, you’ll be sick,” he insisted gently.

“I’m on holiday for the next two months, I have plenty of time to be ill,” she replied. She didn’t care if it wasn’t entirely true. She needed to be operational enough to fight any Akumas that sprouted up, but at that moment, those concerns felt like they were miles away.

Chat Noir paused. Even if he didn’t like the thought of her being bedridden, she did have a point.

“But you’ll ruin your pretty dress,” he whispered in her ear.

Marinette sighed against his chest. She really wanted to answer that she didn’t care, that she’d dance with him anywhere, whatever was going on around them, whatever she was wearing, but also especially in her best dress. She was starting to feel a little cold, though, and she couldn’t let her partner get ill himself.

“Fine.” She looked up at him, bluebell eyes wide and beautiful as a stroke of lightning lit up the sky, and Chat forgot how to breathe for a second.

The clap of thunder that swiftly followed made him gasp like he’d literally been drowning in her eyes, and he averted his gaze.

“Hang on tight,” he warned her, bending down slightly to reach behind her knees to lift her in a bridal carry.

As he strode purposefully towards the lift, Marinette wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself, and she realised that if he were to turn his head ever so slightly towards her, then there would only be a couple of centimetres between their lips. Rain streaming down her face, she was reminded of the dream she’d had about kissing Chat Noir. Would it be so bad to know what it would feel like, without the rush of an Akuma battle? She blushed at the thought, and buried her face against his shoulder to conceal her fluster.

Chat Noir had barely, tentatively, laid his head on the top of hers when the lift doors opened with a “ding”. He straightened up rigidly and walked inside, before delicately setting her down on one side of the cabin and walking to the other.

Marinette leaned back against the panel, stealing a glance at him as he pressed the restaurant button. The elevator got into motion; she pouted when he didn’t return to her side.

But maybe she’d gotten ahead of herself. Maybe the dancing, the rain, and the late night visits had gotten to her head, shining a new light on their, all in all, platonic all but in name relationship.

Before she could start dissecting why she felt disappointed, the lift stopped abruptly, making her lose her balance slightly. She tensed up, feeling that something wasn’t right.

Opposite her, Chat was also on high alert, ears perked up as he tried to pick up on any sound that could indicate the cause of the stall. When the cries for help and the crashing reached them, their gazes met, and they could read the panic in each other’s eyes at the thought that it wasn’t just the storm.

Chat pounced on the elevator button panel and punched all of them, hoping it would kickstart the machine, but unfortunately not even the alarm button responded.

“ Mince ,” they both swore under their breath.

Chat’s whipped his head towards her, and he flashed her a small smile.

“It’s okay, Marinette, don’t worry. Ladybug will get us out of here.”

“You really think so?” Marinette was trying very hard not to let her panic flood her as she looked around for any possible exit. Wasn’t there supposed to be a trap door on elevator roofs? Or could they try prying the doors open, and see where to go from there? Actually, why use force when they had a much more powerful weapon? “Can’t you maybe cataclysm the doors or something?”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t mix well with technology,” he grimaced. “I don’t want to risk hurting you. But I trust Ladybug, she’ll find a way.”

“I trust you too, Chat Noir,” she replied automatically. Her eyes widened when she realised how he could interpret her words, but Chat looked lost in his thoughts. And slightly… waxy, for some reason?

“Chat, are you-” Her question was interrupted by the lights flickering, and then turning off.

Chat’s gulp was extremely audible in the penumbra.

“Are you okay?” She asked cautiously.

“Absolutely peachy.” He might have been able to distract her from his strained voice with one of those smiles he was so good at putting on, but in the darkness, it was all she could focus on.

“Kitty.” She tried to channel all of her warning glance into her words.

“It’s nothing. I might be a tiny bit claw-strophobic, but don’t mind me.”

Marinette heard him slide down against the panel, his breathing accelerating.

“It’s alright, Chat, I’m here.” She knew he wouldn’t get exactly what she meant, and she definitely wasn’t going to clarify, but she hoped her soothing tone would be enough to help him keep calm.

Just in case, though, she scrambled to her knees and felt around so she could kneel in front of him. Her eyes were starting to be accustomed to the darkness; she saw his eyes sparkling in front of her. Leaning forward, she placed both of her hands on his shoulders, and hoped he saw her better than she saw him. She didn't care what was going on on the other side of the doors; her Chaton needed her, and he was her priority. They could figure things out later.

“I’m here, I promise it’s going to be alright,” she whispered again, and he nodded slowly, unconvinced. “I’m guessing this isn’t the first time it’s happened; what do you usually do when you’re feeling like this? Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I generally try to think happy thoughts,” he whispered back.

“Happy thoughts. Got it. Give me an example.”

“I like eating chouquettes?” He said tentatively.

“Okay… They are really good pastries. You know what, I think I saw some around at the party; think about how you can stuff your face full with them when we get out.”

“That would be nice.” He nodded a little more vigorously.

“Okay, what else?”

“I… I kind of like it when Ladybug scratches my chin,” he said almost shyly.

“You’re a real cat, you know that?” She smiled fondly. “Erm… would you like me to do that now?”

“Nah, it’s kind of a thing between me and her.”

“Okay, then.” She bit back a smile. “Keep going.”

“I really like receiving presents from you. They’re always so thoughtful.” His breathing was slowing down, his voice more assured.

“I really enjoy making them for you.” She blushed.

“Thank you.” He brought one of his hands to cover hers.

“You’re very welcome.”

Marinette stared into Chat Noir’s eyes, only averting her gaze and clearing her throat when she felt that she was getting a little too close to his face. She couldn’t help it. It was like being pulled in by gravity. “Anything else?”

He shook his head.

“Come on, Chat, there must be more good thoughts in that head of yours.” She ruffled his hair. “How does… How do the pictures of you and… Ladybug after the fight against Oblivio make you feel?” It was a daring question. She regretted it almost instantly, his lack of answer at first the most deafening of sounds.

“I used to really enjoy looking at them,” he said cautiously just when she was considering that transforming and making a break for it would be a less awkward option than being scrutinised like this.

“Used to?” She felt her heart rate pick up.

“Well, truth be told…” It was his turn to avert his gaze, although he tightened his grip on her hand ever so slightly. “I’m not sure I’d enjoy kissing Ladybug very much now.”

“Oh?” She hated that she was losing all coherence, her brain overanalysing the implicit meaning of his words, which truly couldn’t be what she thought, dreamed it could be.

“Well, see, there’s this other girl…” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, a smile gently spreading on his lips. Which she definitely wasn’t focusing on.

“Yeah?” she asked breathlessly, very aware of the short distance between them as she forced herself to hold his gaze.

“I’ve just found myself feeling closer to her, and hoping that maybe, just maybe…” His eyes flickered to her lips, and she couldn’t help it.

Her lips found their way to his like a butterfly to a flower, landing lightly at first, testing the waters. It was sweet, like apple juice.

Just as she was about to break contact, Chat’s arms came to wrap around her waist and he deepened the kiss. Her own hands moved up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. She felt him smile against her lips, and couldn’t help but smile herself.

And then there was light.

She jumped out of Chat Noir’s arms and he scrambled to his feet just as a firefighter finished opening the door, helped by Kim. They’d been so close to a proper floor.

“I knew I’d heard people talking in there!” Kim said excitedly, helping Marinette out. “Oh, hi Chat Noir! Do you know where Ladybug is? This Akuma is not messing around.”

“I’ll go and take care of it, I’ll call LB on the way.” He replied almost sheepishly. Marinette didn’t know where to put herself. She didn’t doubt that what they’d been doing could be read all over her face. Maybe Chat would even figure everything out by just looking at her. There was no doubt that she was just as red as Ladybug’s suit.

“Go find yourself a safe hiding place, Marinette.” Chat put a hand on her shoulder, his eyes boring into hers.

“Will do.” She nodded. “Be safe out there.”

“Will do.”

He started running towards an exit, but turned around just as he was about to turn the corner. He paused, as if he was about to say something, but thought better of it and flashed her a bright smile instead.

It almost made Marinette forget that she needed to get moving too.

#very love much fluster here #marichat #marichatmay2021 #marichat may #miraculous ladybug #the miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #ml #mlb #miraculous fanfiction #miraculous fanfic #marinette dupain-cheng #chat noir #day 17: locked in #day 18: oops #elle writes #love you (not)

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kumeko · 3 years

Text

Title: Garreg Mach Yearbook Chronicles

A/N: For the @garregmachzine I got to write four different snippets. It was a fun challenge trying to cram everything into a drabble.

Featuring: Leonie's troubles with Seteth and Flayn, Hilda charming Ferdinand to escape battle, Annette dealing with a club composed of Linhardt and Marianne, and Claude dodging Hubert's censor.

…

Fishing Tournament

Sitting on the banks of the pond, Leonie watched as her bobber dipped in and out of the water, floating idly along an invisible current. With any luck, she’d catch a fish soon. A big one, hopefully. Usually by now she’d have caught at least one or two, but then usually she was also alone while she fished. Leonie cast an eye around her, biting her cheek at the sight of her fellow classmates. Despite how early in the morning it was, it felt like half the monastery was sitting along the pond, trying their best to catch a fish.

Then again, it wasn’t everyday that Seteth held a fishing contest. After all that’d happened in the past few months, she couldn’t deny that they needed a break like this and it seemed that everyone else agreed. Byleth sat at the docks, quietly fishing. Next to her, Sylvain lost his balance and flailed as he struggled to keep out of the water. In the distance, she spotted Caspar and Raphael comparing their catches.

“I see you are also entering the fishing contest,” a slightly musical voice asked from behind her. Startled from her thoughts, Leonie looked up in time to catch Flayn as she sat down next to her. Like, right next to her. Smiling softly, Flayn clasped her hands together as she stared at Leonie’s rod. “Did you catch anything?”

“N-not yet.” Leonie shook her head, feeling a little awkward at the proximity. Maybe if she shifted the other way—

“That is a pity.” Seteth slowly sat down on her other side, a fishing rod in hand. He cast his line, his eyes on her the entire time. “It will not be much of a contest if there are no entries.”

Leonie resisted the urge to get up and run. What was it with these siblings, pinning her in like this? She felt sandwiched, with no way to escape. “I’m sure someone will manage to catch a good fish or two. Give me an hour, and I’m sure I can wrangle up a few myself.”

“Oh, that’s great.” Flayn clapped her hands. “However, that leaves a different problem. We’ll have all these fishes, and no one to cook them.”

Leonie swallowed. This was starting to sound familiar. “There are plenty of cooks—”

“Leonie has excellent skills,” Seteth suggested, as though he’d just thought of it. “Maybe she could?”

“Really?” Flayn lit up, before flashing her an innocent smile. “Leonie, would you mind?”

She should have just listened to her instincts and run.

-x-

Crest Studies

When Annette joined the academy, she had never seen herself leading a club, or leading anything for that matter. Sure, she would join one or two, but leadership was for the elites, for Dimitri’s and Sylvain’s of the world. Well, maybe not Sylvain exactly, but there were plenty other nobles who could fit the bill. Ferdinand. Lorenz. Hubert.

Yet it was her, not them, standing in front of the Blue Lions classroom, looking at her Crest Studies clubmates. To be perfectly honest, when the other options were the lazy Lindhardt and the shy Marianne, if Annette didn’t take the lead, nothing would get done. Even now, Lindhardt was dozing on his desk while Marianne fidgeted nervously.

Annette bit her cheek. She should have joined the gardening club. Clearing her throat, she announced, “For today’s activity, we’re going to the market.”

“W-what?” Marianne’s eyes grew wide. Sometimes, it looked like she didn’t know why she was in the club. “The market?”

“Why?” Lazily, Lindhardt lifted his head and gave her a baleful glare. “That’s a waste of effort.”

From the teacher’s desk, Professor Hanneman gave her thumbs up. At least someone liked her proposition. Annette quickly refuted, “It’s not.”

“We study crests,” Lindhardt replied languidly. “It’s a waste.”

Something about him always riled her up. She could feel her hackles rising. Stalking toward him, she rested her hands on her hip and bit out. “It’s not. We need to know what people think of crests.”

“Annette’s right.” Hanneman nodded sagely, intervening before an argument started. “It’s important to consider different perspectives when studying a topic.”

“But talking to people…” Marianne gnawed on her lip. “I’m not sure—”

“It’ll be fine.” Annette clasped Marianne’s hands, squeezing them tight. “Besides, we’re going to interview later, so this is good practice.”

Hesitantly, Marianne nodded. “I-I suppose that’s true.”

“Can’t we just interview now and get it over with?” Linhardt interjected, yawning.

Annette pulled Marianne up to her feet. “We’re going to the market,” she stated firmly, refusing to broker any more arguments. “If you want to decide what we’re doing, then you be the club president.”

It was an ultimatum he’d never take, and they both knew it. With a sigh, he got up. “Fine, I suppose there’s some merit to it.”

“Good.” Annette grinned as she gently tugged Marianne toward the door. Finally, she could tell Mercedes that they’d done something other than sit in a classroom. Finally, just like all the other clubs, she was going to go out with her clubmates and do something fun.

Perhaps there was some merit to being club president, after all.

-x-

Battle of the Eagle and Lion

I’d say it is an honour to write about the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion, but that was before so many of my drafts got mysteriously burned or destroyed because if I happen to make any unflattering comments about Edelgard, I have to start over. Though I would argue they aren’t disparaging, but who am I to argue with her guard dog, Hubert?

So what can I say about the Battle? Well, I guess the obvious—all three of our houses showed what they did best: Edelgard with her strategies, Dimitri with his training, and me with my ‘schemes’. I call them strategies, others call them traps, to-may-to, to-mah-to. Honestly, I didn’t do anything sinister this time around. If a lot of students just happened to get a case of mild food poisoning, well, things happen. Raphael got it too and you don’t hear me complaining about sabotage.

Let’s see, something flattering—ah, I know! It’s actually quite impressive how much Edelgard was able to move despite her illness. Honestly, if someone had poisoned, they’d better know to up the dosage next time. Despite her thinning ranks, she managed to set up her classmates quite skillfully, and Hubert somehow managed to do a lot of damage despite looking like he needed to find the closest toilet.

Of course, Dimitri powered his way through the food poisoning. I think he’s got the strength of a dozen soldiers, or boars as Felix likes to put it. Felix also managed to move, but I think that was purely out of spite. It’s amazing what a motivation spite is. Then again, I think Hubert would know all about that, wouldn’t he?

My house, of course, were the cleverest of the bunch, carefully goading out our enemies and defeating them one by one. Despite losing our strongest member, we rallied around each other and fought back. It was a close fight by all reckoning. And honestly if Edelgard lost (notice I said if, Hubert!), it wouldn’t be all that shameful, considering the handicaps she had.

Now, you might be wondering who actually won? Why it’s (scorched words) of course! Was there ever any doubt?

-x-

Mission Battles

Out of all the school activities she was forced to do, Hilda disliked the missions and mock battles the most. With the others, she could get away with appealing her classmates into helping her, whether it was Marianne in the library or Raphael with the stables or some other poor, hapless soul who crossed her path. As long as it was done, no one was the wiser.

On the battlefield, she wasn’t quite as lucky. No one could protect her the entire time and her charms were entirely wasted on the enemy. It wasn’t like they’d stop fighting her just because she asked.

Or maybe, if she—no, no, it was best to banish that thought. Hilda gripped her axe as she studied the battlefield before her. Just ahead of her was a bandit and unfortunately, there was no ally in sight to protect her. She was going to have to cut this one down herself. “I don’t suppose you’d back down?”

The bandit roared in response, charging at her.

“Step back!” Ferdinand quickly dashed ahead of her, his sword gleaming in the sunlight as he slashed down on her foe. With two quick strikes, the bandit was down and her rescuer looked at her triumphantly over his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yes! Thanks so much!” Hilda clasped one of his hands and gave him a soft smile. She stood corrected—she could absolutely charm her way through a battle, as long as it was one of those rare cross-house battles.

“No problem.” Ferdinand smiled brightly, before looking over his shoulder at Edelgard. “As you can see, I have struck down another enemy. That brings my count to higher than yours, does it not?”

“We’re in the middle of battle, Ferdinand,” Edelgard warned, axe clenched tightly in her hands. “We’re not competing.”

“Considering how one-sided it is, I could hardly call it a competition.” Ferdinand sniped, trying to pick a fight as usual.

Judging by Edelgard’s weary expression, his taunts still didn’t work. Determining that Hilda was safe enough, Ferdinand once more returned to Edelgard’s side, no doubt challenging her once again. It was impressive how he didn’t give up. A little sad, but impressive.

If he wasn’t going to give up, neither would she. There was bound to be another sucke—noble man willing to lay his life for a damsel in dress. Catching sight of a flash of red, Hilda smiled. “Oh, Sylvain!” she called out, batting her eyes.

Perhaps she could charm her way out of fighting too.

#fe3h #hilda valentine goneril #claude von riegan #annette fantine dominic #leonie pinelli #seteth #flayn #marianne von edmund #linhardt von hevring #ferdinand von aegir #fanfic

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drabbles-of-writing · 4 years

Text

Necessary Needles

This is part of my Four Years AU

AO3

Masterpost

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The Boiling Isles, like any other place, had its own diseases. Some were unavoidable, like the bright maggots that lived at the Toes who gave you bright disease. Having your organs glow and shrivel up was not fun.

However, like any other place, they had ways to combat most diseases. Schools like Hexside required it. You can’t expect to deal with abominations, beasts, healing, multiple species of plants, and the occasional wayward potion and expect to come out completely clean.

So the worry of Luz having no papers or medical exams to speak of was bound to come up.

“We need to take her to a healer, Edalyn.” Lilith hissed, crossing her arms. “She’s human, she’s incredibly exposed to everything here.”

“Coming down with a little flu isn’t that big a deal,” Eda muttered, turning her head away and crossing her arms. “She’ll be fine in a few days.”

“She might, but what if it was worse?” Lilith persisted. “Hexside is looking for papers saying that she’s been vaccinated. They could kick her out!”

“Bump is a flexible guy,” Eda snapped. “Look,” She sighed, shoulders slumping. “It’s not that I disagree. Luz could get sick pretty easily. But like you said, she’s human. We don’t know how those vaccines are going to react to her.”

Lilith thought for a moment, pacing the living room. Luz had been sent to bed hours earlier after it’d been revealed she’d woken up with the Centipoodle Flu. Not typically deadly, unless you were very unlucky. But worrying all the same.

“Human biology isn’t all that different from witches, is it?” Lilith asked. “The shots are designed to fit a very broad section of witches, even half-demons can take those.”

“Well, she doesn’t have a bile sac, that’s a big difference.” Eda pointed out. “And…” She frowned.

“Actually, I think that’s the only issue.” She blinked. “I don’t think lack of fangs, rounded ears, and getting excited about hisses and growls do much.” She said.

“Her vocal cords must be different if she can’t hiss,” Lilith nodded. “But I doubt that will be a problem.”

“Okay, er, blood vessels or something?” Eda tried. “Those could be different. If she doesn’t have a bile sac, who knows what else she does or doesn’t have.”

“I really think it’ll be fine,” Lilith insisted. “I doubt that vaccines as modified as these will cause serious harm to Luz.”

“This isn’t a spell that’ll go away after a day, Lilith,” Eda growled, pacing around the living room table.

Lilith flinched at the obvious reference and cleared her throat.

“As hard as it seems to believe, I do want Luz to be safe.” She said, carefully keeping her voice low. “I understand she means a lot to you. But it will only get worse if she’s left to the elements on her own.”

Eda glanced back, scowling with her ears laying back.

“I’ll think about it.” She finally said. “We’ll see how she is when she gets better.”

“Thank you, Edalyn.” Lilith sighed, the tension releasing from her shoulders.

“But if she gets them, I’m making you take her.” Eda added, pointing an accusing finger at her sister. “Which gives me more leverage to bully you if she hates you. Those things are painful.” She winced at the memory.

“Uh huh, of course.” Lilith nodded, mildly amused. “And because I can at least pretend I’m not a wanted criminal?”

“That too.” Eda agreed. “Also, if you kidnap Luz, it’s on sight.” She warned, eyes narrowing.

“Why in the world would I want to…?” Lilith began to question before Eda gave her a deadpan stare and she slowly shut her mouth again.

“Right, of course. How could I ever forget?” She sighed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep reminding you.” Eda said cheerfully.

“Oh, I’m well aware.”

Luz had been better within a few days. Still a bit sniffly, but otherwise no worse for wear. Eda had finally relented to letting her get vaccines, and true to her word, Lilith was the only one who took her.

Of course, disguises were hardly needed. It had only taken a year for everyone to recognize the residents of the Owl House on instinct alone. Though Lilith did make illusions to make sure the Emperor’s Coven wouldn’t come around.

And the sheer intimidation of her existence was enough to convince the healers to usher Luz away to get her shots that, in the humans opinion, looked a lot like leeches and hurt way more.

Aside from a somewhat numb arm full of leech bite-marks, Luz returned to the Owl House with no problems, despite Eda’s best efforts to prove otherwise.

Lilith, incredibly smug, said that really, the worst that would happen was that Luz would get sick for a bit and need checkup, but nothing more.

With that, Luz had gone to bed to read her books with King before passing out like she always did.

Eda could never push away a small lingering quiver of worry.

Eda was awoken at six in the morning to the sound of something, very loudly, crashing down the stairs.

And since she was used to interruptions like these, and heard plenty of muffled giggling and thumping after the fact, she wasn’t overly worried as she pulled herself out of her nest.

“Luz, did you sneak in a baby griffin again?” Eda called, walking down the hallway towards the stairs.

“Eda, Eda,” Luz’s giggling drifted from the bottom of the steps. “Eda I can feel colors.”

Eda paused for a brief moment, slowly processing what she heard her say.

Then she broke into a near-sprint as she stopped at the top of the stairs, spotting Luz in a tangle of limbs at the bottom, giggling like a madman.

Eda hurried down and pulled the kid up, checking for any broken bones or sprains, which thankfully there were none of.

“Eda, colors feel weird.” Luz whispered, looking up at the witch. “Really really weird. But also kinda cool?”

Eda sucked in a breath at the sight, letting go of Luz.

Her pupils were heavily contracted. Like she was staring right into a flashlight. While she spoke, her left pupil had suddenly expanded and began growing and shrinking at the speed of a broken lightbulb.

“Oh boy,” Eda breathed, worry creasing her brow. “Do you feel alright, kid?”

“Thirsty,” Luz said, her head slowly falling to the side before she jerked it back up again. “And excited! I don’t know why, but I am! Everything’s really bright but also not?” She said, looking around.

“Christ, I haven’t seen a trip like this since King ate moondust.” Eda murmured, running a hand through her hair and shaking her head.

“Hmm?” Luz hummed, clearly only half paying attention.

“Just, go sit on the couch, please.” Eda sighed. “I need to get Lilith.”

“Okay!” She said, overly cheerful.

And then she just stood there, blinking fish-eyed at Eda, still smiling.

“Uh, kid? Couch,” Eda said, pointing off towards the door to the living room.

“Oh, yeah,” Luz said, shaking her head and stumbling, slamming into the doorframe on the way out.

Eda watched Luz leave for a few seconds before growling and storming her way back up the stairs.

King had awoken from where he was in Luz’s room and sleepily poked his head out, half-awake.

“Keep an eye on Luz,” Eda instructed him as she walked by. “Don’t let her touch anything.”

“Oh, someones in trouble,” King sang before scampering out of Luz’s room.

“You bet she is,” Eda hissed, stopping in front of the makeshift storage room they had made into Lilith’s room.

She didn’t even bother to knock, she just threw the door open.

Lilith was already waking up from the noise, her hair a mess and rubbing at her eyes. She looked up, saw Eda furiously standing in the doorway, and let out a sigh.

She calmly picked up her glasses from an old table she’d made (Eda had insisted she get her glasses back since she had no reason not to use them anymore), put them on, and slowly stood up, mentally preparing herself.

“What happened this time?” She asked calmly.

“Luz! Luz is what happened!” Eda shouted. “If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought she’d snuck into the Night Market!”

“And by that you mean…?” Lilith asked slowly.

“She looks drugged, Lilith.” Eda hissed. “How long is this going to last, exactly?”

“I don’t know, I’m not a healer.” Lilith shrugged, clearly trying to hide an amused smile. “Let me see her, I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“Don’t eat the glyphs, Luz!” King’s yelling from downstairs reached their ears. “Don’t--Luz that’s fire!”

Eda’s sneer grew and Lilith pointedly refused to meet her gaze.

Without a word, the sisters hurried down the stairs and into the living room, both mentally preparing to have to put something out.

Luz was in the process of eating a ripped up glyph, both pupils blown wide, blitzed out of her mind. King was stuck under one of her arms, holding the other end of the glyph he had probably been forced to rip to stop her from activating it.

“Eda, what happened to her?” King demanded, squirming in the human's grasp. “She thinks the glyphs are pancakes!”

Lilith snorted, stifling a laugh at the sight. Eda gave her sister a glare that would melt Emperor Belos himself, and her smile quickly fell.

“You’re right, you’re right, not funny.” She said matter-of-factly. “Did she wake up like this?” “I assume so,” Eda said, walking over to the girl and picking her up from under her arms. “She fell down the stairs and said she could feel colors.”

“These have a lot of colors,” Luz giggled, pulling the ripped glyph out of her mouth and waving her around.

“...alright,” Lilith said slowly, placing her hands together. “Clearly, the vaccines had more of a side effect on her than we thought.”

“Ya think?” Eda hissed, holding Luz upright as she looked around at everything, her eyes nearly entirely taken up by her pupil.

“On the plus side, I doubt this will be permanent.” Lilith continued. “Most of the vaccines given to her were ones that wear off over time.”

“How long, exactly?” Eda asked.

Lilith pressed her mouth together in a thin line, weighing her options.

“...about ten years?” She said, raising her hand and tilting it. “Sometimes five?”

“Lilith!”

“It’s probably just her body reacting to the small bits of illness and magic,” Lilith said quickly, mildly nervous. “It’ll get out of her system eventually, I’m sure.”

“And how long,” Eda grit her teeth together, grabbing Luz’s hood as she tried to wander off. “Do you think this’ll last?”

Lilith frowned, thinking for a moment.

“A week at worst,” She decided. “If nothing changes by then...we may have to ask in a favor or two.”

“You are so lucky Amity likes you,” Eda growled, pointing a finger at her sister. “Or I’d do worse than send you to Hooty.”

“I didn’t know this would happen!” Lilith defended. “I genuinely thought it would be okay! You think I want her like this?” She said, gesturing to the girl with her hand.

Eda knew very well she didn’t. Lilith could be uncaring and annoyed with practically everyone around her, but she knew better. And, well, even she had admitted that using a child as a shield that one time was a bad move.

And, besides, her apprentice, as far as she knew at least, was friends with Luz. So that automatically put her higher up on Lilith’s list than others.

Didn’t change that Luz was even crazier than normal now, though.

“You insisted on this, you fix it.” Eda finally decided, pulling Luz closer. “This is borderline disturbing, even for her.” She said, looking down at Luz’s glazed, but still happy, expression.

“I’ll do what I can,” Lilith promised. “In the meantime, let’s hope being a little delirious is the worst of our troubles.”

“Don’t jinx us, Lilith.”

“So, we’re basically on Luz-watch now?” Willow asked, eyeing Luz as she downed her fifth water bottle in an hour like a shot.

“We’re all on Luz watch,” Eda corrected. “Lilith is off trying to find something useful while we gotta sit here and hope she doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Like being thirsty is a crime,” Luz huffed, her right eye half-lidded with a contracted pupil.

“Fascinating,” Gus murmured, poking Luz’s cheek. “I never would’ve imagined something as simple as a few vaccines would cause such a severe reaction in humans.”

“Who knows? Maybe it’s just a Luz thing,” Willow suggested, holding her friend up as she started to heavily lean to the side.

The trio were all sitting on the floor in front of the couch in a semicircle. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think they were expecting Luz to start coughing up blood.

“There are lights everywhere,” Luz grinned, gazing with drooping eyes around the room. “They kinda hurt.” She said, her smile never falling as she squinted her eyes.

“You better not get worse,” Eda warned, crossing over to the kitchen. “You kids hungry? It’s still morning.”

“I had a snack on the way here,” Willow assured the witch.

“Has Luz eaten?” Gus wondered.

Luz stared at him blankly for a moment before Willow nudged her.

“Mm, not hungry,” Luz mumbled, her left pupil dilating for a moment before contracting to the same size as her other one.

“Are you sure you feel alright?” Willow inquired, frowning.

“Yes and no?” Luz squinted. “I’m like...feeling so great it’s uncomfortable. Does that make sense?” She asked, turning her head to her friend before almost falling over again.

“At least she can talk a bit better now,” Eda muttered, poking her head back into the room.

“Luz is going to get better, right?” Gus worried, peering over Luz.

Eda opened her mouth, shut it, thought about her words for a few moments, and inhaled deeply.

“Yeah, eventually.” She said, praying to the Titan she wasn’t lying. “We just don’t know when.”

“So does this mean I can study her?” Gus asked excitedly, eyes shining.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Willow said carefully, relenting to just always keeping an arm around Luz as she stared off into blissful space. “I doubt she’ll stay still.”

“I want to see what kind of symptoms she has,” Gus defended. “This is the only time I’ll ever get to know what some of our medicine does to humans!”

Eda flinched at the unintended reminder of Luz’s current situation. She was almost glad Luz could barely process any of the words being spoken around her, she was sure the human would’ve noticed as well.

“Just be careful with her, you hear?” Eda relented. “I’m not about to take her to a healer and risk this information making it to the Emperor’s Coven. A little studying will probably help us.”

“Yes!” Gus pumped a fist in the air and conjured himself a pencil and paper. “If anything, think of this as a recording of what’s going on. I doubt Luz will be able to remember all of this in clear detail.” He said, tapping his pencil on her head.

Luz jolted, looking towards Gus dumbly at the sudden touch.

“Hm, pencil isn’t very colorful.” She hummed.

“Where’s rich girl, anyway?” Eda asked, leaning in the kitchen door frame. “I thought she would’ve rushed over here.”

“She doesn’t even know this is happening.” Willow said. “You just called me and Gus, told us to hurry over, and then hung up.” She deadpanned. “We didn’t know the situation until we got here.”

“Eh, fair.” Eda nodded. “Poor girl would probably have a heart attack at the sight of her,” She gestured a hand to her apprentice.

“Amity would definitely have some choice words,” Gus agreed.

“Amity?” Luz suddenly perked her head up, looking around wildly like a puppy who’d been told they were getting a treat. “Amity’s here?”

Willow and Eda shared a knowing glance before turning back to the human.

“No, Luz, Amity isn’t here.” Willow said calmly.

Luz visibly drooped, disappointed. At least they knew she could still feel other emotions.

“Do you want me to call her?” Willow asked the girl.

Luz rose up again, excited. Gus was reminded of an emotional yo-yo.

“Great, more children,” Eda muttered. “You two are handling her inevitable panic.”

“Fair,” Willow nodded, pulling out her scroll. “Gus, take Luz for a minute.”

“Huh?” Gus looked up from taking notes just in time to get crushed by Luz falling over him.

Willow dialed Amity, ignoring the strangled cries of distress from Gus. She picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, Wills,” Amity crackled through the scroll.

“Amity!” Luz trilled happily, sitting up from where she was crushing Gus.

“Is that Luz?” Amity inquired.

“Yeah, we’re at the Owl House.” Willow explained, holding Luz back from tumbling over her by holding a hand against her face.

“I can breathe!” Gus gasped. “Hi, Amity!” Luz giggled.

“Hey, Luz,” Amity mumbled.

You could see Willow’s will to live leave her body. Eda gave up and went back into the kitchen to grab herself a snack.

“Luz is in a bit of a situation at the moment,” Willow said calmly. “Turns out our vaccines don’t clash well with her.”

“What? Is she okay?” Amity worried, and the sound of shuffling was heard from the other line.

“Yeah, just really blitzed out.” Willow assured. “She says she can feel colors and is excited to an uncomfortable extent.”

“Willow has a lot of calm colors,” Luz grinned, giving up trying to squish Willow and instead dropping her head onto her leg. “I like ‘em.”

“That...sounds concerning.” Amity said slowly. “I’m coming over.”

“We’ll be waiting,” Willow said, before hanging up.

“Yay! Amity’s coming!” Luz cheered, trying to raise herself to a sitting position and wincing. “Ow, too loud.”

“Too loud?” Gus repeated, trying to write something down. “What is?”

“Spoke too loud,” Luz whined, shutting her eyes.

“You...usually speak that loud when you're excited.” Willow raised a brow. “Are your ears alright?”

“Just round,” Luz snickered at her ‘joke,’ cracking open an eye. “Everything about me is round! Round ears, round fang teeth, round face,” She said, proceeding to squish one of her cheeks in her hand.

“Your round ‘cause your squishy,” Willow agreed, helping Luz sit up properly.

“Very squishy,” Luz agreed. “I am the squishiest.” She said seriously. “Is your vision normal?” Gus asked, cautiously leaning closer to his friend. “No more spots?”

“Mm, less so.” Luz said, staring off at nothing. “And I think the couch is alive,” She said calmly.

The friends looked at the couch, and upon seeing it wasn’t moving, turned back to Luz.

“There’s...nothing happening.” Willow said slowly. “I mean, it could be alive, but nothings happening right now.”

“Are you sure?” Luz frowned, squinting intensely at the couch. “I swear the cover is like...rippling.”

Gus looked to the couch, back to Luz, back to the couch, and then back to Luz again.

“So she’s getting hallucinations,” He said, writing it down. “Good to know.”

“She what?” Eda called back, confused.

King poked his head through the kitchen door, his tail flicking.

“Eda wants to know what you said,”

“We heard her.” Willow sighed.

“Hallucinations. Luz thinks the couch is moving,” Gus said, not even sparing a glance up from her notebook.

“Oh, did it wake up?” King asked sincerely. “Eda! I think the couch woke up again!”

“The couch is alive?” Willow squeaked, pulling Luz closer and scooching away from it.

“Ha! Knew it,” Luz weakly waved a fist. “I knew it had to be alive.”

Eda reappeared soon after, double-checking that the couch hadn’t woken up. Gus was about to tell her the same information he told King, but the sounds of Hooty shrieking at someone caught everyone's attention.

They couldn’t make out his words, but it was hard to miss his high-pitched voice. Eda walked to the front door and cracked it opening, fully expecting to see Lilith or some random kid trying to find the Owl House again.

Instead, she saw Amity, hissing with fangs bared and looked ready to punch Hooty in the face. Which was understandable, considering he was continuously bugging her.

“Someone was anxious to get here,” Eda chuckled, swinging open the door and crushing a small piece of Hooty’s body between the door and the wall.

Hooty squawked and started harping on Eda, complaining and turning his attention away from Amity.

“Oh, hey, Eda.” Amity said, calming down and smoothing her hair back.

Eda could visibly tell Amity was trying to not breathe in too deeply, sure-fire evidence at how fast she had rushed to the Owl House.

“In here,” Eda said, letting Amity inside before shutting the door on Hooty’s complaints.

“Hey, Amity.” Willow greeted numbly.

Luz, who had previously been laying against Willow’s shoulder, popped up at a speed that made Gus concerned that her neck might’ve cracked.

“Hi, Ami!” Luz said cheerfully, her pupils immediately dilating so wide that you could barely see the whites of her eyes.

Amity paused, looking like she was about to be flattered before seeing the state Luz was in. She knit her brow together, clearly even more anxious as she hurried in, getting on her knees beside her friends.

“How long has she been like this?” She asked, hesitantly reaching out a hand before pulling back.

“Since this morning,” Gus said. “Eda said she’ll be fine.”

“That’s a relief,” Amity exhaled.

Eda mumbled something and slipped out of the living room. King was about to follow her before she spoke something quietly to him and left.

Instead, the demon pouted and sat at the door leading to the staircase hallway, his arms crossed.

“Oooh, you’re really colorful,” Luz said, grabbing Amity’s outstretched hand and pulling it closer.

“I--huh?” Amity stuttered, blushing.

“It’s so pretty,” Luz whispered, sounding not all there as she pressed Amity’s hand to her cheek.

“Don’t pass out on us,” Willow teased the furiously red witch. “I’d hate for you to die at fifteen.”

“Don’t test me,” Amity growled.

“Can you feel these ‘colors’ with other people?” Gus questioned the human.

It took a few seconds for Luz to react but she eventually looked back up at Gus.

“Mmm, yeah,” She mumbled. “Eda’s are weird,” She enunciated, swaying slightly.

Willow slowly held a hand on her shoulder to stop her from toppling. If Luz noticed, she didn’t comment.

“So, she’s really high right now, is what I’m getting at.” Amity said, looking over Luz, who still refused to release her hand.

“Pretty much,” Willow nodded. “At least the vaccines gave her a happy-high. I don’t know if we could handle a panicky or angry Luz.”

“Where’s,” Luz slurred for a moment, her right pupil contracting. “Where’s my, my,” She struggled for a moment, clearly forgetting what she was trying to say.

“You alright there?” Gus asked, trying not to laugh.

“¿Cuál es la palabra para eso?” Luz muttered under her breath. “Capucha...gato...gato capucha…”

“Is she speaking backwards or something?” Amity asked, alarmed.

“Oh, oh! Luz explained this to me once,” Gus said, perking up. “She said it was a human language...Spanish I think.”

“Hoodie!” Luz finally burst out before wincing and ducking her head, finally releasing Amity’s hand.

“Your hoodie?” Willow blinked. “Luz, you grew out of that four months ago.”

“Did someone say Hooty?”

Everyone groaned as the bird tube himself popped in through the window, happily chattering in his high voice.

“Did you guys miss me?” He yapped on.

Luz suddenly yelped and clapped her hands over her ears, doubling over into a ball. Her friends whirled back to her, startled.

“Is she still all weird?” Hooty continued, circling around them until his head was right by Luz. “Hi, Luz! Are you still being weird?”

Luz whimpered and curled into an even tighter ball, turning her head away from Hooty and squeezing her eyes shut.

“Quit it!” Amity snapped, shoving the birds face away. “You're scaring her!”

“Scaring?” Hooty repeated, though he did move back. “But I didn’t even do anything mentally scarring this time!”

King, who had fallen asleep at the door, was easily awoken by Hooty’s screeching. He noticed Amity pulling a balled-up Luz further away from Hooty, murderous intent in her gaze, and was quick to rush over.

“I’m awake! I’m awake! What happened?” He asked, skidding to a stop.

“I don’t know, but Hooty’s freaking out Luz.” Willow said, reaching out a hesitant hand to the girl.

“Hey! You! Shoo!” King snapped to the bird, waving his paws at him. “Don’t make me get Eda!”

“Alright, alright! Sheesh!” Hooty grumbled, slowly pulling himself back out the window. “I didn’t mean to do anything, gosh.” He muttered, frowning as he disappeared back to the front of the house.

“Luz?” Amity worried, looking down at the shaking girl halfway in her lap. “Luz? He’s gone now, it’s okay.”

Luz cracked open an eye, revealing it had contracted to a disturbingly small size. She slowly removed her hands from her ears and sat up, almost knocking her head into Amity’s chin.

“Are you alright?” Willow worried, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder.

“Loud,” Luz whined, rubbing at her ear.

“Should I call Eda?” King worried, coming up in front of Luz. “I should call Eda. Hey, Eda!” He shouted, turning his head away. “Eda!”

Luz hissed and jerked back, shutting her eyes and covering her ears again.

King jumped back and covered his mouth with his paws. Willow was quick to wrap her arm around Luz’s shoulders.

“I’m so sorry!” King exclaimed, immediately covering his mouth again when Luz’s flinch revealed he’d been too loud again. “Sorry, sorry,” He whispered, taking another step back.

“Luz?” Willow worried.

“Loud,” The human repeated, burying her head in Willow’s shoulder. “It’s loud.”

The other three all looked to each other with concern.

“But...Hooty and King always talk like that.” Amity said slowly. “It...it’s never bothered her before.”

“She must have gotten more sensitive to sound,” Gus said, his voice lowered. “Us talking normally must already be quite loud. And considering King and Hooty are naturally louder when they talk, she must think they’re screaming if they go so much as a few notes up.”

King sat on the floor, his paws still wrapped around his muzzle, his face full of horror and shame.

Rapid footsteps were heard coming down the stairs, and Eda was in the living room in a flash, holding her staff in one hand.

“What happened? Is everyone okay?” She asked, hurrying over.

“Luz is sensitive to sound,” Willow explained softly. “Hooty and King hurt her ears without meaning to, that’s all.”

“Great, another symptom.” Eda muttered, her staff vanishing in a flash of light. “How sensitive?”

“Anything higher than normal talking is painful,” Gus said, quickly writing it all down. “To her, it must sound like we’re already talking loud, but she’s putting up with it.”

Eda sighed and ran a hand down her face. Luz had recovered from King’s shout and peeled herself off of Willow, hands hovering by her ears in fear there would be another loud noise.

“I’m gonna go get Lilith,” She decided, watching Luz pitifully. “I need to know what else is going to happen to her.”

“What?” Luz blinked, looking around. “Why was everyone shouting?”

“Sorry,” King repeated again, shaking his head.

“You didn’t know,” Eda leaned down and ruffled the fur behind his head. “Luz, maybe you should go rest.”

“I’m not tired,” Luz said, becoming cheerful again. “Not at all! Hey, do you think I could climb the Knee and back?” She asked, turning to Willow. “I think I could do that.”

“Don’t,” Willow said, standing up and helping her friend off the floor. “We’ll stay with her.” She assured the older witch.

“I’d say don’t do anything stupid, but we all know that’s going to happen no matter what.” Eda said, crossing her arms. “Just don’t do something overly stupid.”

“Understood,” Amity nodded, scooping up King as she and Gus stood.

Luz paused before whirling her head around, nearly falling over at the force if Willow didn’t catch her in time.

“Ami?” Luz blinked blearily. “When did you get here?”

“This is going to be a long day,” Eda sighed, shoulders slumping with the weight of a sky.

“We’ll try to get through unscathed,” Gus said, glancing at Luz as she started staring at and inspecting her own hands, confused.

“Key word; try.”

“I think I swallowed another light spell,” Luz groaned, face-down on her sleeping bag.

“You didn’t. We would’ve seen it.” Willow said, glancing back at the girl.

“I must’ve,” Luz muffled through the bag. “I feel like it.”

“Huh, so she’s hallucinating sensations, too.” Gus said, sitting cross-legged by the window and writing in another page of his notebook.

“Or she could just feel awful,” Amity pointed out, leaning against the wall behind Luz. “I certainly would, considering the state she’s already in.”

“Please don’t throw up like last time,” King begged, his voice barely above a whisper as he placed his paws on Luz’s arm. “That was disgusting.”

“Water,” Luz mumbled, raising a hand and grabbing at air. “Need water.”

Amity picked up the water bottle on the floor beside her and crawled over, placing it in Luz’s open hand.

“Humans can’t die from drinking too much water, right?” Gus asked, looking up from his notebook.

Luz looked up and tilted the water bottle, never raising her head off of the floor. She opened her mouth and let the water trickle out and into her mouth.

Her friends all watched her, mesmerized at the sight. Luz’s grip on the water bottle loosened after a few minutes and it fell and hit her in the face, causing her to hiss and water to spill.

Amity muttered before pulling Luz into a sitting position by her shoulders. The girl was still staring off blankly, like this outcome was completely out of the blue.

King came back with old clothes Eda never used and Willow mopped up the water with them, barely batting an eye.

“Aw,” Luz finally reacted, mournfully watching her forgotten water bottle which was now only a quarter-full. “My juice…”

“Luz, you're getting soaked.” Amity sighed, grabbing one of the unused shirts and dabbing at Luz’s shirt and face.

“Like it, it’s cold,” Luz said, though she did nothing to stop Amity.

“Cold? Are you feeling too warm?” Willow asked, glancing up.

“Uh,” Luz stared off for a moment. “Yope.”

“Yope?” Gus echoed.

“Nes? Yo? Noes? Sio? Ni?” Luz tried out a bunch of different words, often slurring them together.

“Luz, what are you saying?” Amity sighed, trying to get the worst of the water off her shirt now.

“What’s yes and no combined?” Luz questioned Gus. “You’re smart, you know.”

“Maybe?” Gus tried, raising a brow.

“Maybe?” Luz frowned. “How can you be ‘maybe’ smart?”

“You’re maybe too warm?” Willow reiterated.

“I’m like…” Luz spaced out for a moment before snapping back to reality, both her pupils at different levels of dilated. “Hot and cold?”

“That’s mildly troubling,” Gus spoke, flipping to a new page in his notebook.

“I feel like I have a weird fever,” Luz sniffled, blinking her eyes rapidly. “You know? You know like...like when you're so sick you're too extreme in both temperatures.”

“I think I had that once!” King raised his paw excitedly before quickly lowering back down when he saw Luz flinch at his voice. “I had frostbite on my fur after I ate a fire-twig. I couldn’t stop moving for like, three hours.”

“Mood,” Luz nodded solemnly.

“I’m...pretty sure that’s not an emotion…” King said slowly.

“So, do you want like, extra blankets?” Amity suggested.

“I want to die,” Luz whined, almost flopping over onto her face again before Amity grabbed the back of her shirt and held her up. “And everything smells like those weird street corners.”

“Smells fine to me,” WIllow said, laying the wet clothes on the ledge in front of the window. “Do you want to change into a non-wet shirt?”

“Oh,” Luz nodded after a few beats. “Yeah,” She said, grabbing the hem of her shirt and pulling up.

Amity, who had previously been tossing the damp cloth away, turned back around just in the nick of time.

“Not right now!” She squeaked, frantically grabbing Luz’s hands and forcing her to shove her shirt back down.

The other three whirled back to the girls, startled by the sudden noise.

“Ow,” Luz complained, removing her hands and rubbing at her ears. “Loud,”

“Sorry, sorry,” Amity whispered, jerking her hands back.

Her ears were pressed down, and she was a bright red from the tip of each ear.

Willow rolled her eyes but made no comment as she stood up and offered a hand to Luz. The human stared at it for a moment before Willow took the humans hand herself and helped her up.

“I’ll ask Eda if she has anything that’s not covered in dust,” Willow asked her, gazing around at Luz’s room. “Somehow, I doubt she keeps her clothes on the racks in here.”

“I,” Amity shook her head to clear it. “I think she has a chest in the room down the hallway.”

“I’ll check it out,” Willow nodded, keeping a hand on Luz’s shoulder and guiding her out of her room.

Thus leaving Amity, Gus and King to their own devices.

They all looked at each other.

“You wanna cut holes in Eda’s raggety clothes and stitch them together?” King asked casually. “Yeah I do!” Gus grinned, throwing his notebook and pencil aside.

“I’m picking the fabric,” Amity said matter-of-factly. “You guys will just make an unholy abomination.”

“Says the girl in the abomination track,”

“Maybe...if we split my head open...the pain will stop.”

“I’m not cracking your skull like an egg for a headache, Luz.”

“Do you think zombies would like that?” Luz asked, raising a hand in the air. “Would it be like scrambled eggs?” “That’s disgusting, Luz.”

“Not to the zombies,”

Luz was laying across the couch, her head hanging off the armrest, holding a warm washcloth against her forehead. Willow was sitting on the other end, with Gus perched on the armrest beside her. Amity was sitting on the floor in front of Luz with King in her lap, making sure she didn’t slide off the couch.

“Some guy did it once,” Luz continued, her eyes covered by the washcloth as she wildly waved her other hand around in the air. “Some god or something. Head split. Woman popped out. It was a whole thing.”

“Wait, really?” Gus gasped, eyes shining excitedly.

“Gus, she’s high.” Willow deadpanned. “I don’t think we can trust most things she’s saying right now.”

“It was a thing!” Luz insisted, trying to sit up and failing. “Learned ‘bout it...Big Z got a nerdy war daughter. Like…” She paused for a moment. “Like Amity, but a goddess.”

Amity made a few strangled choking sounds, and King glared up at her. Though he didn’t try to move out of her lap.

“I’m writing it down anyway,” Gus said, scribbling furiously.

“How’s the headache?” Willow asked.

“Killing me slowly,” Luz said, rolling her head to the side on the armrest so she was nearly falling off the couch.

She moved the washcloth further up, revealing her pupils going off the fritz for a few moments before appearing to pulsate in size.

“I wanna run laps and then curl up on the floor,” Luz said, eyes glazing over in that way you knew she was focusing on nothing at all. “I wanna slam into something.”

“Wh...why?” Gus said slowly.

“No idea,” Luz shrugged, her voice sounding far too cheerful. “Maybe if I run into a wall I’ll start feeling normal. I should try that.” She said, beginning to sit up.

“Absolutely not,” Amity snapped, her voice a bit strained as she sat up and sharply pushed Luz back onto the couch. “You’re not getting any more brain damage today.”

“Eda told me she already fell down the last few steps on the stairs,” King piped up.

“Few?” Luz repeated, blinking. “I fell down all ‘em.”

There was a few seconds of silence where everyone soaked in her words.

“You fell down the entire flight of stairs?” Willow repeated. “Yeah?” Luz looked between her friends, perplexed. “What?”

“Didn’t that hurt?” Amity winced at the thought. “You’re lucky you didn’t break anything!”

“I didn’t feel a thing,” Luz shrugged, completely uncaring. “Felt like falling in a ball pit.”

“You fell down wooden stairs, and you felt nothing?” Willow gaped.

“Nope,” Luz smiled.

Her friends stared at her for a few moments, all in different states of concern.

“Oh, her pain tolerance shot up, too.” Gus spoke, breaking the silence. “Her ears and head must either be incredibly painful or they don’t work the same way.”

“I’ve never felt more terrified for Luz in my life,” Willow near-wheezed. “She could have a cracked bone right now and we wouldn’t even know.”

“I’ll be fine,” Luz waved a hand. “Mamás a doctor, I know things...many things.”

“I know Eda is a lot of things, but I doubt she’s a doctor, whatever that is.” Gus said, confused as he looked up.

Everyone froze. Gus realized who Luz was talking about a moment too late.

Luz squinted and stared down at the couch, washcloth slowly sliding off her head. Her left pupil expanded before slowly shrinking. She looked like she was trying to reboot her brain, and swayed slightly.

“Hey, Luz!” Amity quickly sat up, giving her friend a nervous smile. “You wanna dress up King in that weird patchwork shirt we made?”

“Uh, yes,” Luz went right back to smiling.

A silent sigh of relief swept through the room.

“How could you?” King cried, lowering his voice a second into his outburst. “Haven’t you tortured me enough?”

“It was a cupcake, King.” Amity said, standing and scooping up King in her arms.

“And you crushed it mercilessly!”

Willow glanced back at Gus, who’s ears were flicked back. He was staring at his notebook, looking like a toddler who’d been caught trying to steal food from the counter.

“Sorry,” He whispered when he caught Willow’s look. “I wasn’t paying attention…”

“It’s alright,” Willow sighed, watching as King squirmed in Amity’s hold and Luz tried to sit up. “We’re all trying to get used to it.”

“King, c’mere,” Luz cooed, putting her hands on the armrest and trying to pull herself up.

Before promptly losing her grip and falling face-first off the couch.

“Are you okay?” Amity worried.

“Feeling nothin’,” Luz said, giving a thumbs up as she raised her head. “Never better.”

Amity cringed back at the sight, and King made an ‘ew’ noise, curling closer in the witches arms.

“She gave herself a black eye, didn’t she?” Willow sighed.

“Yeah…”

“Titan save us, she’s not gonna last a week.”

“Oh don’t cha dare look back, just keep ya eyes on me, I said ya holding back, she said shut up and dance with me,”

The quintet were all sitting around the kitchen table. It was well past noon, too late for lunch but too early for dinner. But King had gotten hungry and so everyone had eaten at what Luz had called ‘dinunch’ or ‘lunner.’

Well, everyone aside from Luz. She vehemently refused to eat anything. So she’d resorted to laying upside down on her chair, her head on the floor, and singing some human song nobody at the table knew.

“This woman is my destiny, she said oooooh, shut up and dance with me!”

“I’m going to lose it,” Gus whispered, staring at the table with the gaze of centuries of pain.

“Ha! Luz it,” Luz giggled. “McLuz it. Puns,”

“Shouldn’t Eda be back with Lilith by now?” Willow asked the demon sitting on the table by Luz’s chair.

“Eh, she may have just started studying at the library with her.” King shrugged. “Or they’re busting themselves out of prison, either is plausible.”

“We were victims of the night,” Luz continued humming. “The chemical, physical, kryptonite.”

“At least she’s not whining about headaches,” Amity shrugged.

“Helpless to the bass and the fading light, oh we were bound to get together, bound to get together,” Luz tilted her head while on the floor, eyes closed.

“For your sake, I hope you don’t remember today all that well,” Willow said, rubbing her temples. “Luz, are you keeping that ice on your eye?”

“She took my arm!” Luz trilled, though it was no louder than regular talking. “Don’t know how it happened, we hit the floor and she saaaaaaid,”

“Luz,” Willow repeated.

“Oh don’t cha dare look back, just keep ya eyes on me, I said you’re holdin’ back, she said--”

“Luz,” Amity said, peering under the table.

Luz paused, blinking open her eyes and holding them on Amity. One of her hands was splayed out by her head, loosely holding a wet towel with no ice in it.

“What happened to the ice?” Amity sighed.

“Huh?” Luz blinked, her pupils fritzing out for a moment. “Oh, I ate ‘em.”

“You ate four cubes of ice?” Willow cried, standing up suddenly. “Why? Why in the world…?”

“Wanted to see what it’d taste like.” Luz said earnestly. “Tasted bad,”

“Then why’d you eat all four?” Gus raised a brow, also peering under the table.

Luz looked at him blankly.

“Shut up and dance with me!” She went right on singing. “This woman is my destiny, she said oooooh,”

Everyone at the table couldn’t look more tired. Willow sighed and got up to get more ice for Luz’s black eye, which had swollen to the point where it could only open halfway.

“Okay, you’re making me nervous from that position, please sit up,” Amity said, getting up from her chair and standing by Luz, who was still singing on.

“A backless dress and some beat up sneaks,” Luz sang. “My discotheque, Juliet, teenage dream! I felt in in my chest as she looked at me,”

Amity gave Gus and King a look of utter pain and confusion before crouching down by the human, snapping her fingers to get her attention.

Luz jolted to attention and rolled her head to the side, looking up at Amity.

Her pupils dilated wide before one flickered slightly smaller.

“Can you get up?” Amity asked her.

Luz opened her mouth to reply before slowly shutting it again. She did this a few more times before turning her head to the side and avoiding the witches gaze.

Amity sighed and resigned to helping her up herself. She picked up Luz’s feet and took them off of the back of the chair, setting them to the side at a very awkward angle, considering Luz refused to move.

“Lost my place,” Luz mumbled.

For a second Amity thought she was complaining about her current position being shifted, but as her friend started singing again, she knew she couldn’t care less.

“She took my arm, I don’t know how it happened,” She hummed. “We took the floor and she saaaaaaid,”

Amity leaned down and took Luz’s hands, pulling her up. She was now facing off the side of the chair, finally sitting in a normal position.

Luz looked up to her, blinking innocently. One pupil contracted and she broke into a goofy grin.

“Take me home tonight,” She sang on, keeping a hold on Amity’s hands and trying to pull herself to a standing position. “I don’t want to let you go till we see the light.”

Amity stepped back, unconsciously helping to keep Luz standing, watching her in confusion. She glanced at the others, but Gus wasn’t paying much attention, just glad Luz wasn’t singing the same lines over and over again. King barely spared them a glance, much more interested in notes Gus was looking over.

“Take me home tonight,” Luz grinned, pulling Amity’s hands back till she was nearly nose-to-nose with the girl.

It likely would’ve been a lot more romantic if Luz’s eye wasn’t swollen and black. Plus her pupils that were still fluctuating.

“Listen honey,” Luz chanted. “Just like Ronnie said,”

Amity slowly drew her head back, beginning to flush brightly. Luz giggled and gave her a lopsided smile.

“Luz...Luz what are you--”

“Be my little baaaaaaaby,” She snickered, placing her head on Amity’s shoulder and continuing to give short laughs.

“Luz?” Amity stuttered, trying to get her hands out of Luz’s grip. “Listen, you--” She swallowed. “You need to sit back down…”

“Is everything okay?” Willow asked, appearing with more cubes of ice wrapped up in a washcloth.

“Oh don’t you dare look back!” Luz suddenly shot back, snatching Amity’s arms and tugging her along. “Just keep your eyes on me!”

She misjudged the distance between her and the table, smacking her back into and crumbling to the floor, not as steady on her feet as everyone thought.

The back of her head hit the table as she fell. She didn’t make any noise of pain, simply toppled over and landed on the floor before roughly sitting back and knocking against the table leg, looking dazed.

“Luz!” Amity cried.

Gus and King jerked up as Willow rushed over, crouching by Luz along with Amity.

Luz still looked almost to be in a state of shock, but it was hard to tell from how her head turned and pupils contracted. Willow reached out and turned her head to inspect the damage.

“Yeah, it’s bleeding.” Willow winced.

“How much?” Gus asked, peering over the table.

“Uh,” Willow pulled her hand back, revealing Luz’s blood coating it.

Amity sucked in a breath and her eyes went wide. She quickly turned Luz’s head to see for herself as Gus and King hurried around to them.

She couldn’t tell where the cut was under Luz’s hair that she was beginning to grow out, but it was bleeding rapidly. A large patch of her hair was dark red with blood gushing out.

“Call Eda, call Eda!” Gus exclaimed as King rushed to Luz, worrying over her.

“Call the healers!” King insisted over the witch.

Luz winced and covered her ears, whimpering at their frantic shouting. Willow quickly pulled out her scroll and began dialing Eda, clearly just as freaked out as the others.

Amity was in a state of shock. She was sitting on her knees at Luz’s side, just staring at the blood beginning to trickle down Luz’s hair and onto her neck. Her pupils were slitted into thin lines, and her breathing had become heavy.

Luz opened her eyes, but kept her hands over her ears because of the shouting. She gave her friends a hurt look before noticing the stilled fear on Amity’s face.

She frowned and nudged Amity’s leg with her foot. When the witch didn’t respond, she turned to King, who was sitting closest to her, and nudged his back with the same foot.

King turned, and everyone's shouting paused.

“Guys?” Luz said, one eye dilating as the back of her shirt grew soaked with blood. “I think something’s wrong with Amity...”

Lilith sat on the couch, looking over as many medical papers she could. She finally wore her glasses, and she had notes lay strewn about on the coffee table. She was exhausted, and words were beginning to blur together.

It was almost one in the morning, but she couldn’t stop yet.

After a study session and quick escape from Kikimora yesterday, Eda had been called and informed by panicked teenagers that Luz had hit her head on the table and was heavily bleeding on the floor. Lilith didn’t think Eda could get that scared in such a short amount of time, but you learn something new every day.

Thankfully, Luz had turned out fine. Her head injury wasn’t all that serious, it just turns out humans bleed more from head wounds than witches.

But considering that in just a few hours Luz had managed to get said head injury, a black eye, and traumatize her friends, Eda was quick to shoo them away.

Lilith hated the pained expression plastered to Amity’s face.

She couldn’t be mad at Eda, not really. Her little sister was scared for Luz, and who wouldn’t be? Having to deal with three more kids was far from her to-do list.

Luz had been patched up by very concerned healers, leaving Lilith to insist that, no, they had not drugged a child, she was just having a bad reaction to vaccines.

Her friends had come back the second day, but Luz was on constant surveillance watch by them and Eda alike. Not much had changed from the first day, though Luz had somehow managed to get her head stuck in a cardboard cylinder.

She was glad when they left before dinner. The constant terror flashing in Amity’s eyes worried her beyond belief.

Technically speaking, Lilith supposed, it was the third day now. But she was too busy focusing on finding anything useful to dwell on it.

She heard creaking steps and didn’t bother to glance up. It was probably Edalyn. She was awake at all hours and was probably off to grab a snack.

She heard heavy footsteps and eventually something flopping down at the edge of the coffee table.

A moment later, a head was placed on it.

Lilith looked up then.

Luz was sitting on her knees at the end of the table, her chin resting on the end with her arms loosely dragging in the floor. She had bandages around her black eye and head, and, according to her, making her look like ‘a pirate.’”

“Luz?” Lilith blinked, setting down her pen. “What are you doing up?”

“Not tired,” Luz said, her eyes turning to the witch.

Her right pupil expanded, nearly taking up all the color in her eye.

“Well, you should try to sleep,” Lilith said simply. “I have tea to help calm you down, if you want.”

“Nah,” Luz said, looking back to the papers. “Whatcha doing?”

Lilith, already tired and not thinking completely straight, decided it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to humor the human.

“Studying,” She said simply. “To help you.”

“You are?” Luz perked up, raising her head off the table.

“Um, yes?” Lilith raised a brow. “I have been for a while now. Did you not know?” “Nobody told me!” Luz shook her head, placing her hands on the table and holding herself up. “You found a lot on the human...human thingies,” She commented, gazing at the papers.

Lilith suddenly understood, and she felt a twinge in her chest. She decided not to think about it for too long.

“Oh, no, no, I’m not studying for that.” She explained. “I’m studying how to make you feel better, not the human realm.”

Luz’s smile instantly fell. She slumped onto her elbows and glomily lay her cheek on the table.

“Oh,” She said sadly, letting out a sigh. “Okay,”

Lilith frowned, her chest suddenly feeling just a bit hollower. She thought she must’ve been feeling the weight of her exhaustion, but she was quick to realize the real issue.

Lilith sighed dramatically and ran a hand through her hair.

Great Titan, she’d begun to truly care, hadn’t she?

She bit her lip and glanced back at Luz, who was still sorrowfully staring at her papers, her pupil now contracted to half the size of a dime.

“But,” She said cautiously, catching Luz’s attention. “I suppose I could help you with that...once you feel better, of course.”

“You will?” Luz shot up again like a rocket. “Thank you!” She smiled.

Lilith gave a small smile and chuckled.

“You’re going to regret all that happened these last few days when you gain control of yourself again,” She said, going back to flipping through the pages of a medical book she found. “I know I would.”

“Why?” Luz asked, tiling her head curiously.

“Wh--Luz, even you must realize you’d never be like this in your normal state.” Lilith said matter-of-factly. “You hate me, remember?”

Luz stared at her blankly for a moment. She crossed her arms on the table and rested on them, giving her an innocent look.

“No I don’t,”

Lilith paused. She slowly glanced over to the girl, confused.

“You do,” She said firmly. “In case you forgot, I used you to lure Eda to the Emperor’s Coven and could’ve gotten you seriously hurt.”

“You did?” Luz asked, before realization dawned on her. “Oh yeah! You did,” She chuckled. “I used to have nightmares about that.” She said casually.

Lilith flinched and turned away, focusing her attention on the paper she’d read over and over again.

There was a stretched silence for a few moments. Lilith thought Luz had fallen asleep, but she was still staring at her.

“Don’t hate cha,” Luz said again, her pupil flickering. “Ya no, al menos,” She mumbled.

“And why’s that?” Lilith sighed. “If you’d care to enlighten me,”

“You try,” Luz said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, I definitely have favorites,” She said, turning her head on her arms. “But you’re off the hate-list. Hate file. Hate...paper.” She stuck out her tongue.

“Luz, with all due respect, I’m finding that hard to believe.” Lilith said simply. “You’re in a deleriated state, and I don’t trust your words at the moment.”

“I know stuff!” Luz shot back, glaring.

“What’s six times three?” Lilith asked.

Luz stared at her for a moment. She looked down at her fingers and began quietly counting on them.

“...twenty-three?” She suggested hesitantly.

Lilith gave her a deadpan stare before sighing and setting aside another paper.

“My point still stands,”

“But I don’t,” Luz whined, pounting.

“Not to be unappreciative, but Eda is far more deserving of you than I ever will be.” Lilith said simply, ears flicking back.

“Eda’s not perfect,” Luz muttered. “She made me break into the crema...the...tori...prison.” Luz muttered. “Prison break.”

“She made you break into the crematorium?” Lilith jerked up.

“First day,” Luz grinned, raising a finger. “For a...a lil crown.”

She suddenly lit up, happily facing Lilith.

“Hey, hey,” She started giggling. “Did you, did you know Warden Wrath,” She could barely hold back her laughs. “Wrath had a crush on Eda?”

Lilith’s eyebrows raised, and she searched Luz’s face with hesitant interest.

“I did not…” She said slowly.

“It was weird,” Luz giggled. “And, and she forgot my name!” She said gleefully. “Had to remind her who I was.”

“She did?” Lilith said, slowly setting her pen down.

“And she laughed at me,” Luz added, resting her chin on the table as she thought. “And told me to dig through trash. And almost killed me while cursed.”

Lilith visibly flinched, turning away. She had never heard that Eda transformed while Luz was stuck in the house with her.

How Luz made it out unscathed, she wished she knew.

“And she made me cheat at the covention,” Luz continued rattling off. “And Eda swapped our bodies because...petty I think. And made me shove moss up my nose. And she sold some of my old stuff,”

Luz visibly frowned slightly at that one.

“And she taunted me by saying I was fragile. And a bunch of other things,” She continued, her pupil spazzing for a moment. She visibly winced before it calmed to enveloping half her eye.

“That’s...quite a bit.” Lilith said slowly.

“Yeah,” Luz nodded, before placing her hands on the table again and raising herself up.

“But I still love her,” She said cheerfully. “She did good things, too.”

“Oh, I’ve heard about those, you don’t need to list them.” Lilith quickly assured the kid. “Eda boasts about her accomplishments all the time.”

Luz smiled and began messing with the pen Lilith left on the table, rolling it around as her eye followed it.

“You’ve done good, too.” She said quietly. “I like that you try,” She said sincerely, looking up. “I try.”

Lilith watched the girl for a moment. She offered the tiniest of smiles and glanced down at her hands, looking them over.

“Thank you,” She said quietly, holding her hands close. “I...I appreciate it.”

Luz ditched the pen and held herself up higher, looking proud.

“And if I’m honest, I’d almost think you weren’t as affected as we thought,” Lilith raised a brow in amusement. “Are you sure your not actually high?”

Luz blinked at her, tilting her head in confusion and frowning. She looked down, then looked back to Lilith.

“I’m on the floor,” She said.

“...never mind.” Lilith sighed, shaking her head. “You’re a wonder, Luz, you know that?”

Luz puffed out her chest with pride and brought a hand to it. She was about to say something, but she had been resting all her weight on her hands, and with one removed, she promptly slipped and cracked her chin against the coffee table.

“Are you alright?” Lilith exclaimed as Luz groaned and held her chin, falling onto the carpeted floor. “Ow,” Luz whined.

Lilith muttered under her breath and took off her glasses. She got up and walked over to Luz, helping the girl to her feet.

“At least you can feel pain again,” She murmured. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Luz didn’t respond, but she allowed the witch to guide her out of the living room, still whimpering about the pain.

Lilith had gotten to the bottom of the stairs when Luz leaned against her side, holding her arms. Lilith looked down at her before wrapping an arm around the girl and gently leading her up the stairs.

Her studying could wait.

“Des-pa-cito,”

“Day three into Luz’s descent into madness,” Gus droned over Luz’s singing. “And I’ve lost my will to continue on.”

“Quiero respirar tu cuello despacito,” Luz sang deliriously, though at least she seemed to be having fun.

The friends were all sitting on the living room floor, with Eda and King messing with some glyphs on the couch.

“Where’s Lilith?” Amity wondered, eyeing Luz, who was laying on her back on the floor.

“Holed up in her room studying on something,” Eda waved her hand casually. “Don’t know, don’t particularly care. Unless it's useful to us right now.”

“Deja que te diga cosas al oído,” Luz hummed. “Para que te acuerdes si no estás conmigo.”

“When Luz said she was going to distract herself from her headache, I wasn’t expecting this.” Willow said calmly, already glazed over from three days of putting up with this.

“It’s not that much different from yesterday,” Amity insisted.

“Des-pa-cito!”

The green-haired witches expression, however, proved that she was tired of dealing with Luz’s shenanigans as well.

“Quiero desnundar--”

Luz suddenly cut herself off, staring at the ceiling. Amity glanced over, noticing a crimson on Luz’s face as her unbandaged pupil contracted.

“Luz?” Amity asked.

“Nope, not saying that.” Luz said, still staring at the ceiling.

Amity raised a brow and glanced at her friends. They only gave her clueless shrugs. Not like any of them knew Spanish.

“I’m too hungry to put up with this,” Eda grumbled, getting up from the couch and ditching the fire glyph she was trying to draw. “You kids want lunch?”

“It’s three PM?” Gus said, glancing up.

“Time is an illusion and so are you,” Eda responded, walking by the kids. “You hungry or not?”

“I am,” King said, scampering after her.

“A bit,” Amity nodded, standing up. “C’mon, Luz.”

“Not hungry,” Luz said simply, turning her head to watch as her friends all got up.

“I know for a fact you haven’t had lunch today,” Eda said, stopping and looking back. “You gotta eat, Luz.”

“I’m just not hungry,” Luz whined. “Wake up not hungry, stay not hungry.”

Eda frowned as Amity offered a hand and helped Luz to her feet.

“Didn’t wake up hungry?” Eda repeated. “Did you eat breakfast?”

“No,” Luz said bluntly. “Wasn’t hungry.”

“Luz!” Willow scolded.

“What? I’m not!” Luz huffed, crossing her arms.

“Luz, when was the last time you ate?” Eda sighed.

Luz paused. She scrunched up her face for a moment before beginning to mutter and count on her fingers.

You could see the fear spike through everyone in the room.

“Uh, not yesterday,” Luz mumbled. “Not...yesterday-yesterday…”

“You haven’t eaten anything in over three days?” Gus exclaimed.

“Ow,” Luz grumbled, pointing to her ears before her pupil contracted. “But...yeah, think so. Wasn’t hungry,” She shrugged like it was no big deal.

“Oh you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Eda groaned, disturbed. “Come on, Luz, you’re eating something.”

“But-”

“No buts!” Eda snapped, grabbing the back of the girls shirt and tugging her into the kitchen. “You not feeling hungry in three days is the most worrying thing you’ve said. The no-pain thing is definitely second.”

“I swear we thought she ate before and that’s why she wasn’t hungry,” Gus said, hurriedly following after.

“Not your fault, I should’ve paid more attention.” Eda shrugged, dumping Luz into the kitchen chair where she pouted. “Add that to the list of vaccine symptoms.”

“No wonder she keeps falling over,” Willow murmured, casually shoving Luz back into her seat when she tried to get up. “I would too, if I was functioning on no food.”

“Shouldn’t she have gotten better by now?” Amity asked, pacing on the opposite side of the island counter. “Eda, when did you say she’ll get better?” “I…” Eda paused, one hand on the fridge door as she thought. “...a week. A week at most.” She said, glancing back. “We’ll be seeing progress between now and the end of this week, I promise.”

She almost winced at her own lie. Which was a rare sight for the con-artist.

“I’m fine,” Luz grumbled, slumping onto the table. “I’ve had worse,”

“While you weren’t inebriated, Luz.” Amity deadpanned. “It’s one thing when you get yourself into trouble on your own, this is worse.”

“Dramatic,” Luz muttered, but didn’t comment further.

“Willow, you're the strongest, right?” Eda asked, turning and placing a bowl of leftover meat chunks on the table.

“Yeah?” Willow blinked. “Why?”

“Hold her down,” She instructed the witch. “Because she will fight back.”

Willow didn’t react for the first few moments, allowing Eda’s words to sink in for Luz. She started to shoot up and make a break for it, but Willow quickly snapped out of it and shoved the human back into her seat with little difficulty.

Luz flailed and even tried to bite Willow, but it did practically nothing. A sharp shoulder squeeze at the human wincing and obediently sitting still.

“Is this...common?” Gus inquired.

“No, not really.” Eda shook her head. “I just figured since Luz was having such an aversion to eating for three days, she probably wouldn’t be inclined to now just because we asked nicely.”

Luz tried to mimic a hiss as Eda set down the bowl in front of her. Gus giggled at the sight, since it was more like her saying the word hiss than the actual noise witches made.

“Every day, I lose more of my sanity in this house,” Amity said, stepping away as Luz tried to struggle again and Eda searched for a fork.

“Welcome to the club, kid.”

Luz had been sent to bed three hours earlier.

It was the end of the third day.

Eda, for some reason, was wide awake.

This wasn’t out of the blue. She was usually up at odd hours due to her curse. She felt less inclined to do so now, but thirty-year-old habits die hard.

She figured she woke up on her own, so she got up to get a snack like usual, and to check on Luz in her room.

But when she left her own room and looked down the hallway, she saw that Luz’s door was wide open.

Panic seized her for a brief moment before she forced herself to calm down. An open door didn’t mean anything, get yourself together.

Eda poked her head inside Luz’s room and looked around. Sure enough, her sleeping bag was left abandoned, and the human was nowhere to be seen.

Her first thought was Lilith. Nothing specific at all, just that Lilith was responsible.

She shook her head and looked back towards Lilith’s ‘room.’ The light was still on.

She opened the door a crack, seeing Lilith was sitting on the floor, ready to pass out. She had books and papers strewn out before her, half of them medical, the other half everything on humans and their realm she could find. Eda knew Luz and Gus had already read through those before.

She felt the tiniest twinge of guilt at the immediate blame before silently shutting the door.

Maybe Luz had just gone for a snack, like her. It wasn’t too unusual for her to creep out at midnight.

Granted, she wasn’t on the verge of toppling over at every step those last times.

Eda walked down the stairs and looked around. She checked every room, seeing no trace of the human anywhere, her anxiety growing by the minute.

She pulled out a fire glyph and lit the candles around the kitchen, forcibly keeping her breathing normal.

“Hello?”

Eda perked at the sound of the girl's voice and pricked her ears up. She saw that the back door was wide open, explaining why Hooty hadn’t noticed anything. He was asleep at this point, anyway.

She could see the outline of someone standing well outside the house, nearly at the treeline.

“Luz!” Eda called, rushing out the door. “What are you doing out here, kid?”

Luz whirled around, eyes wide and scared.

The bandage around her head was gone, revealing the injury on her head was at nasty cotting phase. Her eye was still dark and swollen, but she could open it far better than before. The healing glyphs had sped up the process, while they had been on.

“Luz?” Eda slowed, coming to a stop a few meters from the girl, the kitchen light from the house giving her a shadow that stretched out right towards Luz.

“It...it’s her,” Luz said, slowly turning her head back around to face the forest. “I can hear her.”

“Hear who?” Eda said, taking a step closer.

“Listen,” Luz said simply.

So, Eda did. She angled her ears to listen towards the forest, silent and still.

The only sound that greeted her was the wind through the trees.

“There it is!” Luz suddenly perked up. “That’s her!”

There hadn’t been a sound.

Eda knew her hearing was well more developed than Luz’s, all witches ears were. So the fact that Luz claimed to be hearing something even she couldn’t was...concerning.

“Kid, I can’t hear anything.” Eda shook her head.

“You’re not listening,” Luz huffed, her left pupil dilating. “It’s her! She’s somewhere out here, I know it!” She said, looking around.

“Who?” Eda demanded. “Who can you hear? What are you talking about?”

“My mamá,” Luz said, still scanning the treeline. “I can hear her.”

Oh.

Eda felt a painful twist in her chest. For a moment, she thought her gem was acting up, but it was still the same inky black as before.

“Luz,” Eda started gently, walking closer to the girl. “Your mother’s not here.”

“Yes she is, I hear her.” Luz said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I think you need your ears checked. She’s somewhere out there, I just need to--”

Eda grabbed Luz’s shoulder and she whirled around, startled. Her eyes flickered and spazzed, reflecting Eda’s face before shrinking again.

“That’s not her,” Eda said softly, looking down at the girl. “You’re hallucinating again, kiddo.” She said sorrowfully. “There’s nobody there.”

Luz looked up at the witch, her brows knitting together in a frown. She suddenly jerked back to the forest, head raised.

“But I hear her…” She said quietly, a crack lacing her voice.

“I know you do,” Eda said, wrapping an arm around the teens shoulders. “But there’s no way that can be her. She’s back in the human realm, remember?”

Luz stared up at Eda with wide, searching eyes. She looked back to the forest, her body tense. Eda knew that look and tightened her hold around Luz’s shoulders, her hand placed just below Luz’s collarbone.

“Mamá!” Luz shouted, straining against Eda’s hold. “Mamá! I’m here!” She cried, raising a hand to grab Eda’s, but she didn’t try to pull her off.

Eda realized that the shouting must’ve been torture to Luz’s ears. She could even see the human wince every time she shouted. And yet, she kept calling.

Luz waited, listening intently. Eda sighed and gently tried to pull the human back.

“She’s not there. She would’ve heard you.” She said.

“She must be stuck,” Luz insisted. “Mamá!”

“Luz,” Eda breathed. “Please, she’s not--”

“She has to be!” Luz persisted, straining again. “She...she has to be...I can hear her…”

The girl looked back at Eda, tears shining in her eyes and already beginning to roll down her cheeks.

Eda’s ears pressed back and she let out a breath, drawing up her other hand to gently grab Luz’s arm, her expression full of sorrow.

“I’m sorry, Luz.” She said softly. “I’m so sorry, but that’s not her.”

Luz sniffled and hiccuped. She opened her mouth to shout more, but all that came out was a strangled gasp. She quickly closed her mouth again, shutting her eyes as tears freely rolled down her cheeks.

The girl turned and buried her face in the crook of Eda’s arm, her hands tightly clutching Eda’s dress as she tried and failed to muffle her sobs.

Eda enveloped the girl in a hug, feeling every shake her body gave as she wailed. The human flinched at every loud noise she made, but was unable to stop it.

Eda offered hushed whispers, holding the girl up and placing a hand on the back of her head. She stared off into the trees, only being greeted by the empty shadows.

The only sound now was Luz’s cries.

The witch, keeping her arms around Luz, began to guide her back to the house. Luz stayed clinging to her side, her face streaked with tears.

It was awkward maneuvering around her, but she didn’t complain.

Luz’s sobs had quieted to choked cries by the time Eda stepped inside, shutting the door behind her.

She debated trying to turn off the lights, since she couldn’t rely on her magic to do that for her, but she decided to let the candles burn themselves out instead.

“Can you walk, kid?” Eda asked the girl.

Luz sniffled and nodded, slowly peeling herself off of Eda’s side.

“Come on, let’s hit the hay, eh?” She offered, nudging the girl in front of her. “When’s the last time we got a good night's rest, am I right?” She said, trying a half-hearted joke.

Luz paused at that, wiping at her eyes as she thought.

“I don’t think I’ve slept the last two days,” Luz said, glancing back.

Eda stared at her, praying that the girl was joking. And as hard it was to take Luz seriously with one pupil blown wide and the other taking up her entire iris, she knew very well she wasn’t joking.

“Great Titan, kid,” Eda sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Alright, my nest. Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

Luz nodded and began to climb the stairs, holding her hands together to try and stop their shaking. Eda stayed right behind her, fearfully shifting every time she saw the girl sway slightly.

Eda caught Lilith’s door quickly shutting when they made it up the stairs. She wasn’t surprised, Luz hadn’t necessarily been quiet.

Luz stumbled down the hallway, Eda hovering right behind her. She looked away for a moment to look at Lilith’s closed door, noting that the lights were off now.

She heard a thud.

Eda spun around, tensing.

Luz had fallen mid-step, crashing onto the floor in a heap. In a flash, Eda was at her side and pulling her up, terrified something bad had happened.

Instead, she was greeted by Luz’s soft snores.

“Of course,” Eda sighed, scooping her up into her arms. “Just my luck you’d pass out before we even got to my room.” She muttered.

Effortlessly, she carried the human to her room and kicked the door shut behind her. She lay Luz in her nest, leaning her head on the edge to keep it propped up.

Eda searched her room for a moment before finding the spare gauzes and healing glyphs she kept for emergencies. It was awkward trying to wrap up Luz’s head, but she managed and placed two healing glyphs on her, one over her eye and the other on the back of her head.

She searched her nest for a moment before pulling out an old blanket she rarely used. She wrapped it around Luz and lay her back down before slipping into her nest beside her.

Luz twitched in her sleep, but aside from that, she didn’t stir.

Eda lay on her stomach, her head squished against the edge of the nest. She glanced at Luz beside her before wrapping one arm around her, keeping the girl close.

“I’m sorry, kid.” Eda sighed quietly. “You never deserved any of this.”

All that greeted her was deafening silence.

“Are you sure you feel fine?” Gus asked for the eighth time that morning.

“Yes, Gus,” Luz sighed. “I swear that I am completely conscious now.”

“Guess your prediction was right,” Eda mumbled to Lilith, standing off to the side from the group. “Been a week, and she’s nearly normal again.”

“Thank goodness!” King breathed, slumping over Luz’s crossed leg. “I couldn’t handle being smothered by you again.”

“Sorry,” Luz winced, giving a sheepish smile. “I take it I…” She raised a hand and felt at her eye, which, while less swollen, was still noticeable. “Caused a bit of trouble?” She guessed shyly.

“Your hallucinations weren’t fun,” Willow nodded. “Or your unending thirst for every water bottle you could find.”

“And your refusal to eat and sleep,” Eda added.

Luz rubbed the back of her neck, hunching her shoulders and offering nervous smiles.

“Sorry, guys.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not your fault.” Amity assured her.

Eda casted a sideways glare at Lilith, who looked away and held her hands behind her back.

“At least you’ll get to freely move around the beast keeping track now,” Willow added. “Viney will appreciate the help, I’m sure.”

“Oh, yeah!” Luz perked up. “No more sick day excuses!” She pumped a fist.

“Which means you’re helping out with the trash slugs now,” Eda reminded with a grin. “Because now you don’t have excuses.”

“Getting vaccines doesn’t mean she’s immune to all sickness, Edalyn.” Lilith grit her teeth and sent a glare towards her sister.

“Yeah, but she won’t get, like, ones that’ll kill her.” Eda waved a hand casually.

“Aw,” Luz slumped.

“A moment of silence for Luz.” Willow said solemnly.

“Do you wanna read about what happened?” Gus asked excitedly, already pulling out his notebook.

“Am I going to regret it if I do?” Luz turned to Amity.

“Fifty-fifty,” Amity tilted her hand. “I’d skip the part with the broken window and dumpster-diving.”

“And the kitchen incident?” Willow added, giving Amity a smug look.

Amity gave a guttural growl and lowered her ears.

“I’m already worried,” Luz said, anxiously glancing between her friends.

“How about we hold off on the trip down memory lane?” Lilith said, walking around and slowly pushing down Gus’s notebook that he was pulling out. “Luz, aside from the usual symptoms, is anything different?” She questioned the girl.

“Uh,” Luz frowned and thought for a moment. “A mild headache is normal, right?”

“Yeah, you got those all the time.” King nodded.

Luz hummed and thought, tapping her fingers on the carpet before perking up.

“Oh, I think I’ve got a better pain tolerance now.”

“I thought that faded?” Amity exclaimed, panicked.

“That was an issue?” Luz blinked. “I mean, it’s not that bad. I kinda fell down the stairs earlier but all I got was a regular bruise instead of a small gash like three weeks ago.”

“You really need to fix the stairs if this is a common issue,” Lilith turned to Eda.

“Oh, that’s not as bad.” Willow relaxed. “Your pain tolerance used to be so high that when you cut your head you didn’t feel a thing.”

Luz gave Willow a wide-eyed, very concerned look.

“Wasn’t fun,” Amity shook her head, shuttering.

“Yeah, no, my tolerance is nowhere near that high.” Luz assured them. “And I can sort of feel the magic from my glyphs? I dunno, it’s hard to describe.”

“Probably the magic the vaccines had,” Eda shrugged. “That might last a while longer.”

“Cool,” Luz grinned. “Oh, and my vision feels weird sometimes, but I think I’ll be fine after a few hours.”

“Yeah, that's normal. Your eyes acted up a lot.” Gus nodded. “It was really funny, your entire eye would be just black.”

“...human pupils can’t dilate that much.” Luz said, concern lacing her tone.

“They can now,” Eda snickered. “With the,” She broke off in a fit of giggles. “The power of witch drugs.”

“I’m going to admit,” King raised his head. “Now I’m curious what actual drugs would do to you.”

“You have drugs in the Isles?” Luz exclaimed. “Like, illegal ones?”

“Course we do,” Eda chuckled. “You can find them at the Night Market for, what, ten snails?”

“That’s the cheap ones.” Lilith corrected. “The very illegal ones go for fifty or more.”

“And you know this because…?”

Lilith stiffened and cast a fearful glance at the children all watching her expectantly. Aside from Amity, who looked very worried.

“...I used to catch a lot of people selling at the Night Market,” Lilith said, crossing her arms. “It’s hard not to take notice of how much they were going for.”

“Plot twist of the century, ex-coven leader Lilith Clawthorne snorts fairy dust.” Eda giggled. “Oh how the masses would love that.”

“Edalyn!” Lilith gasped.

“Am I wrong?”

“And this is our cue to leave,” Luz whispered to her friends as the sisters began their daily bickering.

Her friends didn’t argue, they just quickly got up and shuffled towards the door. Willow carried King with them in her arms like a football, much to his silent complaints.

Luz opened the door and guided her friends out, quitey shutting out the arguing sisters.

“Hi, guys!” Hooty chirped.

Luz winced and pulled away, rubbing at her ears.

“Ow,” She muttered.

“Are your ears still sensitive?” Amity worried, shooting Hooty a glare that made him shut up.

“Only a little,” Luz offered a smile, stepping away from the front door. “Anyway, what did I miss while I was out of it?”

“Nothing much,” Gus said, beginning to walk off as the rest followed. “Aside from, like, a ton of homework.” “I expect nothing less,” Luz muttered, pain etched into her face.

“You want me to ask Principal Bump to loosen up on you for a bit?” Amity asked.

“Teachers pet privilege,” Willow whispered under her breath.

“I heard that!” Amity snapped.

“Just a little,” Luz nodded. “I’m still emotionally recovering from being basically unconscious for a week.”

“I still have the notes if you want to read them,” Gus said, slowly pulling out his notebook again.

“On one hand, yes,” Luz said. “But on the other hand, I’m scared of what I’ll find.”

“It’s mostly just filled with you falling over a lot and singing random songs on repeat.” Willow shrugged.

“I have all of them stuck in my head at the same time and I can’t get them out,” Amity whispered, looking horror-stricken.

Luz chuckled nervously, rubbing along the edges of her black eye.

“You know, I think I’m glad I don’t remember much.”

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dadzawa-adopt-dabi · 3 years

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Secret Baby Ch23

Dabi wakes up one day to Giran calling to ask him if he can take on an emergency mission. He needed Dabi to go spend a night or two at the League with Jin. Dabi says no at first, citing the agreement he made when he took Dabi on as an employee. Giran simply sends the exact same message back and Dabi knows he’s not truly asking. He doesn't have an option in whether or not he accepts doing Giran a favor. He’s been kind so far, routinely pays Dabi on time and always gives him his full amount of pay. He Can’t afford to lose his job, especially when the price for betraying Giran is higher than he can pay. “Come to the cafe right away, you will be shown straight to the back this time.”

Dabi swipes to mark it as read as texts Kikiyo’s babysitter, a feeling of dread and anxiety building. That’s normal for him though, he chalks it up to growing up the way he did and being on the wrong side of the law.

'You're going to have to find somebody else ‘Dabi.’ I know that’s not your actual name but whatever, Kikyo is obviously a mutant child. I'm not certified for Mutants. She wouldn’t stop screaming last time, I'm sick of the little feathers tripping me up as I try to take care of the other kids.”

Dabi tried to call her, to work something out just for the day as he drummed his fingers anxiously on the counter. Maybe get a recommendation if she wouldn't babysit Kikiyo, someone who was actually certified instead of going through this again. She must have blocked his number after sending the text because the number comes across as out of service. A quick internet search recommends a daycare several miles away from the nearest bus stop. It’s almost twice what he had been paying her. He swears and bites his lip as he rubs at his tired eyes, pacing in the kitchen. Kikiyo cries, scenting her fathers rising distressed scent filling the air. The black haired omega closes his eyes, biting his lip until it bleeds as he calls his mothers number. There’s a chance she won’t sell him out to Hawks or her husband. Slim as that chance is, Dabi isn’t left with any other choices with the trouble he’s gotten himself into and how much he owes Giran.

He can’t tell Giran that he can’t go through with this job. He can't take Kikiyo with him. This mission is coming at an inconvenient time and he doesn't have anyone else he can call to watch her. It’s been long enough, he misses his siblings if not his mother. He was hoping he wouldn’t have to do this. The phone rings and rings, Giran sends another message asking if he is on his way and Dabi sends back a simple no. Dealing with a disappointed or upset giran is somehow worse than calling his mother and he thinks about hanging up the phone and explaining to Giran for a moment that he has a kid and no babysitter. He doesn't know what other explanation he could give Giran that he couldn't disprove in minutes. He’s never been late before, the bus on his routes are suspiciously never late or full. He’s taken note of it before and had just been grateful. Only now does he consider that it may have been the work of his boss.

Maybe he was seeing how far he would go for him. At what point he would choose Kikiyo over his job. He had a job for kikyo, because of kikiyo. Dabi doesn't know the last time he had a moment or thought or action for himself that it wasn't stolen. Kikiyo’s cries turn to screeches as the call gets declined and Dabi’s stomach plummets. He feels sick as he leans against the counter, squeezing his eyes shut against a migraine hard. Redialing Rei’s number, just in case she had been away from the phone and missed the call. “This is Rei todoroki. May I ask who is calling this number?” she doesn't sound like she’s short of breath or in pain. Maybe it’s a good week. She can come and watch kikiyo and they can talk afterwards. Even if she never wanted Dabi, she can want and love her grandchild. Dabi can make peace with whatever he has to for her safety.

“Hey, it’s uh. It’s Touya.” saying his old name feels clumsy. Like an ill fitting coat, it reminds him of a different kind of stress. When he was struggling to be happy for just a few minutes before everything changed and he made plans to never be seen again. Married off to whoever gave enji the most benefits. Nothing but a tool and an object like his mother was treated. Kikiyo had very well saved him from that fate, Dabi isn’t sure how long he would have been able to bear it.

“I, I don’t know if you guys thought I was dead or um. I don't know what exactly you had thought happened to me but I, I had her, your granddaughter. I’m sorry I lied about geting a abortion. I’ve, I’ve been barely making it mom-” He hates doing this. Rei can’t offer him any help and even if she can she won’t. Dabi doesn't want to give up this thing he’s started with Giran. He can just, He needs his mom to watch kikiyo for a few hours. He can make it on his own with just this help from her.

“I can’t give you any money Touya.” she says and Dabi feels a tear dip down his cheek as he realizes her tone never shifted at the realization she was talking to him. Maybe enij reported him as a runaway but they couldn’t arrest him. they couldn't bring him home again because he was over 18.

“No, i. That's not why i’m calling. I need a babysitter.” He feels more tears leak out his eyes and he pokes Kikiyo’s cheek to make the screeching stop.

He places a few crackers in front of her and she’s instantly distracted with the food. Peeping at him every few bites and holding a cracker out for him that he smiles at as he pretends to eat it. Nibbling at her little fingers and forcing himself to smile at her to give his daughter the impression that everything is just fine. Daddy’s just weird sometimes and smells scared when there’s no need for her to worry.

“I have my own job. I just-” He hates begging her for things, she always lets him down and he’s tired of being out of options. “I’m not going to whatever rodent infested place you've landed yourself in to watch your child. Not when you shouldn’t be off partying with some random alpha who I’ve never even met or who never asked us to court you.” Despite the harsh words her tone is dreamy and far off. Dabi knows she’s staring off into space as she speaks on the phone, no clue where he is. Uncaring and someone else will have to dress the kids and feed them tonight, help with homework since he’s not there. She might come back to herself tonight, it's hard to judge over the phone.

“No mom. I’m by myself. The father isn’t in the picture. I told him the same thing I told you.” he panics slightly. She can't process what he’s saying right now, never has been able to. He needs her though. He’s gotten himself so far down in trouble that he can’t get out and he’s comfortable with that until now. “You can come meet your grand baby. She’s wonderfully behaved, I promise. She can just smell me right now and im. I’m scared and alone and i'm in some trouble if i don’t go on this job.” he admits as his eyes widen in panic and when Kikiyo wont eat her crackers and starts crying again he nearly cries with her. Instead he picks her up and bounces her in the air as he holds the phone between his ear and his shoulder. “I said no Touya. I can’t, He would find out. Just like he found out about your clubbing when that young blond man came knocking on the door. Looking for you. Everyone else had to pay for your mistakes because you weren’t here Touya. I refuse to clean up after a child I never wanted. I don’t have a grandbaby or an oldest omega son.” There’s a click as Kikiyo chirps shirlley and Dabi let himself slide down to sit against his counter.

Dabi’s head snapped up as there was a knock on the door. Grabbing Kikiyo and shuffling back away from the door. He glanced towards the balcony door as he held her tightly. They were on the 5th floor, no way he could make it down with her and still manage to run. The missed Call and message from Giran glowed on the screen and he pressed Kikiyo’s face tightly to his chest as he back away down the hallway. Not that it would do either of them any good to hide in the closet, still he pushed the clothes to the side and as he sank to the back shushing Kikiyo he spread them back forward to hide them. He hadn’t even taken his pills recently so he couldn’t hide them, throwing off distressed omega and baby pheromones.

His heart stopped beating as he buried his nose in Kikiyo's hair, clenching his eyes shut and clutching her to his chest as the door rattled and opened, of course Girain had sent someone who could pick locks.

He froze as his bedroom door rattled and a familiar scent met his nose. Kikiyo’s too seeing as how she managed to pull back enough to let out a cry to be picked up. It didn’t matter that Giran had come himself to harm them, that Dabi was terrified out of his mind and uselessly trying to shush her.

“I, I’m sorry Dabi. I didn’t think about how this must look to you.” Giran spoke outside the door. Dabi didn’t dare breath as he heard the rustle of clothes and Giran sat down outside the closet door. Scent deeply sad and like he was trying to comfort Dabi. Old books cigars and coffee the most comforting thing he’d smelled in a long time and the closest thing he’d ever had had to a comforting parental scent.

“Dabi, would. Would you mind coming out here? I can hold her if you wish or you can leave her in there but i think it’s time we talked. About what exactly you plan to do when your a single disowned omega with an infant getting involved in organized crime.” he sighed. Waiting another moment before he stood up and pulled back the door. Pushing Dabi’s clothes out of the way as Kikiyo cried loudly to be transferred to him and Dabi kept his head down, gritting his teeth against literally baring his fangs at Giran and shuffled them back deeper.

Giran let out a heavy long breath before stepping into the closet and sitting down across from them. Wrinkling his suit even further and closing the door behind him. Dabi marginally relaxed as he peered across the dark space at him. He took off his suit coat and placed it behind himself as he held his arms out for kikiyo. Dabi crumbled as he passed her into his arms as she coo’d at him. Patting him on the nose as tears dripped down Dabi’s face, head kept turned to the side as he avoided looking at Giran. Giran held her close and put her near his shoulder like he would burp her. Gently talking to her about how happy he was to meet her and how hard her dad was working to keep her safe. The words ‘I’m so proud of your father’ came out of his mouth and Dabi let out a sob before he managed to shove a mouth over his hand, fliniching back. “Dabi. Come here.” Giran held out his other arm as he comforted Kikiyo and Dabi dove for it. Getting easily pulled into his arms as he sobbed.

He doesn't know how long the 3 of them sat like that, sitting in Dabi’s closet as he sobbed and Kikiyo giggled and Giran held them both.

#thedarkonewrites #bnha #mha #Dabi #Hawks #Dabihawks #omega verse #secretbabyfic #OmegaDabi #AlphaKeigo #DabiHawks

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incorrectshantaequotes · 3 years

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Shantae Headcanons - Magic and Magical Species

Been a while since I've done headcanons, huh? This time, I'll be covering magic and how it works, as well as various magical species! This is one of the longest headcanon posts I've made, so I'll keep it under a read more.

Magic in General

So! Magic has a variety of subcategories depending on what you're trying to do and what it'll accomplish, but as a whole, it has two main forms - light magic, which is typically just called magic, and dark magic. Both kinds of magic can fit into the subcategories, as believe it or not, the difference isn't a good/evil dichotomy - it's how you work with magic and cast it. To explain the difference, however, a bit of context is required.

Magic is spread out everywhere in the world, and over time, various species have evolved to produce their own magic and work with the magic of the world around them to create a variety of effects. Basically, think the Owl House. Every species has some form of latent magic - even humans - but the less magically inclined you are, the less you'll be able to access it. For example, humans, the least magically inclined species, have some magic, but can't really access it. At most, it'll manifest as some minor biological oddities, such as enhanced strength, or, perhaps, controllable hair.

As a side note - the less magically inclined you are, the more resistant you are to magic as a whole. Humans are actually completely unaware of several magical illnesses and plagues because they're totally immune to them - the only things that work against humans are the big guns, such as the stone curse in Pirate's Curse.

Anyway, the difference between light and dark magic is how one works with the latent magic around them in conjunction with their own to get the results they want. Now, to clarify on how they differentiate...

Light magic is what happens when you coerce magic into working with you - convince it to do what you want to do. Generally the safer option, but working with magic as a partner or friend rather than something to be bossed around doesn't come naturally to some people. As such, prewritten spells like Fireball and Storm Puffs are popular for those who can't quite get those results.

Dark magic is what happens when you force magic into working with you - you assert your will over it and demand that it do what you want. In some ways, this form of magic can be easier to cast than light magic. If you have the right amount of will, you can easily cast dark magic, even if you're not that magically inclined. However, while dark magic isn't inherently evil, it is hard to use properly, because that force of will and dominance can be a bit...addicting. And corruptive. When you use force to solve all your problems, it can start to take a toll on your good intentions unless you really know what you're doing.

So! Onto magic species!

Genies and Half-Genies

Genies are by far the most magically inclined species out there, and for good reason - they're literally made of the stuff. Even their physical bodies are just magic constructs. As such, convincing magic to do what they want is usually as simple as just asking.

Due to their constitution, genies don't really have any particular preferences of what kind of magic they practice like other species do. Instead, it tends to be more that individuals pick what kind of magic they prefer to practice, and then focus their entire lives into perfecting that magic, with their children generally ending up picking the same magic as a result.

While being made of magic is cool and all, it's not as cracked up as it seems. For instance, Genies cannot use dark magic. Like, literally can't. It's not a moral code or anything, it's just that they have absolutely no filter for dark magic's corruptive properties. Remember the thing about how being less magically inclined gives you more resistance to magic? That also applies to dark magic's side-effects, and as the most magically inclined species out there, Genies have none. Just a touch of dark magic can be enough for a Genie to go bad. This is how the Tinkerbrain/Dynamo was able to turn Shantae into Nega-Shantae and corrupt the Genie realm so easily - their own biology worked against them. Speaking of that...

Half-Genies are. Weird. Aside from the pointed ears, biologically they're no different from humans. What makes them so unique is their magic half - which is quite literal because they actually have a magical copy of themselves fused with their biological body, and that's what the use for magic. It's a rather unique form of storing and casting magic, one that no other species has. As seen in the series itself, however, this comes with the downside that a Half-Genie's magic can have their magic completely separated from them if you have the right artifacts, something that no other species has to worry about because their means of producing and storing magic is purely biological. Though, as seen in Seven Sirens, sometimes this can be a good thing, as a Half-Genie can use this to temporarily give their magic to someone else.

Sirens

The everyman may wonder, "what's the difference between Mermaids and Sirens?" The answer: pure magical power. The main thing differentiating Sirens from their more well-known counterparts is that Sirens have far more magical potential, giving them more biological diversity as well as increasing their intelligence, letting them make the marvelous structures we see in Seven Sirens. In fact, it was a group of Sirens who made the plans for the steam engine Mimic found and Risky stole in the first Shantae game.

Of course, while Sirens can technically use whatever magic they want, they tend to gravitate towards Summoning Magic. What is Summoning Magic? Honestly, it depends on the Siren you ask. Some prefer summoning magical constructs, some prefer summoning the creatures nearby for aid, and some just straight-up pull others to them via teleport. This room for experimentation gives Summoning Magic a potency that other magics struggle to face.

Sirens have their own language consisting of various clicks and fish noises. This is actually what Lobster Siren speaks! For those wondering, while she could hypothetically learn how to speak Surface, she never has because she's always been too shy of surface-dwellers to actually talk to them. She can understand it perfectly fine, but can't really speak it. Thankfully, those in tune with magic can pick up on what the clicks and fish noises mean! Sort of. How much they actually understand depends on what kind of magic they practice and how much magical potential they have.

Zombies

Zombies are notable for being the only species to actively run on dark magic. There are some magical constructs that run on dark magic - like the Tinkerbats - but they're the only species that runs on it. As a result, they're the foremost experts on dark magic and using it properly, because not knowing how to properly manage it could lead to them becoming feral, or worse, losing their second chance at life.

There are two types of zombies: artificial and natural. Artificial means they were made as a product of some kind of spell, and this is generally the most common kind of zombie. These kind of zombies also tend to be self-aware more often than not. Natural zombies are something that's only popped up recently in the world - while ambient magic generally defaults to light magic, it's been found that over time, repeated conflict and strife in a certain area can gradually cause the ambient magic to turn dark, which can lead to corpses rising from their graves all on their own. These zombies are generally the wild kind, though some natural zombies who woke up self-aware have happened in the past.

The idea of zombies needing coffee to stay self-aware isn't necessarily true. It's moreso that zombies need to keep their bodies active to avoid the degradative effects of dark magic. See, without any will to direct it, dark magic tends to default to exerting the force that drives it over everything around it, leading to it either slowly or quickly destroying said things around it. In order to combat this, zombies make sure their body is active as much as possible to keep the dark magic from going to that default state. The easiest way to do this is coffee or other caffeinated drinks, but there are other methods as well - exercise, adrenaline, anything that keeps your body up and alert is acceptable.

Yes, zombies can reproduce, even with other species. It's honestly not as weird as you'd think it'd be. Zombies or zombie hybrids produced as a result of this fall under the category of natural zombie.

Warp Squids

Warp Squids are notorious for being ridiculously difficult to kill - the only real way to actually do them in is sickness or old age, and that has to do with their unique form of teleportation magic.

Whenever Warp Squids teleport, they leave a magical imprint of their body behind wherever they were before. Whenever they "die," their soul immediately heads over to their last magical imprint, which they use to regenerate their body. As a result, death isn't really permanent for them. At all. The only things that can get them consistently are magical sicknesses, as some can mess with their teleportation magic, and old age, which ignores magical imprints.

As a result of this, Warp Squids have a...really nonchalant attitude towards death. Even zombies treat death more seriously. It's what allows for the business of squidsmithing - the Warp Squids volunteer to have their bodies made into artifacts to help heroes, and in return, squidsmiths give their local Warp Squids a cut of the pay they get.

Pixies

Ever wonder what Holly Lingerbean's deal was after Seven Sirens? After all, Harmony clarified that they were the first generation of Half-Genies, so where does that leave Holly? The simple answer? She lied. Sort of. She was in fact a hybrid between a human and a magical species, but it wasn't Genies...it was Pixies!

Pixies are a nearly extinct magical race, well known for having specialized in two types of magic. The first is illusion magic - Holly wasn't lying about her father being a stage magician. Pixies used their illusions to trick and misguide others, giving them a reputation as pranksters and con artists. The second - albeit far more rare - is preservation magic.

Preservation magic was first approached by Pixies as a sort of opposite to illusion magic. After all, one makes things look different, the other makes sure it looks the same, that sounds pretty much like opposites, right? But it's a lot more complicated than that. Magic tends towards change. Asking it to keep something the same is hard, even for a Genie - give it even the slightest of wiggle room, and chances are your spell will go horribly wrong. To give an example, Holly Lingerbean ended up the way she is because she attempted to cast preservation magic on herself. So the fact that even a few Pixies managed to master it was enough to garner attention, and ultimately led to the near extinction of their race.

Their structures are still around, but without someone to reapply the preservation magic, they're slowly crumbling apart. What few Pixies there are left are survivors, using preservation magic to stay alive far past what should have been - and even then, it's failing. Much like the Half-Genies, without some kind of miracle, their generation will likely be the last.

#shantae #not a quote #headcanons

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all-things-are-nothing-to-me · 3 years

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The New Nihilism

It feels increasingly difficult to tell the difference between—on one hand—being old, sick, and defeated, and—on the other hand—living in a time-&-place that is itself senile, tired, and defeated. Sometimes I think it’s just me—but then I find that some younger, healthier people seem to be undergoing similar sensations of ennui, despair, and impotent anger. Maybe it’s not just me.

A friend of mine attributed the turn to disillusion with “everything”, including old-fashioned radical/activist positions, to disappointment over the present political regime in the US, which was somehow expected to usher in a turn away from the reactionary decades since the 1980s, or even a “progress” toward some sort of democratic socialism. Although I myself didn’t share this optimism (I always assume that anyone who even wants to be President of the US must be a psychopathic murderer) I can see that “youth” suffered a powerful disillusionment at the utter failure of Liberalism to turn the tide against Capitalism Triumphalism. The disillusion gave rise to OCCUPY and the failure of OCCUPY led to a move toward sheer negation.

However I think this merely political analysis of the “new nothing” may be too two-dimensional to do justice to the extent to which all hope of “change” has died under Kognitive Kapital and the technopathocracy. Despite my remnant hippy flower- power sentiments I too feel this “terminal” condition (as Nietzsche called it), which I express by saying, only half-jokingly, that we have at last reached the Future, and that the truly horrible truth of the End of the World is that it doesn’t end.

One big J.G. Ballard/Philip K. Dick shopping mall from now till eternity, basically.

This IS the future—how do you like it so far? Life in the Ruins: not so bad for the bourgeoisie, the loyal servants of the One Percent. Air-conditioned ruins! No Ragnarok, no Rapture, no dramatic closure: just an endless re-run of reality TV cop shows. 2012 has come and gone, and we’re still in debt to some faceless bank, still chained to our screens.

Most people—in order to live at all—seem to need around themselves a penumbra of “illusion” (to quote Nietzsche again):—that the world is just rolling along as usual, some good days some bad, but in essence no different now than in 10000 BC or 1492 AD or next year. Some even need to believe in Progress, that the Future will solve all our problems, and even that life is much better for us now than for (say) people in the 5th century AD. We live longer thanx to Modern Science—of course our extra years are largely spent as “medical objects”—sick and worn out but kept ticking by Machines & Pills that spin huge profits for a few megacorporations & insurance companies. Nation of Struldbugs.

True, we’re suffocating in the mire generated by our rule of sick machines under the Numisphere of Money. At least ten times as much money now exists than it would take to buy the whole world—and yet species are vanishing space itself is vanishing, icecaps melting, air and water grown toxic, culture grown toxic, landscape sacrificed to fracking and megamalls, noise-fascism, etc, etc. But Science will cure all that ills that Science has created—in the Future (in the “long run”, when we’re all dead, as Lord Keynes put it); so meanwhile we’ll carry on consuming the world and shitting it out as waste—because it’s convenient & efficient & profitable to do so, and because we like it.

Well, this is all a bunch of whiney left-liberal cliches, no? Heard it before a million times. Yawn. How boring, how infantile, how useless. Even if it were all true... what can we do about it? If our Anointed Leaders can’t or won’t stop it, who will? God? Satan? The “People”?

All the fashionable “solutions” to the “crisis”, from electronic democracy to revolutionary violence, from locavorism to solar-powered dingbats, from financial market regulation to the General Strike—all of them, however ridiculous or sublime, depend on one preliminary radical change—a seismic shift in human consciousness. Without such a change all the hope of reform is futile. And if such a change were somehow to occur, no “reform” would be necessary. The world would simply change. The whales would be saved. War no more. And so on.

What force could (even in theory) bring about such a shift? Religion? In 6,000 years of organized religion matters have only gotten worse. Psychedelic drugs in the reservoirs? The Mayan calendar? Nostalgia? Terror?

If catastrophic disaster is now inevitable, perhaps the “Survivalist” scenario will ensue, and a few brave millions will create a green utopia in the smoking waste. But won’t Capitalism find a way to profit even from the End of the World? Some would claim that it’s doing so already. The true catastrophe may be the final apotheosis of commodity fetishism.

Let’s assume for the sake of argument that this paradise of power tools and back-up alarms is all we’ve got & all we’re going to get. Capitalism can deal with global warming—it can sell water-wings and disaster insurance. So it’s all over, let’s say—but we’ve still got television & Twitter. Childhood’s End—i.e. the child as ultimate consumer, eager for the brand. Terrorism or home shopping network—take yr pick (democracy means choice).

Since the death of the Historical Movement of the Social in 1989 (last gasp of the hideous “short” XXth century that started in 1914) the only “alternative” to Capitalist Neo-Liberal totalitarianism that seems to have emerged is religious neo-fascism. I understand why someone would want to be a violent fundamentalist bigot—I even sympathize—but just because I feel sorry for lepers doesn’t mean I want to be one.

When I attempt to retain some shreds of my former antipessimism I fantasize that History may not be over, that some sort of Populist Green Social Democracy might yet emerge to challenge the obscene smugness of “Money Interests”—something along the lines of 1970s Scandinavian monarcho-socialism—which in retrospect now looks the most humane form of the State ever to have emerged from the putrid suck-hole of Civilization. (Think of Amsterdam in its heyday.) Of course as an anarchist I’d still have to oppose it—but at least I’d have the luxury of believing that, in such a situation, anarchy might actually stand some chance of success. Even if such a movement were to emerge, however, we can rest damn-well assured it won’t happen in the USA. Or anywhere in the ghost-realm of dead Marxism, either. Maybe Scotland!

It would seem quite pointless to wait around for such a rebirth of the Social. Years ago many radicals gave up all hope of The Revolution, and the few who still adhere to it remind me of religious fanatics. It might be soothing to lapse into such doctrinaire revolutionism, just as it might be soothing to sink into mystical religion—but for me at least both options have lost their savor. Again, I sympathize with those true believers (although not so much when they lapse into authoritarian leftism or fascism)— nevertheless, frankly, I’m too depressed to embrace their Illusions.

If the End-Time scenario sketched above be considered actually true, what alternatives might exist besides suicidal despair? After much thought I’ve come up with three basic strategies.

1) Passive Escapism. Keep your head down, don’t make waves. Capitalism permits all sorts of “lifestyles” (I hate that word)—just pick one & try to enjoy it. You’re even allowed to live as a dirt farmer without electricity & infernal combustion, like a sort of secular Amish refusnik. Well, maybe not. But at least you could flirt with such a life. “Smoke Pot, Eat Chicken, Drink Tea,” as we used to say in the 60s in the Moorish Church of America, our psychedelic cult. Hope they don’t catch you. Fit yourself into some Permitted Category such as Neo-Hippy or even Anabaptist.

2) Active Escapism. In this scenario you attempt to create the optimal conditions for the emergence of Autonomous Zones, whether temporary, periodic or even (semi)permanent. In 1984 when I first coined the term Temporary Autonomous Zone (TAZ)

I envisioned it as a complement to The Revolution—although I was already, to be truthful, tired of waiting for a moment that seemed to have failed in 1968. The TAZ would give a taste or premonition of real liberties: in effect you would attempt to live as if the Revolution had already occurred, so as not to die without ever having experienced “free freedom” (as Rimbaud called it, liberte libre). Create your own pirate utopia.

Of course the TAZ can be as brief & simple as a really good dinner party, but the true autonomist will want to maximize the potential for longer & deeper experiences of authentic lived life. Almost inevitably this will involve crime, so it’s necessary to think like a criminal, not a victim. A “Johnson” as Burroughs used to say—not a “mark”. How else can one live (and live well) without Work. Work, the curse of the thinking class. Wage slavery. If you’re lucky enough to be a successful artist, you can perhaps achieve relative autonomy without breaking any obvious laws (except the laws of good taste, perhaps). Or you could inherit a million. (More than a million would be a curse.) Forget revolutionary morality—the question is, can you afford your taste of freedom? For most of us, crime will be not only a pleasure but a necessity. The old anarcho-Illegalists showed the way: individual expropriation. Getting caught of course spoils the whole thing—but risk is an aspect of self-authenticity.

One scenario I’ve imagined for active Escapism would be to move to a remote rural area along with several hundred other libertarian socialists—enough to take over the local government (municipal or even county) and elect or control the sheriffs & judges, the parent/teacher association, volunteer fire department and even the water authority. Fund the venture with cultivation of illegal phantastice and carry on a discreet trade. Organize as a “Union of Egoists” for mutual benefit & ecstatic pleasures—perhaps under the guise of “communes” or even monasteries, who cares. Enjoy it as long as it lasts.

I know for a fact that this plan is being worked on in several places in America—but of course I’m not going to say where.

Another possible model for individual escapists might be the nomadic adventurer. Given that the whole world seems to be turning into a giant parking lot or social network, I don’t know if this option remains open, but I suspect that it might. The trick would be to travel in places where tourists don’t—if such places still exist—and to involve oneself in fascinating and dangerous situations. For example if I were young and healthy I’d’ve gone to France to take part in the TAZ that grew around resistance to the new airport—or to Greece—or Mexico—wherever the perverse spirit of rebellion crops up. The problem here is of course funding. (Sending back statues stuffed with hash is no longer a good idea.) How to pay for yr life of adventure? Love will find a way. It doesn’t matter so much if one agrees with the ideals of Tahrir Square or Zucotti Park—the point is just to be there.

3. Revenge. I call it Zarathustra’s Revenge because as Nietzsche said, revenge may be second rate but it’s not nothing. One might enjoy the satisfaction of terrifying the bastards for at least a few moments. Formerly I advocated “Poetic Terrorism” rather than actual violence, the idea being that art could be wielded as a weapon. Now I’ve rather come to doubt it. But perhaps weapons might be wielded as art. From the sledgehammer of the Luddites to the black bomb of the attentat, destruction could serve as a form of creativity, for its own sake, or for purely aesthetic reasons, without any illusions about revolution. Oscar Wilde meets the acte gratuit: a dandyism of despair.

What troubles me about this idea is that it seems impossible to distinguish here between the action of post-leftist anarcho-nihilists and the action of post-rightist neo-traditionalist reactionaries. For that matter, a bomb may as well be detonated by fundamentalist fanatics—what difference would it make to the victims or the “innocent bystanders”? Blowing up a nanotechnology lab—why shouldn’t this be the act of a desperate monarchist as easily as that of a Nietzschean anarchist?

In a recent book by Tiqqun (Theory of Bloom), it was fascinating to come suddenly across the constellation of Nietzsche, Rene Guenon, Julius Evola, et al. as examples of a sharp and just critique of the Bloom syndrome—i.e., of progress-as-illusion. Of course the “beyond left and right” position has two sides—one approaching from the left, the other from the right. The European New Right (Alain de Benoist & his gang) are big admirers of Guy Debord, for a similar reason (his critique, not his proposals).

The post-left can now appreciate Traditionalism as a reaction against modernity just as the neo-traditionalists can appreciate Situationism. But this doesn’t mean that post-anarchist anarchists are identical with post-fascism fascists!

I’m reminded of the situation in fin-de-siecle France that gave rise to the strange alliance between anarchists and monarchists; for example the Cerce Proudhon. This surreal conjunction came about for two reasons: a) both factions hated liberal democracy, and b) the monarchists had money. The marriage gave birth to weird progeny, such as Georges Sorel. And Mussolini famously began his career as an Individualist anarchist!

Another link between left & right could be analyzed as a kind of existentialism; once again Nietzsche is the founding parent here, I think. On the left there were thinkers like Gide or Camus. On the right, that illuminated villain Baron Julius Evola used to tell his little ultra-right groupuscules in Rome to attack the Modern World—even though the restoraton of tradition was a hopeless dream—if only as an act of magical self-creation. Being trumps essence. One must cherish no attachment to mere results. Surely Tiqqun’s advocacy of the “perfect Surrealist act” (firing a revolver at random into a crowd of “innocent by-standers”) partakes of this form of action-as-despair. (Incidentally I have to confess that this is the sort of thing that has always—to my regret—prevented my embracing Surrealism: it’s just too cruel. I don’t admire de Sade, either.)

Of course, as we know, the problem with the Traditionalists is that they were never traditional enough. They looked back at a lost civilization as their “goal” (religion, mysticism, monarchism, arts-&-crafts, etc.) whereas they should have realized that the real tradition is the “primordial anarchy” of the Stone Age, tribalism, hunting/gathering, animism—what I call the Neanderthal Liberation Front. Paul Goodman used the term “Neolithic Conservatism” to describe his brand of anarchism—but “Paleolithic Reaction” might be more appropriate!

The other major problem with the Traditionalist Right is that the entire emotional tone of the movement is rooted in self-repression. Here a rough Reichean analysis suffices to demonstrate that the authoritarian body reflects a damaged soul, and that only anarchy is compatible with real self-realization.

The European New Right that arose in the 90s still carries on its propaganda—and these chaps are not just vulgar nationalist chauvenist anti-semitic homophobic thugs—they’re intellectuals & artists. I think they’re evil, but that doesn’t mean I find them boring. Or even wrong on certain points. They also hate the nanotechnologists!

Although I attempted to set off a few bombs back in the 1960s (against the war in Vietnam) I’m glad, on the whole, that they failed to detonate (technology was never my metier). It saves me from wondering if I would’ve experienced “moral qualms”. Instead I chose the path of the propagandist and remained an activist in anarchist media from 1984 to about 2004. I collaborated with the Autonomedia publishing collective, the IWW, the John Henry Mackay Society (Left Stirnerites) and the old NYC Libertarian Book Club (founded by comrades of Emma Goldman, some of whom I knew, & who are now all dead). I had a radio show on WBAI (Pacifica) for 18 years. I lectured all over Europe and East Europe in the 90s. I had a very nice time, thank you. But anarchism seems even farther off now than it looked in 1984, or indeed in 1958, when I first became an anarchist by reading George Harriman’s Krazy Kat. Well, being an existentialist means you never have to say you’re sorry.

In the last few years in anarchist circles there’s appeared a trend “back” to Stirner/Nietzsche Individualism—because after all, who can take revolutionary anarcho-communism or syndicalism seriously anymore? Since I’ve adhered to this Individualist position for decades (although tempered by admiration for Charles Fourier and certain “spiritual anarchists” like Gustave Landauer) I naturally find this trend agreeable.

“Green anarchists” & AntiCivilization Neo-primitivists seem (some of them) to be moving toward a new pole of attraction, nihilism. Perhaps neo-nihilism would serve as a better label, since this tendency is not simply replicating the nihilism of the Russian narodniks or the French attentatists of circa 1890 to 1912, however much the new nihilists look to the old ones as precursors. I share their critique—in fact I think I’ve been mirroring it to a large extent in this essay: creative despair, let’s call it. What I do not understand however is their proposal—if any. “What is to be done?” was originally a nihilist slogan, after all, before Lenin appropriated it. I presume that my option #1, passive escape, would not suit the agenda. As for Active Escapism, to use the suffix “ism” implies some form not only of ideology but also some action. What is the logical outcome of this train of thought?

As an animist I experience the world (outside Civilization) as essentially sentient. The death of God means the rebirth of the gods, as Nietzsche implied in his last “mad” letters from Turin— the resurrection of the great god PAN—chaos, Eros, Gaia, & Old Night, as Hesiod put it—Ontological anarchy, Desire, Life itself, & the Darkness of revolt & negation—all seem to me as real as they need to be.

I still adhere to a certain kind of spiritual anarchism—but only as heresy and paganism, not as orthodoxy and monotheism. I have great respect for Dorothy Day—her writing influenced me in the 60s—and Ivan Illich, whom I knew personally—but in the end I cannot deal with the cognitive dissonance between anarchism and the Pope! Nevertheless I can believe in the re-paganaziation of monotheism. I hold to this pagan tradition because I sense the universe as alive, not as “dead matter.” As a life-long psychedelicist I have always thought that matter & spirit are identical, and that this fact alone legitimizes what Theory calls “desire”.

From this p.o.v. the phrase “revolution of everyday life” still seems to have some validity—if only in terms of the second proposal, Active Escapism or the TAZ. As for the third possibility— Zarathustra’s Revenge—this seems like a possible path for the new nihilism, at least from a philosophical perspective. But since I am unable personally to advocate it, I leave the question open.

But here—I think—is the point at which I both meet with & diverge from the new nihilism. I too seem to believe that Predatory Capitalism has won and that no revolution is possible in the classical sense of that term. But somehow I can’t bring myself to be “against everything.” Within the Temporary Autonomous Zone there still seems to persist the possibility of “authentic life,” if only for a moment—and if this position amounts to mere Escapism, then let us become Houdini. The new surge of interest in Individualism is obviously a response to the Death of the Social. But does the new nihilism imply the death even of the individual and the “union of egoists” or Nietzschean free spirits? On my good days, I like to think not.

No matter which of the three paths one takes (or others I can’t yet imagine) it seems to me that the essential thing is not to collapse into mere apathy. Depression we may have to accept, impotent rage we may have to accept, revolutionary pessimism we may have to accept. But as e.e. cummings (anarchist poet) said, there is some shit we will not take, lest we simply become the enemy by default. Can’t go on, must go on. Cultivate rosebuds, even selfish pleasures, as long as a few birds & flowers still remain. Even love may not be impossible...

#hakim bey #Nihilism #t.a.z.#anarchism

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janeaustentextposts · 4 years

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Why didnt the Bennets have a governess? Were they unable to afford one or was it not as necessary as Lady Catherine made it seem?

It’s not really said why they don’t have a governess--and to pay the salary for one person to see to the education of five girls would be relatively cheap for the Bennets to get their daughters educated as a package deal (but oh my god that poor woman would not be paid NEARLY enough for all that work,) so I don’t think it was a case of them being unable to afford one. But for female education, especially, families could really pick and choose what level of investment they wanted to make. Elizabeth admits that they had whatever masters they wanted (presumably for dancing/art/music,) and fancy-work could be picked up from female friends and relations, so it doesn’t seem as though they were entirely neglected by Mr. Bennet’s refusal to have them educated in accomplishments; but more that it was very self-directed by the Bennet daughters, and if none of them asked for a governess or bothered Mrs. Bennet to teach them things (and it feels unlikely she’d have the skills or will to do so in the first place, so I doubt any attempts went very far,) they could just...do whatever. Imagine if a house full of girls these days were home-schooled but allowed to set their own curriculum and nobody ever made them take any kind of standardized test.

Elizabeth has eked out her own education by reading--as has Mary, though with different results in what they do with that reading. Elizabeth’s is more for personal enjoyment and enrichment, and Mary’s is more along the lines of making her reading another ‘accomplishment’ to display in how she dispenses her nuggets of wisdom in a performative way for social cachet. Kitty and Lydia no doubt enjoyed their dancing lessons, and do that very well, but everything else has been neglected. The Bennet girls essentially have very little structure, and it is their parents’ fault for leaving their educations to their own wills (and young girls/teens are not very likely to get strict with themselves, especially to apply themselves to subjects they may not enjoy.)

There are probably families who COULD have reasonably well-rounded educations for their daughters at home and without a governess (Austen herself only briefly attended school before illness forced her to return home, and I’ve never heard that the family employed a governess, so her mother and father saw to all other aspects of her education, and encouraged her to read widely.) But without some adult to provide structure and encourage disciplined application to learning, it’s almost entirely up to chance whether a girl could scratch out a meaningful education for herself.

That being said, governesses and schools are hardly a guarantee that a girl will develop into an educated person--but then it depends on your definition of education. The famous dialogue about what makes an Accomplished Woman in Pride and Prejudice rather reveals a lot--the Bingley sisters were educated at a very fine ladies’ school in London, and while they have accomplishments such as the things Caroline Bingley lists, (and to master several languages and talents such as music and art is no mean feat!) the sisters are still not quite on Elizabeth’s level, where Elizabeth’s more self-directed reading has perhaps enabled her to better develop her own critical thinking skills and to think outside the box.

Then there is Mrs. Goddard’s school in Emma, which is an unpretentious place and a very good sort of school for what it is--but the text admits that it is not turning out any particular geniuses or artistic talents, but fitting its girls up to be reasonably appealing and capable managers of middling genteel households. But for all that, it’s described rather lovingly: “Mrs. Goddard was the mistress of a School—not of a seminary, or an establishment, or any thing which professed, in long sentences of refined nonsense, to combine liberal acquirements with elegant morality, upon new principles and new systems—and where young ladies for enormous pay might be screwed out of health and into vanity—but a real, honest, old-fashioned Boarding-school, where a reasonable quantity of accomplishments were sold at a reasonable price, and where girls might be sent to be out of the way, and scramble themselves into a little education, without any danger of coming back prodigies. Mrs. Goddard's school was in high repute—and very deservedly; for Highbury was reckoned a particularly healthy spot: she had an ample house and garden, gave the children plenty of wholesome food, let them run about a great deal in the summer, and in winter dressed their chilblains with her own hands.” It reads as the next best thing to solid instruction at home by a capable and motherly sort of woman, so between this and Austen’s own education I think we can tell of her views on female accomplishments--a certain measure of flexibility and freedom is good for children as they grow, as well as a dignified simplicity which is in stark contrast to the sort of school the Bingley sisters attended in order to become the multi-accomplished beasts they are.

Almost every novel has something to say about female education--Mrs. Elton and Lucy Steele, I think, are school-girls in a similar vein to the Bingley sisters, and they have grown up to be two-faced and supercilious creatures. But then we have Mrs. Smith, who was at school with Anne Elliot, and is one of her truest friends from the beginning. In Mansfield Park we see the difference between the Bertram sisters and Fanny, though they all share the same governess. In these contrasts we can tell that the manner of a girl’s education is as much about developing her social persona in many ways as it is about giving her skills to befit a genteel woman, and the differing notions of what Society thinks an accomplished woman ought to be. Some of Austen’s least ‘educated’ characters are also some of the sweetest and kindest, whose seemingly inborn good sense carries them through difficulties; and some of those who have had a high degree of professional investment in their formal educations have turned out to be the meanest and/or most useless of women.

To bring it back to the Bennets and Lady Catherine, it’s almost certain that Lady Catherine is inquiring about their education and whether or not they had a governess in order to be a snob as well as nosy about Mr. Bennet’s income--hiring a private tutor for one’s child was basically the most expensive educational option available--and while Elizabeth is well-aware of the particular defects in how education has proceeded in her own family, she knows that is more due to her own parents’ lack of structure and discipline, rather than something which could have been fixed by the hiring of a governess. Even if they had one, it seems unlikely Mr. or Mrs. Bennet would exert themselves to make Kitty and Lydia mind the woman and apply themselves to scholarly things. (Other novels make it clear that girls ill-disciplined by their own parents can pretty much get away with murder when it comes to disobeying or ignoring their governesses.) Of course Elizabeth isn’t going to give Lady Catherine the ammunition of admitting that her parents dropped the ball, but she goes as far as she can to defend the general practice of at-home education without a governess, because many families did so (Austen’s included) and their daughters turned out just fine with a little genuine effort, thank you very much.

#Ask Me Anything Austen-Adjacent #AMAAA #Jane Austen #Pride and Prejudice

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wingsofkpop · 4 years

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Hiraeth - I.VI: The Forgotten One

pairing(s): Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre: Supernatural!AU, Dark Magic!AU, HEAVY Angst, some Fluff, eventual Smut

warnings: Mature language, mentions of death and murder, brief violence, blood and gore, character death by suicide, mentions of depression and mental illness, hallucinations and trauma, brief mentions of child abuse and slavery, etc.

Trigger Warning: This chapter does contain graphic and explicit depictions of suicide. Please do not read if this will harm you. This is your final warning.

word count: 7,6k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

A/N: This is a dark and heavy chapter.Please make sure to look carefully and closely at the warnings. Your safety and wellbeing should be your first priority. Do not read if you know it will cause you harm. Be safe and enjoy.

“I can’t believe he just left like that, that asshole!” Jinyoung holds back a chuckle at your bitter retort, unable to focus on anything aside from the furious expression along your features. He knows he shouldn’t find your anger cute, but there’s something about the way your nose scrunches inward and how your lips purse that has him melting. More so than the fever.

“I mean, what kind of self-absorbed, arrogant, heartless prick leaves his best friend to suffer…?”

“Jaebeom has never been the most compassionate person on the planet.” Jinyoung hums in response, tilting his head as to better give you access to towel away the sweat gathering across his forehead. “Even when we were children, it was hard for him to see through someone else’s eyes. But that is likely the cause of his upbringings.”

You shake your head indignantly. “We’ve all had sucky childhoods. That doesn’t excuse this petty, cruel bullshit.”

For a short moment, Jinyoung studies the forefronts of your face. This is the first time you have ever brought up mention of your childhood, and he couldn’t help but notice the rather sour tone of your voice. And while he can easily pass that off as anger toward his hybrid brother, Jinyoung wonders whether there’s more beneath the surface…

Who really are you…?

“Did Jaebeom tell you anything about his past during your time together?”

You shrug. “Yeah, I guess? He told me about your family, and your father—”

“What about his family?” Jinyoung notices how your body pauses, the cold cloth on his forehead freezing in place. He gives you a second to fix your composure, before leaning back into the comfort of his mattress and continuing, “Jaebeom’s parents were both killed by pillagers when he was very young, leaving him orphaned and one of the only remaining survivors in his village.

“He was taken into slavery, and traded off from one person to the next.” He explains, taking a second to cough and clear the thick bile building in his throat. “For the majority of his childhood, Jaebeom was beaten, abused, starved, maltreated and left to die more times than anyone could count. If I hadn’t found him, incapacitated and nearly dead in the forest, he would never have survived past fourteen.”

Guilt washes along your face, transmitting into your body language through the shakiness of your hands and tension in your shoulders. Jinyoung keeps his eyes trained as you dab his cheek, ignoring how the cloth does little to relieve yet another increase in his body temperature.

You murmur with a deep frown, “I… didn’t know.”

“Few do. Jaebeom doesn’t like to look back on his past.”

“But that still doesn’t make sense to me.” The hand with the cloth falls to your lap as you take the time to think. Jinyoung waits patiently, resting comfortably against his pillows. “If you two are so close… why let you go on sick rather than heal you?”

“Jaebeom and I have spent many lifetimes together, (Y/N).” He says, “Like most companions, we’ve had our fair share of falling-outs and feuds… This time was no different.”

“So he’s essentially punishing you? For not listening to him?”

Jinyoung sighs. “I know it’s difficult to believe, but Jaebeom does have a good heart.”

You scoff. “Yeah. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“He spared you, didn’t he?”

“He told you…?” Your eyes widen in surprise, and Jinyoung can’t help but smile at how much you resemble a gentle doe.

“Not exactly…” With some needed effort, he moves his arm to your lap where your free hand rests on your thigh. He mindlessly runs the tip of his finger over the bump of your knuckles, marveling at how cool your skin feels against his own. “My brother and I got into an argument the day before you came to the cemetery, so I had a suspicion he would try and retaliate against me… When I saw you were here, with him, I knew my suspicions were somewhat correct.”

Jinyoung raises his gaze to meet your eyes. “Time is not a friend when it involves creatures like me and Jaebeom, (Y/N). We may live forever, but we also suffer and endure the same pain forever.”

“There’s really no way for you to die?”

“No. If there was, then I would have ended my life a long, long time ago.”

Jinyoung notices how your eyes seem to sadden at his answer. But he doesn’t inquire any further, enduring another coughing fit that rattles his bones from the inside out. A small barrage of blood leaves his lips to splatter across the white sheets, which you’re quick to wipe away before offering if you can do anything else.

He shakes his head. “The symptoms will pass eventually, but you need to leave. I will start to hallucinate soon and I don’t want to put you in danger.”

“I’m not just gonna leave you here by yourself.” You argue, adamantly shaking your own head back and forth. “You’re stuck with me until your ass gets better.”

For the first time, Jinyoung actually curses your stubborn nature. He releases a groan, partly out of pain and partly out of frustration, before forcing himself to sit up against all your warning protests. Once he’s in a less than comfortable position, Jinyoung reaches for your shoulder and pulls you even closer toward his bedside.

“Mark is missing, and Youngjae needs a friend right now.” Your steadfast expression falters at Jinyoung’s words.

You sigh heavily. “I just… don’t want you to be alone.”

Jinyoung’s heart seizes at your confession, but he forces his expression to remain neutral. For your favor, and for his.

“I’ve endured this fever dozens of times on my own. This time will be no different.” He reaches up to brush a fallen eyelash from your cheek, relishing the starry night that shimmers in your eyes. “Go, please. Unlike me, your friends are not immortal.”

You remain troubled for a moment, weighing the options over while nervously gnawing at your bottom lip. Before he can think about his actions, Jinyoung hooks his thumb over your lip and frees the flesh from the wrath of your teeth. Surprise flashes in your eyes, but it is quickly replaced with defeat.

You surrender with a nod, “Fine. But I’m only going because I’m worried about Mark… not because you told me to.”

“Of course.” Jinyoung smiles as you retract from his touch, captivated by the way you flail about the room, preparing him a sick care package and gathering your own belongings. After you’re satisfied, you return to his bedside, and to Jinyoung’s surprise, lean down to splay your lips across his burning cheek. When you pull back, you refuse to meet his gaze.

“That’s for saving my life… And everything else.”

Long after you’ve exited the room, Jinyoung can still feel the lingering ghost of your lips against his skin.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Raindrops cascade gracefully from the silver storm clouds above, creating a soft curtain of mist everywhere you look. The chill of the rain shower actually motivates your pace to pick up. That, and the apprehension of leaving Jinyoung alone in such a weak, vulnerable state. Though your inclination to find Mark keeps you from turning on your heel and hailing a cab all the way back to the Project Estate… yet another good chunk of money out of your wallet.

At this point, you might as well as invest in a car.

The sigh that falls from your lips disappears into the falling rain as you slip past the entrance gate of Eclipse Cemetery. Before you found out about Mark’s witch nature, you never understood why he and his friends ever chose to hang out in a graveyard—a place where you can’t walk without stepping over the resting place of a corpse. You always figured Mark was edgy like that… and just strange, in general.

Your boots sink into the earth with each step, thick mud staining the leather soles. You can’t bring yourself to really care though, too focused on reaching the mausoleum before the storm soaks you to the bone. However, just when the familiar building is mere feet away, a rather small gathering of people come into view. You recognize Youngjae’s dark head amongst the crowd and beeline straight for the group.

Youngjae notices your approaching figure and turns to greet you. Even through the fog, you can tell the younger male has been crying from his swollen cheeks and crimson-tinted eyes. As soon as you’re in reach, you wrap your arms around his waist and pull him into a tight hug.

He reciprocates with a murmur. “I didn’t think you’d come… not after what happened—”

“None of that matters right now.” You assure, running a hand through Youngjae’s rain-soaked locks. “We’re gonna find him, okay? He’ll be home before you know it.”

“I hope so.”

After another moment or so, Youngjae pulls back from your hold. His hand remains on your bicep as he invites you into the sea of faces, where the surrounding strangers had watched your display with the young siphoner. You clear your throat, willing away the slight embarrassment brewing inside your gut.

“(Y/N)-noona, these are members of Moon Dye Bay’s resident werewolf pack.” Youngjae points to a shorter, but rather broad and muscular male with bleached, blonde hair, “This is Bang Chan, the Alpha and leader of the wolves.”

Chan’s smile is kind. “Hi. I wish we could have met during better circumstances.”

“Same here.” You reply, offering a small smile of your own.

“Kim Yugyeom is Chan’s second-in-command. You might have heard his name from—”

“Bambam.” You finish Youngjae’s sentence with a nod, noting Yugyeom’s extremely tall stature. And to think you thought that Bambam had long-ass legs… “It’s nice to finally know the face of the best friend he mentions all the time.”

Unlike Chan, Yugyeom doesn’t smile. But you can tell it’s not out of impoliteness or prejudice. The dark bags underneath his eyes and the tense lines of his cheeks disclose the severity of his exhaustion.

“The feeling is mutual.” Yugyeom hums, “Bam talks about you a lot too.”

“All good things, I hope.”

“More or less.” You make a note to smack the cashier the next time you see him as Yugyeom gestures to a young woman at his side with navy blue hair and a pretty smile, “This is my sister, Dahyun.”

“It’s so good to finally meet you.” Dahyun steps forward to take your hands between her own, “A couple of my friends are in Professor Park’s literature and history classes. They rant and rave about the aide that might as well be their professor.”

You chuckle shyly, “I’m getting there. Working on my doctorate right now.”

“Good for you.” Dahyun squeezes your hands before letting go and returning next to her brother. Through the corner of your eye, you notice another figure lingering beside a grand oak tree—obviously steering clear of the circle. His expression is cold, almost as if he had never smiled in his entire life.

“Don’t mind Changbin.” Chan blocks your view of the lone male with a sigh, “He’s in a mood, and has never been the greatest at greeting new people.”

You wave off his concern, instead focusing your gaze on an oddly silent Youngjae. Your heart practically breaks at the pure sadness and helplessness that contorts his features, but before you can open your mouth to console the siphoner, Yugyeom beats you to it:

“Is there any way we can find Mark without ripping apart the entire goddamn town? Some spell or enchantment or…?”

Youngjae shakes his head. “I already tried a tracking spell. He’s cloaked, meaning we won’t be able to detect him with magic.”

“What about the witch?” Dahyun says, “I mean—she had to have taken him while we were dealing with the huntress, right? There’s no other explanation why he would just up and disappear—”

“Wait—” You stare incredulously at the conversing wolves and witch, “Mina took Mark? Why would she do that?”

Yugyeom shrugs. “We killed her partner. Seems like a pretty decent way to get revenge.”

“She won’t… hurt him? Will she?”

Silence is your only answer, and it unleashes an electric wave of panic through your veins. You swallow down the gathering bile in the back of your throat before getting a grip on your sanity and turning back to the group:

“My friend is close with her.” You gulp, already pulling your phone from your pocket. “I’ll call and see if she knows any place she might have gone.”

“Good idea.” Chan nods and turns to the other wolves, “While (Y/N) does that, we should start forming search parties to check the town. Dahyun, you call Chaeyoung and Ryujin and have them start at the square—”

“Why do we even fucking bother?” Everyone startles at the sudden, gruff question. It takes you a second to realize the voice belonged to the lone wolf, Changbin, who is now rounding in on the small circle with a violent sneer. You can’t help but shiver beneath the intensity of his expression.

Dahyun rolls her eyes. “Who invited this asshole to come, again?”

“Dubu, please.” Yugyeom sends his sister a pointed look before meeting Changbin’s gaze. You marvel at how calm the tall wolf seems, as if he’s dealt with this type of thing a good number of times beforehand.

His tone resembles that of a parent speaking a serious subject to their child. “We’ve already talked about this… Mark—”

“—is the fucking reason why Jackon is dead?” Changbin chuckles darkly, the soaking wet hood over his head intensifying his intimidating aura. “No matter how many times I try to tell you that, hyung—you just don’t seem to get it…”

“Mark didn’t kill Jackson!” Dahyun argues, shoving past Yugyeom to approach the furious wolf. Although she’s significantly shorter than him, Dahyun doesn’t hesitate to lean in close to Changbin’s face until they’re nose-to-nose and send him a harsh glare of her own. “When will you get that through that moronic brain of yours!?”

“And when will you realize that whatever this puppy crush, love sick shit you have on him is never gonna happen—”

“Enough!” Chan’s bellow ricochets through your bones. The Alpha shoves the two wolves away from one another before stepping in between their bodies, making sure there is no possible way for them to reach one another without going through him. He glances between the pair with a stern glare, “You two need to calm down. Changbin, take a hike.”

“But, hyung—!”

“That’s an order. Go.”

You barely manage to duck out of his path before Changbin barrels past, likely heading toward the gates of the cemetery. His silhouette eventually becomes one with the raindrops, almost as if he was never here to begin with…

“(Y/N)-noona…?” Reality hits at Youngjae’s soft call of your name. You turn back to the other figures, finding each set of eyes looking in your direction. With your attention, Youngjae continues, “You want to make that call…?”

“Oh. Yeah.” You nod, remembering the phone between your fingers. “I’ll let you know if Sana tells me anything.”

Without waiting for a hum of agreement, you turn on your heel and make your way deeper into the cemetery. You don’t know why you have this sudden need to get as far away from the group as possible, but something in your gut doesn’t sit well with what Changbin had said.

Who is Jackson…?

The name isn’t familiar, nor do you recall Mark ever mentioning a ‘Jackson’. But judging by the tone of both Changbin and Dahyun’s voices, this Jackson is, or was important to them—important to Mark. So why have you never heard about him…? From anyone…?

And why did Changbin say Mark is the reason why Jackson died…?

You don’t realize how far you have traveled until you reach the tall iron fence highlighting where the burial grounds cease. Youngjae and the werewolf pack are long behind you, and you can’t tell whether the relief that spills through your body is a good thing or a bad thing. After wiping the droplets from the screen of your phone, you prepare to do as tasked and phone Sana for whereabouts on Mina. But just as you are about to hit the call button, something else catches your attention.

A jet black, one-winged butterfly glides through the falling rain like a tiny plane. It flutters only mere inches from your nose, playfully beckoning you with its single, rigged appendage before traversing past the graveyard fence toward the ominous forest. You watch, transfixed, as it pauses just in the mouth of the wood… as if waiting for you to follow.

Against your better judgement, you tuck your phone into your pocket and walk closer to the barrier. You somehow manage to scale the slippery fence without fault before sprinting after the deformed butterfly, which flew into the trees as soon as your feet hit the ground outside the cemetery.

The rain is lighter underneath the cover of thick leaves and branches, but it is also much, much darker. It is especially difficult to spot the black insect amongst the gloom, but as if under a spell, you manage to do so. You’re not exactly sure how long you trailed the butterfly, nor do you have any idea where you are, but you can’t seem to care—not when a large, obscure cave comes into sight.

You pause, watching the butterfly drift toward the mysterious cavern, telling you this is where you’re supposed to be.

Way past the point of no return, you enter the pitch black of the cave. Your own steps and the pitter-patter of the rain echo in your ears as you tread deeper into the obscurity, shuffling your feet as to avoid tripping over any awaiting obstacle. You eventually decide to pull out your phone, cursing yourself for not doing so in the first place, and switch on the flashlight setting.

A loud yelp sounds from your throat when your beam of light reveals something that strikes both fear and relief in your heart. Not something… but someone.

Mark lays in a heap on the dry cavern floor. If it were anywhere else, he would seem as if he were sleeping soundly… but he’s in a dark cave. Unconscious and alone.

“Mark!…” You rush to kneel at his side, checking over his body for any possible injuries. You find none, so you attempt to shake him awake, “Mark! Get up!”

Mark doesn’t even stir at your touch.

“Freaking hell, Mark…” You shake your head with a heavy sigh, preparing to grab your phone and call Youngjae, but when you turn to the spot where you left it on the ground, the device is nowhere to be seen. Chills race through your bloodstream like a wave of ice.

“What… the fuck?…”

“I believe you’re looking for this…?” You immediately whirl around at the sudden voice, protectively standing in front of Mark’s incapacitated figure. More panic and dread fill your gut at the sight of a silhouette standing in the mouth of the cave, with what seems to be your phone within their hand.

Trying to mask your fear, you call to the figure with a growl, “Who the fuck are you!? Don’t come any closer!…”

“It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you.” The more the stranger speaks, the more you swear you can recognize their voice. You keep on your toes as they approach closer and closer, until there’s only a couple feet separating your forms. It’s not until a light appears, right in the palm of the figure’s hand, do you finally match the voice to a face.

Mina smiles softly. “I’ve been waiting for you, (Y/N).”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

He’s running. With no destination in mind. Lungs screaming for oxygen. But he can’t stop. No matter how the rocks and branches tear at his skin. Have to get away. Warm blood spills down his arms and feet. Have to get away before he finds him. Violet and crimson bruises stain his flesh like acid. Have to get away before he finds him and finishes the job. Running deeper and deeper into the black.

Fat droplets spill down his cheeks in scarlet trails. Of terror. Of pain. More tears blur his vision. Colors of all shades meld into one single glow. Every wildflower is grey. Every leaf is grey. Even his blood is grey. He cannot tell which one of four hands is his own. Fingers outstretched. Searching for answers. Searching for comfort.

What has he done to deserve this misery? What merciless deity has subjected him to such violent torment? What has he done to deserve each slap, each broken bone, each lick against his skin? What kind of unkind universe allows a young boy to suffer at the hands of his own father?

His ankle catches in the dip of a rabbit hole. More agony erupts through his veins. Body meeting the hard earth with a pound. It hurts. It HURTS. Sobs are long past uncontrolled now. Maybe he can cry himself an ocean. And drown in the currents of his own tears. His ankle throbs. There would be no more pain. No more suffering then.

A sharp rock would do the job. One stab to the throat and he’s out like a light. It would be so easy. So easy. The stone sears his palm like a handful of ice. Its surface even colder against his neck. His father can’t punish him in death. Can’t find him when he’s gone. He would be safe. Dead. And safe. He presses the point deeper into his skin.

Who would miss him? His mother? His sisters? The villagers of his town? Do they know he’s gone past the territory border? Do they know he’s suffered the wrath of a thousand suns? Do they even care? Will they mourn him? Acknowledge him?… Celebrate his absence?

Echoes of a shrill groan bounce through the trees. His grasp loosens. Blood pools into his collarbones as the rock tumbles back to the earth. Trembling legs bear his weight. Ankle still throbbing. He takes a step forward. Then another. Then another. His hands shake like a helpless rose in a violent windstorm.

There’s someone else in the woods. It’s another boy. Strewn among a bed of dead leaves. Laid within a puddle of his own blood and sweat. Mud clings to every available patch of skin. Like a shadow of nature. Thick pus oozes from his thorn-bounded wrists. He can’t see his face. But he knows the scent of pain.

“Help me, please.” He can’t tell if the voice is the boy’s or his own. Or maybe he’s finally lost his mind. Overthrown by the claws of insanity. Maybe death will come for him now. Bruised. Cracked. Broken. Like a piece of useless trash no one desires. Take him. End his pain now.

“Jinyoung…” The voice is clearer now. Adamant. Death has come. Sweet and merciful. Arms up toward the heavens. Fingers outstretched. Searching for comfort. Searching for relief. Something warm cradles his hand. Tears and blood mix along the canvas of his body. Another call of his name. Distorted. But real. Loving.

“You need to drink this…” Something cold presses against his lips. A sigh escapes. Death really has been his true friend all along. Sweet liquid invades his taste buds. Swallows the thickness like a greedy child. Thank you. Thank you so much.

When Jinyoung opens his eyes, the blurred forest is gone, as is the pain. He searches the dark room for the bearer of his fate, wanting to verbally express his appreciation and pledge his loyalty. However, the face that appears in his vision is neither spiritual nor resemblance of the grim reaper—it is the wounded boy from the forest. Now a man.

“I’m here, brother…” His murmur is faint against Jinyoung’s ears. Soft. His eyelids begin to droop, the same darkness, yet more tame and kind, overtaking the forefront of his mind. He can’t fight it off. Not this time.

The voice continues to lull him, calm him, as Jinyoung slips back into a dreamless sleep.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“If you’re gonna kill me, then just get it over with.” You hiss, keeping alert as Mina proceeds to pace around the wide, dim cavern. Never before have you felt such anger, such hatred toward another human being, except at this very moment. “Stop playing around like this is some fucking game. I want nothing to do with it.”

“I’m not going to kill you, (Y/N). That’s the last thing I want to do.”

“Yeah? Is that the same thing you told Nayeon before you murdered her?”

Mina’s sigh is neither one of frustration or annoyance. In fact, if you knew any better, you would have thought the sound to be something close to exhaustion.

Your shoulder tense as the witch approaches, maneuvering yourself to shield Mark who lays behind you. Still asleep. Noticing your protective stance, Mina backs off with another sigh and runs a trembling hand across her sweaty forehead.

She murmurs softly, “We weren’t always killers, you know? Momo and I—we used to be innocent… and good.”

For a moment, you merely gape at the witch, unable to conjure up a proper response. Mina ignores your silence, either uncaring or unknowing, and takes a seat across from your frozen form. Still a good amount of distance away. Her eyes glance toward Mark’s unconscious body before turning back to you with a blank expression.

“He’s alright. I put him under a sleeping spell.”

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this?” Your strict, yet inquisitive tone pulls a grimace across her face.

“I knew if I took Mark, I would be able to get you alone… to talk.”

“Why?”

Mina doesn’t answer your question and proceeds to stare off into space. “You know, I was in the foster system for years, always dreaming about the day I would finally quit bouncing from one home to the next.

“I was fourteen when I was adopted, and also when I met Momo.” The weak smile that forms across her lips stirs something inside your gut. “I had always wanted a sister, loving parents, and a home to call my own, which I finally had… It was the best feeling in the world.” She pauses to release a breathy chuckle, “It’s funny—what I would give to go back in time and feel like that again…”

You bite your lip. “What… What happened to them?”

“Our parents were killed by our town’s witch coven in a ritual gone wrong.” Mina whispers, tilting her head and fluttering her eyes closed. A single teardrop escapes her lid, dripping sadness down her flushed cheek. “It was an accident, but the damage had already been done…

“Once Momo found out about her hunter-roots, she became different—vengeful. She slaughtered those witches without so much as batting an eyelash, but it wasn’t enough. She needed to kill again and again and again. ”

“Why didn’t you stop her?”

“Because I couldn’t.” She shakes her head, another droplet trailing down her skin. “After our parents died, she was just so—so heartbroken. I could barely get her out of bed in the mornings, much less make her eat or go out or anything…” You watch sullenly as Mina wipes her eyes before shrugging, “It was like her soul died with them, and the sister I knew and loved was a shell of who she once was.”

You release a sigh of your own. “Until she killed those witches.”

“I convinced myself that it was fair—their lives for our parents. And every other life she—we took, I tried to make up some sort of excuse that it was justified…

“But it became too much.” She says, “After Nayeon, I knew I couldn’t handle anymore death. Not even for Momo.”

Your eyes widen when you realize the shadows along her face are not shadows at all, but her veins gradually appearing in the forms of inky, spider-webbed lines. When she lifts her gaze back to your own, her pupils are dilated to slits and rimmed with jet black irises.

“I knew Momo could never stop killing, so I used every bit of my magic to strip her of her strength long enough to allow the wolf pack to do what should have been done a long, long time ago.”

“Your face… It’s—”

“Dark magic is a funny thing, (Y/N).” Mina laughs sarcastically, tracing the black veins along the back of her hand with the tip of her finger. “The power itself feels so good, like a high that never comes down, but like every drug, you don’t realize it’s killing you until it’s too late.”

Holding back tears, you shake your head. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because you deserve to know what this world does to you.” Mina answers, crawling closer to reach for your hands. You don’t flinch at her abnormally cold touch, nor do you make any fight to pull away.

The witch stares directly into your eyes. “Knowing about the supernatural comes with a price. Your values, your morals—everything you know will be tested at every possible moment, and piece by piece, your soul will chip away to nothing.

“I could sense your humanity the very first time we met.” With a black-lined finger, Mina caresses a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen until then. “You’re different from other mortals… If you go down this path of darkness, then it will destroy you, (Y/N).”

“I don’t understand…” You sob, attempting to cling to Mina’s hands as she begins to pull away.

“You will. One day.” With given effort, she eventually peels herself away from your grasp and retires back to her lonely place in the shadows. She retracts something from the pocket of her jeans, but you can’t make out much through the darkness. Only the gleam of something sharp. Mina offers a weak smile— her lips as black as night.

“I hope you live a long, happy life, (Y/N). Without any of this.”

You watch in horror as the witch lifts a small pocket-knife right beneath her jaw and slices across her throat. Dark blood immediately spurts from the wound and paints her skin and the cavern floor red. Mina’s eyes keep to yours as she garbles and chokes, before the irises themselves grow white and her figure collapses to the ground. She squirms and spasms for a moment or two, then falls uncomfortably silent. Completely still.

Nausea bubbles in your stomach like a tidal wave, and you have to force yourself to look away from the vulgar scene before you vomit. Even then, the sight of the knife dragging across her windpipe and her strangled noises remain at the base of your thoughts. You’re sobbing uncontrollably, you quickly realize, gasping for air and shaking like a madwoman.

“(Y/N)?…”

The husky call awakens you from the beginnings of the anxiety attack. When you peer down, Mark’s eyes are hooded and bleary, but open and alert. He forces himself upright with a pained groan, rubbing at his likely sore shoulders before glancing around the cavern with visible confusions strewn along his features. His gaze immediately stops at the sight behind you, the confusion ebbing to terror, then sympathy.

Mark’s expression is absolutely heartbroken as he returns his focus back to you. “Oh my—(Y/N), I’m so, so sorry…” You practically throw yourself into his awaiting arms with a loud wail, curling into his body like a small child. He holds you tightly, his embrace warm and safe, while murmuring soft assurances into your ear.

“She just—just k-killed herself!.. I couldn’t-couldn’t do any-anything—!”

“Shhh…” Mark cradles the back of your head in his palm, caressing light circles into your scalp with his thumb. “Just don’t think about that right now, okay? Focus on something else—keep talking to me.”

You sharply breathe through your nose, inhaling the various elements of Mark’s scent. Rainwater. Earthiness. His sweet cologne. A gentle hint of lingering bourbon. As you count, the panic in your chest begins to die down… but the trepidation remains.

Your tone is soft, calm when you finally speak again. “Who’s Jackson…?”

Mark’s body deeply tenses underneath your own, his hand freezing its movements upon your head. He pushes you backward to peer at your face, wide-eyed and somewhat frenzied, before humming darkly, “Where did you hear that name?”

“I met the wolf pack earlier and Changbin mentioned a Jackson.” You shake your head, “I’m sorry, I just never remembered you mentioning him and you told me to talk, so I just figured—”

“Hey…” Mark silences your rant with a finger to your lips. “Don’t apologize, okay? Jackson was… my best friend.”

“Was?”

Your companion hesitates. You can see the cogs violently turning in his brain, but before you can tell him to just abandon the subject entirely, he answers:

“He died almost four years ago.”

“Oh, Mark…” You don’t waste a second to wind your arms back around his shoulders, pulling his head tight against your chest. His form trembles beneath your touch, but like a starved man, Mark greedily surrenders to your embrace.

As you’re comforting your best friend, another dreadful thought enters your mind—almost as bad as the repetitive memory of the scenes that occurred just moments before: Mina is dead, and so is Momo.

What will you tell Sana…?

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“I don’t know what we could ever do to repay you guys.” Mark shakes his head, glancing between the circle of wolves with an incredulous expression. Behind him, Youngjae and Jisung both nod in agreement while Lia offers a grateful smile. Chan responds with a grin of his own before moving forward to place a careful hand on Mark’s shoulder.

The Alpha hums, “We protect our own. No payback required.”

“Plus the huntress didn’t even put up a fun fight.” Dahyun snickers, joining Chan in wrapping a tight arm around Mark’s waist. He pats her head as she nuzzles into his chest, releasing an amused chuckle into the torn fabric of his shirt. “Good thing we weren’t in our wolf forms, or we would have literally ripped her to shreds!”

“Dahyun, please.” Yugyeom rolls his eyes, earning another laugh from his sister. The she wolf leans upward to press a kiss to Mark’s cheek and whisper a farewell before exiting the mausoleum to join the other waiting members of the pack outside. Chan follows Dahyun soon afterward, leaving only Yugyeom alone with the witch coven.

Mark sends the wolf a soft glance. “I owe you my life, Gyeom. Thank you.”

“Like Chan said, hyung, we protect our own.” Yugyeom waves off his thanks, though Mark can visibly see the younger male attempting to hold back a smile. “Whether you like it or not, you’ll always have a place with us. Jackson-hyung made sure of that.”

At the mention of his passed friend, Mark is reminded of his conversation with you inside the cavern. For some reason, the mere mention of the name does not strike the usual despair it has in the past. It actually feels good to hear it, he realizes. Maybe he should try saying it himself more often.

“Don’t be a stranger, okay? We still play beer pong every Friday at the cabin.”

“I was always pretty good at bp.” Mark chuckles at the memory, “You and Bam are always the first ones to get shit-faced though.”

“It’s not my fault Bam literally has no skill.”

The head witch tilts his head. “Kind of is… You do pick him as your teammate every game.”

“Not the point.” Yugyeom sends Mark a playful glare while shrugging on his brown leather jacket. Mark follows the youngster to the door, pausing when he directs his goodbyes to the other members of the coven. Once he’s finished, Yugyeom meets Mark’s gaze with a silent sigh before pulling the witch into a tight hug.

“I’ve missed you, hyung.”

“Me too, Gyeom.” Mark confesses, breathing in Yugyeom’s familiar woodsy scent. The fragrance brings back even more pleasant memories that act to warm his heart. He gives the wolf one final squeeze before pushing him away with some reluctance and gestures toward the door. “Better go before Dubu lands herself in a fist fight with Changbin.”

“Don’t even get me started on those two.” Laughing at the expression of pure annoyance across his face, Mark watches as Yugyeom bids him one final farewell and takes off into the pouring rain. In the distance, Mark swears he can hear Dahyun’s headstrong voice telling Chan off for something. The knowledge widens his smile.

But his rush of jubilation is only temporary for Lia’s shrill scold yanks him back to reality:

“—almost got us killed, asshole! What don’t you understand about that!?”

“How was I supposed to fucking know that it was a set-up!?” Minho hisses at the female witch, rising from his perch at the small dining table to enter the disorganized circle of conversation. “You guys made it very clear that my input in everything was useless—”

“Now that’s just bullshit.” Mark interrupts the younger witch, “You were the one who stormed off and have been M.I.A. for the past however many days. The fact that you’re trying to assign blame is fucking stupid.”

Minho scoffs., pointing to Lia. “And what the hell is she doing then!? This is what I mean when I say you take sides—when everyone takes sides! None of you ever take me seriously!”

“How can we when you go out and do stupid shit like this?” Lia growls.

“We’re alive, and the people who killed Nayeon are dead.” Youngjae cuts in, stepping in between the seething pair with a shake of his head. “There’s no reason to fight, okay? We should be celebrating and—”

“I have no desire to celebrate a goddamn thing.”

Mark rolls his eyes as Minho begins to gather his belongings, pushing past Lia with a little more force than what is necessary.

Like Mark, Lia also rolls her eyes. “Gonna run away again and live off the radar for another week or so?”

“Fuck you.”

“Enough!” Mark nearly yells, his mood now at rock bottom. He sends Lia a stern expression, as well as one to a silent Jisung, before pointing toward the door. “It’s been a long day, and we all need some time to process. Go home and sleep on it, alright?”

Lia doesn’t say a word. She only grabs her bag, storms past Mark and Youngjae, and disappears into the storm outside. Close behind, Jisung takes the time to pull on his raincoat and murmur a hushed goodbye, before following in the female witch’s footsteps. Minho goes to leave as well, but before he can make it past the doorway, Mark blocks his path.

The former addresses him in a hiss, “What the fuck now?”

“We need to talk—”

“No, we don’t. Cause I’m done.”

Mark raises an eyebrow, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I want nothing to do with you fuckers anymore.” Minho seethes with the most piercing glare Mark has ever seen, “Consider me self-exiled.”

Mark has more to say, but Minho literally shoves his way out the door. For a second, Mark debates on whether or not he should run after the witch, and convince him to reconsider his decision. But he decides against it. Minho needs time. And so does Mark.

“She used what is called the Sleeping Beauty spell to put you in a coma.” Mark tears his gaze away from Minho’s retreating silhouette and faces his remaining company. Somewhere in the midst of his confrontation with the younger witches, Youngjae had retreated to the lectern and flipped through an Encyclopedia of Spells.

Mark approaches the siphoner as he continues, “She bound your consciousness to her life force. So only when she died, you could awaken.”

“Makes sense.” The head witch collapses onto the sofa with a loud sigh, “One minute I was watching Jinyoung take a bullet for me, and the next I was in that cave with (Y/N).”

A small moment of silence passes. Mark relishes the peace, propping his suddenly heavy head on the palm of his hand. The quiet, like his positive mood, doesn’t remain as Youngjae eventually breaks it:

“How was she? (Y/N)?”

Mark shrugs. “She was… traumatized. It was a lot for her.”

“But she’ll be okay? Right?” Youngjae joins Mark on the couch, tracing the patterns of the cushions with a worried expression. “You don’t think she’ll… leave Moon Dye?”

“I honestly don’t know, Youngjae.” The head witch offers the siphoner a lost glance, trying to ignore the obnoxious pounding inside his head. An aspirin and a nice, long fifteen hour sleep sounds like a dream in heaven. “I hope not.”

“Me too.”

The silence returns. Mark takes the time to flutter his eyes closed and lean his head back into the sofa. Exhaustion immediately overtakes his mind like a vice, ensnaring his physical body in the need to rest—which is kind of ironic, since he had been in a deep, deep sleep only hours prior.

“Hey, hyung?”

Mark hums, not bothering to open his eyes.

He hears Youngjae inhale a shaky breath before whispering, “I thought… I thought I lost you…”

At the siphoner’s pained tone, Mark immediately opens his eyes and turns to his companion. Youngjae refuses to meet his gaze, finding interest in the loose threads among the couch cushions. Mark doesn’t push him to do so, nor does he really need to. With a heavy heart and an even heavier headache, he merely murmurs to the siphoner:

“You won’t ever lose me, Youngjae… Not if I can help it.”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

You’ve never exactly known what it’s like to live a stable life.

As a child, you were stuck in the foster care system since the day you were basically born, never having met the people who brought you into the world. No one ever told you the identity of your parents, not that you ever wanted to find out. Knowing your own mother left you, a newborn barely a day old, on the doorstep of a local church is enough to warrant your fair share of loathing toward the woman. Intense loathing.

You were never adopted, but once you hit sixteen, you filed for emancipation and set out for a life of your own. For the first couple years, you bounced back and forth between cities, taking up job opportunities as they came and working toward good enough grades in order to eventually qualify for an academic scholarship. You achieved just that, attended a university remote, and graduated with both your bachelors and masters. It wasn’t easy, but you did it. All on your own.

Moon Dye Bay was just supposed to be another temporary fix, then you met Mark that day in Poison Square, and for once you actually looked forward to staying in the mysterious, little town for longer than usual…

That was before you witnessed a woman slit her own throat.

So maybe after you and Mark parted ways in the cemetery, the thought of leaving town crossed your mind. In fact, you were more than ready to pack up your bags and make a beeline for the bus transit. However, the moment you entered your apartment to find Sana sobbing on the kitchen floor… your plans changed. Even more so when she told you that Jihyo had left in a panic after ranting and raving about tattoos and magic.

Jihyo is gone. Momo and Mina are dead. Sana is devastated.

Moon Dye Bay continues to see you for another day.

You inhale the final gulp of your tea before depositing the mug back on your nightstand and slipping underneath your bed covers. Today was the shittiest day you’ve ever experienced, which is saying a lot. All you wish to do is sleep everything away and deal with the emotional baggage tomorrow. Hopefully Mina’s foreboding words won’t follow you into your dreams.

With a sigh of relief, you lean back into the pillows and curl tighter underneath the weight of the blankets. You try to clear your thoughts as much as possible while rolling onto your side. Drowsiness immediately clouds your senses the moment you reach a comfortable position. Preparing to surrender to the darkness that calls, you move to close your eyes, but something catches your attention in the corner of your room.

You peer toward the area, unable to make out much through the thick shadows. Unfortunately, you know your brain won’t rest until you discover the source of movement. It’s probably just a trick of the moon, but just in case, you reach over to your nightstand and switch on the small reading light atop its surface.

It’s not a trick of the moon… because there’s a man standing in the corner of your room, staring straight at you.

Paralyzed with a blend of fear and shock, you’re unable to do anything but stare back at the stranger. His dark eyes widen to saucers after a long moment of silence, and even amongst the shadows, you can tell his expression is one of surprise.

“Can you… Can you see me?” His husky voice proves his bewilderment, but does little to settle yours. Instead, his strange question only sends more warning bells raging throughout your head.

You somehow find your words, but they come out in little above a squeak. “Who the hell are you!?…”

“My name is Jackson… and you’re the first person I’ve talked to in a long, long time…”

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astxlphe-fics · 4 years

Text

Pink Flowers // Fukumori

Mori had his feelings for Fukuzawa cut out of him years ago. Hanahaki AU

Word count : ~1700

CW some blood, one murder, one medical malpractice

When they’re younger, when they’re still a doctor and his bodyguard, Mori is the target of many attempted murders and kidnappings.

Despite his constant misgivings about bodyguarding, despite the simple fact that Mori doesn’t, actually, need any kind of rescuing, Fukuzawa comes for him.

Every single time.

Then they fight together, back to back, as a team, against threats to the fragile balance of Mori’s world, of the neutrality of his underground clinic.

It’s during those fights that Mori realizes than yes, sometimes he needs Fukuzawa by his side, and that he enjoys his company. They collapse, letting themselves fall sitting on the ground, side by side, bloody and tired.

Mori sighs and there is a tingle in his throat.

He doesn’t think much of it, barely notices it, but he does feel the beginning of a fondness for the man.

The itch at the back of his throat takes months to turn into a full cough, and he spits out the first petal in his own sink, thankfully.

Having a patient around while he discovers his own illness would be less than ideal. Rumors go fast in the underbelly of Yokohama, and if the news escape his office it’ll quickly make its way to his enemies.

He picks it up and studies it carefully.

“How bothersome,” he declares, throwing it in the trash.

But what can he do about it?

There are several things he can do, in fact.

First option — kill Fukuzawa before this disease takes a hold of him. But it’ll upset Natsume, and he isn’t sure he is capable of killing his bodyguard.

Second option — get rid of the feeling altogether. While this is something he can eventually do on his own, letting it fade, an operation would be a sure way to fix the issue. The problem: he can’t operate himself.

Third option — seduce the man. Make sure that what Mori apparently feels for him is returned. Keep him by his sides, for good.

This thought is infinitely more appealing than the first two.

He doesn’t have to decide immediately. He doesn’t want to.

“What do you think, Elise?”

She looks up from her picture book. “I think you’re gross.”

His laughter makes him cough again. Another petal comes out, and he thinks of every possibility again. He thinks of Fukuzawa, of the flowers fading from his lungs as the man holds him close.

He’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it. Hanahaki isn’t a kind illness, but it’s considerate enough to make the killing slow.

Elise doesn’t start looking worried until a few months later, when he wakes up gasping for breath, petals sticking to the back of his throat and spilling out of his mouth.

Her reaction tells him the situation might become critical soon.

It’s more anger than worry, to be fair, and she throws some of his tools to the ground in a fit of rage. “Just kill him!” she yells, before crossing her arms and setting her face into a pout. “I’m starting to feel sick too, so get rid of him before he kills the both of us.”

He would, usually, cave in to whatever Elise demands of him. He loves her, after all, and anything she wants is worth getting for her.

But not this. This is something he can’t give her.

By the time Fukuzawa finds out about Yosano, Mori is throwing up whole flowers. It’s starting to affect his work, but it doesn’t look like Fukuzawa has noticed.

If he has, he hasn’t said anything about it, which is fine by Mori.

They fight — of course they fight, but it’s not like they usually do.

Everyday fighting is banter and annoying each other, it’s Fukuzawa coming for him every time he gets into trouble, no matter how much he doesn’t need it.

Everyday fighting makes the flowers in Mori’s lungs grow larger. It makes Mori want this man to love him.

His chest tightens, thinking about what they have the potential to be, about how much they could do for this city just by being together, about the kind of embrace he could give him.

Fukuzawa draws his sword, and Mori almost chokes, swallowing down the flowers threatening to fall from his lips.

There is no fixing it now.

Their partnership broken, the illness gains more ground, with no hope of recovery through more...traditional means.

It quickly becomes urgent to do something about it. The flowers are larger than ever, and if he was a lesser man, he would cry thinking about what they could have been, he would go back to Fukuzawa and ask him to reconsider, to come back to him.

Gritting his teeth, he closes his eyes, grieving for a relationship that doesn’t exist, which was doomed from the day he threw up that first petal.

He is not a lesser man, however. He shoves his own fingers down his throat to drag the flowers out. They clog the sink, bloodied and of a horribly cheerful pink color.

How those feelings have made him weak. They make him sick with a deadly disease, shift his focus, make him yearn for something he knows he can never have.

He needs to get rid of them as soon as he can.

“Look at you!” Elise scolds him. “I told you, we should have killed him.”

“I’m sorry Elise.” He smiles at her sheepishly, because she is right. He should have dealt with it a long time ago. He just hadn’t wanted to.

They make him irrational.

There are other underground doctors in the city, though none of them as skilled, none of them as reputed, as he is. He will find someone to take care of it.

She scowls, eyebrows drawing together, and she tugs at his sleeve. “You’re so stupid, Rintarou.”

The other doctor is surprised to see him, of all people, but he gets to work quickly. He looks smug, knowing such a thing about Mori Ougai, about the weakness taking over him.

He will use it against him, in the future, if he can.

Mori doesn’t let him entertain the idea.

He refuses any kind of anesthetics, unwilling to put himself at the mercy of another person with a scalpel, and Elise stands guard. The other doctor underestimates her, but Mori knows she can recognize any suspicious medical action and rise up to protect him with barely any prompting.

The doctor opens him up and fixes him, and the pain means nothing when he’s finally getting rid of the feelings he has for Fukuzawa Yukichi, for they have been weighing on him since the beginning, far more than he ever admitted to.

When it’s done, he’s both curious and satisfied to realize that what he feels is now little more than indifference. Everything he has wished for since the start, to have him standing by his side, for lips on his skin and to be the only one in his eyes, seems ludicrous now. A waste of time and energy.

He cuts the doctor’s throat once he’s done and looks for any witness. Then, he puts Fukuzawa out of his mind, and moves on.

His work won’t do itself. He has a Mafia boss to take care of.

Time to get down to business.

"It’s a pity.”

Blood seeps out of Fukuzawa’s neck, and Mori is regretful, surprising even himself, though it’s not as personal as it could have been, once.

His feelings for Fukuzawa were cut out of him years ago.

Without this virus, they could have been a team again and crushed those rats with ease. They were always a deadly combination, so this is nothing but a missed opportunity.

But first comes the security and well-being of his own, and any feeling he allows himself those days is for them, for the Mafia — and for Elise, of course, but she is something else entirely.

He still apologizes for cheating. He may not love the man anymore, but he respects his strength and a fair fight would have ended in Mori’s defeat. It’s not something he can allow again, not with so much at stake.

All he needs now, is to wait for Elise to pop back up into existence, stay here until Fukuzawa dies — it’s the least he can do for his old teammate — and prepare for the rage of the Detective Agency.

Until Natsume shows up to scold them and drags them away to Dostoievski’s hideout.

Later, as they’re on their way, it’s plain in the way Natsume looks at him that he knows. Mori doesn’t care. He has done what needed to be done.

Elise reappears soon after, and he gives her a hug that she pretends to protest to. She will always be the most constant thing in his life, the only one who he knows will stand by him until his last breath.

The virus fades, and the ability user at the origin of it tries to run. Fukuzawa and Mori grab him before he can, together, like old times.

It makes Fukuzawa nostalgic, in a sense. He misses the team they used to be, before they each took a different walk of life. Before he learned of Yosano.

A part of him wishes that, when this is over, when they have won against Dostoievski, they can stay this way — a little bit of a team, again.

He wonders what Dazai is planning, forcing Akutagawa and Atsushi together.

Both boys are like rough diamonds, and Dazai is playing a dangerous game, hitting them against each other like this. There is little he can do but trust Dazai’s judgement and hope the sparks he makes don’t start too big of a fire.

Though, knowing him, he would probably say it’s the point.

Mori, he can tell, is thinking the same, though he doesn’t speak of it. He catches him glancing at the pair, eyes lingering on Atsushi, and Fukuzawa can’t blame him for it. He’s just as doubtful of the black-clad young man with whom his subordinate already seems to have a quiet understanding.

The Mafia leaves. Fukuzawa watches as Mori’s red scarf billows in the wind.

There is an itch in his throat.

#bsd #fukumori #fukuzawa yukichi #mori ougai #bsd fukuzawa #bsd mori #hanahaki #cw blood #writing

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light-of-being · 4 years

Text

On the void (aka summary of like, 5-7 years of my life lmao)

Idk if this would apply to anyone else at all but regardless. If you, like me, have a side of you with an almost-irresistible pull towards nothingness -- finding existence itself ill-fitted, false or otherwise undesirable -- manifesting in hating the fact of a physical body, infinite passivity and the desire to do nothing ever, wanting to be silent forever because words are some sort of betrayal, explicit wish for disappearance, blend into the surroundings (them posts about lying down in the forest and have the plants grow over you), etc ...or if you feel like you’re already there, a little diffuse, not sure if you exist at all...I’d invite you to at least consider it.

Strong tw for suicide and disordered eating.

The problem (and failed solutions)

For a long time, I tried to realise that desire as much as possible. I did, literally, for weeks and months, stop eating, stop speaking, even for a brief period stop moving entirely. I guess my subconscious was playing along, erasing memory, identity, perception itself. I knew it was hurting me and not a sensible thing to do, but I couldn’t not. The ideal, of course, was death, and I tried to get that too, but at some point I was resigned to living but continued trying to make it as little alive as possible. (see also: that quote from Persona)

I expect we know, it’s Bad, but it’s also the only thing that feels right, feels pure and true. Also feels...inevitable.

I spent years trying to eat normally again, because I “knew” it wasn’t working for me. And it was, like, stupid. I was endlessly frustrated because really, I know better than that, and this doesn’t need to be so hard. But if I’m being honest, I really didn’t want to. I kept hoping and trying for a way to sneak past myself and my life and find a way to still stay true to that...need. And every time I slipped, it felt like I’d found my way back where I belonged. Back with my heart, the void. Home. Where things are a little less wrong.

They talk a lot about the whole “control” thing, and I guess yeah, in a way it’s that. It’s rejection of all that’s been placed upon you, just one big “No” to living a life that’s not on your terms, that you never asked for. No, to life itself. Because none of it feels true to you and you’d rather have nothing than betray yourself. And at some point, you’d rather have nothing than...anything. It feels like passivity -- for a long time, I was like, “without influence, nothingness is the default state. doing anything is an active decision. sustaining life is an active decision. i’m just letting things be in their natural state.” But if you pay attention for a single second, it’s nothing like that. It’s stubborn af. It’s the strongest assertion you’ll ever make. (also, lol, being stationary and nothing is not the natural state of jackshit, at least not for a long time. the heat death of the universe is far away, folks. it’s precisely staying the same that requires resistance)

The thing that led to my first halfway-successful “recovery” attempt (grudgingly, still, not some magic transformation)...wasn’t any good reason that life is good and void is harmful. It was -- “what I desire is literally not a thing I can ever have”. However much I may believe it to be the ultimate good, it’s impossible. And insofar as I’m not actually there, I’m no happier for trying to approximate it. “Slightly pure” is not a thing. It’s just as miserable. It’s futile. All I do is hate myself for every way I fall short.

How does starving myself proceed, how does it end? Not even in death, not usually (I would probably have considered that okay, good even). If I “succeed” enough, it probably ends in a hospital room, being force-fed. And after that? Well, I can just go back to how it was, and have that life on repeat and maybe die somewhere along the way (or just have them not release me again). Or I can try to stop at that stage. Which I guess gives me a little while longer that I can keep up my shit before then, but like. Is that really any good? (my brain still often says yes, but let’s be real. if we can avoid the hospital that’s probably a thing we want)

That’s pragmatic thinking, though; it’s considering things within the frameworks of the world rather than keeping oneself outside of them, and void-self hates that (and I’m 99% sure that anyone who sufficiently strongly related to the previous shit in the present would’ve scoffed at that last paragraph. although some part of you probably also hated to admit it’s true. unless you’re still deep inside, in which case you probably still think you can sneak past it. spoiler alert: you can’t). And I’m sorry, void-self, I know you’d rather have literally anything else, but that is where the universe has placed you, and life isn’t easy enough to let you cop out of anything it gives you.

Void-life is more than just dysfunctional and harmful, it’s completely unsustainable and futile. You’re never going to get there. You’ll just become progressively more miserable. And you can cover your head with a blanket and try to pretend that’s not true while you keep trying, but I know that deep down, you know this. And you hate it and it hurts, and you want to run away from this, too, but...tough. Soz. There’s probably few things you hate so much as, “That’s just the way it is” and you probably just hate the world that much more for not even letting you have this. one. thing. And yeah, fuck the world. Or fuck you. End of the day, you’re probably right -- you weren’t made for each other.

So what now?

I mean, you can die. That’s always a thing you can do. And the first time I really thought this through, I was 100% ready to die rather than deal with it. But it wasn’t the void death from earlier up in this post. It was the anxiety/escapist death from the previous paragraph -- “ohmygod ohmygod I can’t accept this I’m out”. Which, personally, doesn’t generally translate into action, just extreme discomfort and running around like a trapped mouse, wanting to throw myself against the wall (unless it lasts long enough without finding an out of some sort, that it becomes standard depressive hopelessness).

Stage # the next one went like, “well...I guess dying is a thing I’ll get eventually. as such, I could get it anytime I want! eh, what the hell, i can probably fuck around a little while.” Which works, until things become difficult to handle and it becomes, “now seems like a good time.” (after this, technically there was a stage of “killing myself would hurt this person i care about and i’m committed to not doing that...i can probably hang on through it” but that’s not really relevant so i’m sweeping past it.)

But let’s say, for whatever reason, dying is not the ideal option (look, you’re reading this. if you felt this, death was probably one of your first considerations. i expect there’s some reason, however ridiculous, you haven’t successfully gotten to it yet. most of the time, void-self isn’t the whole self and the rest of you still hopes there’s a better way you can satiate it).

Okay, one last thing that I’ve noted to be common in people with this kind of thing going on before I carry on: you have weak boundaries. It sometimes feels like the things placed upon you might seep in and subsume you, and although you seek nothingness, you don’t want to be that kind of nothing (like I said, secretly stubborn af. after all, part of your desire for nothingness involves wanting to be “not that” where that is fkin everything. see also: abjection).

A possible way forward

So here’s what’s been working quite well for me (so far. it might turn into a trainwreck at some point so eh...yeah. but it has been a long time). It boils down to the exist harder and/or assurance point. It also consists of behaving a bit weirdly like you’re [at least] two people.

The main thing is: like I said above, if you’re picking this direction, it’s probably not the void-self choosing it. There’s something else to you. So here’s the plan. You feed it. You strengthen it and let it grow as close to a full person as you can. At first, this looks almost entirely like fighting against void-self and forcing yourself into the world no matter how much it complains. This is really fkin difficult and terrifying to do, and you should use any tools or support you can. This person has been hiding all this time; they’re weak and scared and don’t know how to life. But as they get stronger and develop more of a voice, it becomes easier.

Whatever fragment of this person you start out with, you should be able to identify one (1) thing they consider important or want (don’t tell me there isn’t. that’s not true. it can be as fucking stupid as you like, but if there’s nothing get your depression treated first). Start with that. As you throw them out there more, you’ll probably find more things that they like. Explore many things, stuff you wouldn’t necessarily consider or would be scared of, but you’re curious about. But try as far as possible to make this very much yours. You don’t want to feel like you’re succumbing to some external pressure. You want to feel like you’re in power; that is literally the most important part -- any non-destructive things make you feel like that are great. Take your time. (A thing that’s vaguely useful is miscellaneous advice for people rebuilding themselves after a breakup or loss, because that’s what you’re doing: rebuilding yourself. For yourself this time. Not just for survival.)

Are we suppressing void-self, trying to kill it off? No. We’re just saying it no longer gets to govern our entire lives, because it’s no good at that. It has a place, a place that will probably bring you a lot of happiness, but its place is not controlling your external life. It’s internal.

What we’re doing is giving it a caretaker. We’re giving you the ability to carve out a space for yourself where you can comfortably exist and be a person, without dissolving. But for that you need boundaries, and you need to sustain life first.

More than that, though. The person you’re building will make space for void-self to exist. Void-self doesn’t do that for you. It’s selfish. It kills that person off. It wants to be everything. That’s not fair to the rest of you. And guess what? The rest of you is great, too! It has a lot of potential. It has capabilities void-self could never have dreamed of, that you would never have dreamed of while under the control of void-self. It can bring you a lot of happiness. It has the right to exist, to take up space in your life, too. It will surprise you. This person has the magical ability to exist in the world without being fake...yes, really.

And then, when they’re all grown up, they can protect void-self from being subsumed by everything pushed onto it because they have the strength and skills to navigate real life, to negotiate and place you in situations you want rather than where the wind blows it. And now? Now they can nourish void-self. You can go off on a trip and “disappear” for all intents and purposes. You can go and lie in a field for hours. You can read poetry and do all of the things that do feel authentic to void-self. It never has to pretend to be anything ever again. You can even learn how to really express it to others (something it’d love to do but lacks the ability for). But you can also go to work the next day and feed your organism.

Will void-self be entirely happy with this arrangement? Eh...not really, not when you propose it. You will definitely encounter resistence. But, in my experience, when you actually get there, it comes to peace.

#heh this is still raw who knew #there's at least 4 of my mutuals i think this is very directly applicable to #but i don't think tagging is exactly appropriate here #so eh hope you see it #please i worry about you #but this became extremely fkin long and i'm not sure anyone would want to read #also i think i got tired towards the end and quality dropped a bunch #which sucks because that was the main part lol #anyway yeah #reflections #tw disordered eating #tw suicide #szpd #assurance #i think this is actually common schizoid treatment protocol but whatever #also as a Me i would definitely not trust it coming from some standard recommendations written by people who probably understand jackshit #anyway also #i think this was easier for me #because i was in a space where i was VERY determined #that You Will Not Destroy Me #I will be my own person if it kills me

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frankchurchillsaysrelax · 5 years

Note

ANGST 18. “Leave! Me! Alone!” Malex

It’s been 84 years. Nonnie, I don’t even know if you’re still around or if you remember sending this but here you go! This will need to be edited later but I really wanted to get this up tonight.

p.s. this is what happens when you wake up at 4:00am in Arizona, land at 4:30pm in Detroit, try to go to bed at 10:00pm, and end up never actually going to bed until noon the following day. You be the judge of whether that worked out in my favor I guess.

—

When they were younger, there was a t-shirt he and Max would always fight over. Michael can’t remember what it even looked like, only the good-natured teasing and playful fighting that would strengthen their bond as brothers every time it was even mentioned. Although, much like the t-shirt, over time that bond would become nothing more than threads, faded and useless.

Back then Max was always giving Michael clothes he’d outgrown or simply didn’t wear because he had so many options at his disposal. He would easily lie to his mom and say they had disappeared somewhere between his closet and the washing machine, and every time Ann would see another vanished item on Michael, she would give him a kind smile and say nothing. Isobel would eventually try to buy him brand new things, but he always refused, secretly craving the physical proof that he and Max were family.

Michael slips into the other man’s clothes now and feels nothing but loss and a disconnect from reality that follows him these days like a fog, always making everything just a bit hazy and unfamiliar. He slips into Max’s shoes like a perverse metaphor and feels inadequate in the way that his feet slide around, not quite filling all of the empty space.

Isobel cries when he walks out of Max’s bedroom. He rushes to comfort her but it’s Max’s scent clinging to the fabric he wears like an ill-fitting disguise and he tries not to dwell on the fact that she holds him tighter than she ever has before.

“Liz is going back to work today. I’m going to head over to the lab and try to heal some dying rats if you want to come.” Her hands shake as she adjusts his collar.

“As fun as that sounds, I think it’s better if I stick around here.” Isobel nods like she already knew that was what he was going to say but she doesn’t look happy about it. “Tell Liz I’m gonna try to recreate some of my notes, get her something she can work with.”

Isobel purses her lips and levels him with the same steely look she’s been wearing for months. She stares shrewdly, deciding whether or not she’s going to say whatever words are running through her head.

“Fine,” she relents, “but you’re coming down tonight and we’re having dinner. It’s not healthy for you to be alone up here for this long.”

Michael scoffs, walking into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge. It’s the only thing in this prison that belongs to him; the only thing that makes him feel like himself. “I’m not exactly popular right now in case you haven’t noticed. We’ll get turned away from any place we try to step foot in.”

“We don’t have to go out. Be at my house at six. Liz and I will grab something on the way from the lab and we can eat it there.” She picks up the bag containing the smoke drenched clothes he’s been wearing since last week and is out the door before he can argue, the door sliding shut hands free behind her.

It’s for the best. He would have fought her on it because he’s a stubborn asshole, but they both know that she would have gotten her way in the end. Isobel has spent the months since everything went to hell desperately needing to take control of every situation and for the last week Michael has needed someone to give him his marching orders, tell him where to be, when to eat, how to breathe.

He watches her car as it heads back towards town, the dirt her tires kick up into the air the only reminder that he isn’t alone once she’s out of sight. But after a few minutes that settles too and he’s surrounded by stillness, the house existing in the quiet void Max’s absence has created that he is now clumsily disturbing just by existing in it.

He’s stepping into a dead man’s life and trying to make it his own, but Max’s house, like his shoes, is too big, too empty; nothing like the known comfort of the airstream. His clothes are too neat, his truck is too new, and everything that Michael sees reminds him that he never fit into the life Max had built for himself.

—

“So when did you learn an alien language?” Alex is standing close behind him, closer than he has in weeks.

Michael looks at him with one brow raised, unimpressed. “It’s physics.”

“Same difference.” Alex grins, white teeth on display and his eyes bright with pride at his own stupid joke. He’s beautiful and Michael has to force himself to look back down at his notebook.

Alex lets him get back to his equations and wanders off to pick up and play with various objects in the underground lab simply because he knows it annoys him. He sets a beaker down a little too rough and Michael glances up sharply.

“What are you doing here Alex?” He turns in his stool until he’s facing him directly. He’s sure that if he just lets him say whatever he came to say that he’ll leave and let him focus on his work. A traitorous voice in the back of his mind asks him if that’s really what he wants.

“You’ve been cooped up down here for two days Guerin. Time to come out and see the sun.” He plants himself in front of Michael, crossing his arms as if trying to intimidate him. It’s cute.

“No can do. Kinda got more important things to be doing right now. The sun will still be there when I’m done.” He starts to turn away again but Alex grabs him by the shoulder, stilling him instantly.

“Look,” something flashes behind Alex’s eyes for a moment before they turn stony. “Just because things didn’t work out between you and Maria, it doesn’t give you an excuse to close yourself off.” He speaks bluntly, devoid of emotion like a good little soldier. Michael knows it’s to protect himself but it still makes him bristle.

“Other way around, private.” He sighs in annoyance as Alex’s face pinches with confusion. “Things didn’t work out between us because I was closing myself off.”

Alex only hesitates for a second. “Why?”

Michael launches off of his stool, needing to move around and release some of his nervous energy if they are actually going to have this conversation. Alex’s hand falls to his side.

“Look man, just because Maria knows now thanks to Rosa’s big mouth - which, for the record, is what put us on borrowed time in the first place - doesn’t mean that she needs to be involved in all of this. None of you do.” He runs a hand through his curls, wondering if he should quit while he’s ahead. “If your family wasn’t already at the center of it all then I’d shut you out too. You and Valenti, and god, Liz too. This is Is and my mess to deal with.”

Alex’s face morphs into a look Michael is very familiar with. It’s the how-can-you-possibly-be-this-stupid face.

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, Guerin.” He holds a hand up to prevent Michael from interrupting. “We’re all in this because we want to be, because we want to help. I get that you guys are used to doing things on your own, but the world is bigger now and you’re just going to have to deal with that.

“I’m not getting in the middle of whatever is going on with you and Maria, but you need to listen to me on this.” He takes a step forward, cornering Michael into pressing his back against the table. His eyes blaze with a fierceness that melts Michael’s resolve. “You are not alone, Guerin. You have people you can rely on.” He pauses, tongue poking out to wet his lips, and it takes everything within Michael not to close the distance between them. “You have people who love you.”

Michael watches as he turns and walks toward the ladder and begins to climb. He purposely leaves the hatch open to let the sunlight shine in.

—

Michael wakes with his cheek stuck to a piece of paper and an incessant pounding in his head. One beer had quickly become two, and once the fridge was empty he had gone rummaging in search of something stronger, finally finding a half empty bottle of tequila. He’d silently cursed Isobel for confiscating all of the acetone.

There’s a reason he doesn’t drink tequila and it is currently trying to burst through his skull.

He glances at the clock on Max’s wall and eventually comes up with a ten minutes to five. He needs to sober up if he’s going to show up at Isobel’s on time, and oh what he wouldn’t give for some fries and a bucket of coffee from the Crashdown right about now. He knows he can’t go, can’t show his face anywhere in Roswell without a trail of whispers following him.

For years he’s heard rumors based on his behavior and the things he wanted people to see, and he’d reveled in it. The reputation he’s cultivated since high school serves as punishment for the guilt he’s felt since that night. And now, like everything else in his life, it’s coming back to bite him in the ass.

“Damnit Alex.” He presses his fingers hard against his eyes and for a moment it redirects the pain from his head. Strangely, the pounding stays consistent.

Michael looks up, black spots blocking his vision until eventually he can see Maria knocking repeatedly on the door. It’s glass and he’s sitting directly in view, he doesn’t know why she doesn’t just let herself in. It’s not like it’s his house anyway.

He slides the door open with his mind and for a second Maria retreats in surprise before entering the house, closing the door behind her on her own.

“Took you long enough.” She takes in the sight of him slumped over the desk, the now empty bottle of tequila within arms reach. “I thought we learned that you and Jose don’t get along back in 2012.”

Michael stands, wobbling only slightly, and walks towards the kitchen. “What do you want Deluca? I’m busy.” They’d cleared out most of the food in the house just after Max went into the pod but there are still some k-cups that will have to do the job. With the Keurig running, he takes a moment to undo the top two buttons on his shirt, the memory of Max nearly suffocating.

“I ran into Isobel earlier.” Maria follows him, hopping up onto the counter and staring at him like she’s trying to do a reading. “She said you were up here going all Kaczynski so I thought I’d come keep you company.”

Michael flinches, nearly dropping the mug he’s just pulled from one of the cabinets. Without looking at her he spits out with unconcealed contempt, “Kaczynski made bombs.”

Silence is the only response he gets, and when he glances over his shoulder Maria sits with her mouth wide open and tears in her eyes. He sighs but refuses to feel bad or apologize.

“I know I’m not that familiar with relationships, but aren’t you supposed to like hate the sight of me right now?” He turns his focus back to preparing his coffee, his brain telling him that he should probably stop talking until he’s less drunk, but as usual he ignores it.

Maria places a hand lightly on his back and he immediately steps to the side and out of her reach. “Michael, just because we’re not together doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I’m worried about you. Alex wouldn’t want–”

“Don’t,” he whispers harshly, spinning to face her. The mug of freshly poured coffee shatters behind him. “Don’t you dare use him against me.”

Never one to be intimidated or back down from a fight, Maria just glares at him. “You’re not the only one that lost him, Guerin. He’s my best friend. And you know just as well as I do that he wouldn’t want you blaming yourself.”

“Hell, why not? Everyone else is!” Maria looks like she’s been slapped but Michael needs to get this out in the open. “You’re a bartender, I’m sure you’re hearing all the great things people are saying about me, huh? What is it now? Local war hero dies in town drunk’s meth lab on wheels? Man, I’m surprised Valenti hasn’t sent her new deputies out to arrest me.” Michael’s chest moves rapidly as it tries to cage his pain.

Tears run down Maria’s face, one after another after another and not for the first time, Michael envies her ability to remain calm even while falling apart. “What does it matter what they think Michael? You know the truth and you can’t blame yourself for–”

“I don’t know shit, Maria. No one knows what really happened and knowing the truth isn’t going to bring him back.” Ugly, heart wrenching sobs break through, each painful burst chipping away at the dam he’s painstakingly built around himself over the last few days. One after another after another. He turns and hangs his head low between his shoulders, fists clenching around the edge of the counter, desperately trying to regain control. “Just leave me alone, ok,” he pleads, tears threatening to fall. If he starts again he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop.

Maria’s hand hovers near his arm and he wrenches it away before she can touch him. “No! Leave!” In the other room a loud thud echos throughout the empty tomb that is his brother’s house. Maria jumps and a sick part of him feels satisfied. He stalks toward her, each step causing her to take one back towards the door. “Me!” Various objects float and drift closer, encroaching on them. Maria looks around with obvious concern. Her eyes meet his and he realizes that she’s more worried about him and not her own safety. “Alone!” The door snaps open with enough force that the glass shakes in its frame but doesn’t even crack. Stupid Max and his fancy ass windows.

Maria takes her cue to step outside, tears continuing to fall from wide, sorrowful eyes. Michel clenches his jaw and stands his ground. He has nothing more to say, simply waits in a quiet storm of emotion until she retreats back to her truck.

—

A dark cloud of smoke hangs over Sanders’ Auto as Michael pulls up in his truck, using his powers to put it in park as he’s already halfway out the door before it even fully stops. The flames are smaller than he would expect, but the smoke clings to everything like a thick blanket not meant to comfort but to smother them all.

“Mr. Guerin, you can’t go in there!” Sheriff Valenti blocks him and he lets her, watching in horror as his home continues to burn, the metal structure still in tact but the contents probably little more than ash. Photos of him, Max, and Isobel, his hat, books and years of work that he’d taken out of the lab when Isobel or Alex would stop by and force him to sleep.

His eyes fall to the earth below the trailer where the hatch lays open underneath the trailer, more signs of destruction billowing out ominously. His breathing picks up as terror runs down his spine at what they’ll find during their investigation.

“Mr. Guerin, I’m going to need to ask you some questions.” The sheriff continues speaking but he only hears snippets as his pulse beats louder and faster in his ears. “…to be an explosive…” A fireman steps from the trailer gripping something in his hands. “…any enemies?” He walks toward them, a grim look on his soot covered face. “…may be in shock….” Behind him, two others exit the trailer, something carried between them. “…sit down and…”

The world stops as the long black bag is revealed. Michael no longer hears his heart beating, no longer feels his lungs burn with labored breath. Nothing moves except the smoke as it continues to press close and suffocate. His vision is blurring at the edges but he sees the first fireman closing in. A gloved hand slowly unfolds, something metal resting in its palm. Sheriff Valenti uses a pen to hook around a chain, slowly raising it until the dog tags catch the light, and then everything around Michael goes dark.

—

“Michael!” Isobel’s voice carries through the closed bedroom door sounding frantic. “Michael, where are you?”

He knew she’d be pissed when he blew off dinner but he’d thought the most he would get was an angry phone call. The door flies open and bounces off the wall as the room is flooded with light. Michael raises an arm to shield himself from it and blinks until he can clearly make out Liz and Isobel both standing there with wide smiles.

Liz rushes forward to sit at the edge of the bed and grabs Michael’s hand. Her smile is pure relief but a lingering worry lurks in her eyes. “It’s not Alex.”

“What?” He tries to pull his hand back but red nails dig into his skin and in an odd way it grounds him, the pain confirming that this moment is real.

Isobel steps forward but stops at the foot of the bed. “After the dental records came back a match, Kyle apparently snuck down to the morgue to do some snooping. Taking this private detective thing a little far if you ask me.”

“He found enough tissue to get it tested and he just got the results back. It’s not Alex.”

She looks so excited, tears smudging her makeup and making her eyes shine. Michael doesn’t share her joy, staring back at her with newfound dread.

“Then where is he?”

#anonymous #my fic #prompts #malex #malex fic #roswell new mexico #don't hate meeeeeeee #i'm gonna kicked back off tumblr aren't i?

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yoursinfulurges · 5 years

Text

Neo Host Club

Part 1.

Description:

Sm academy is a school for the riches kids in the country. If you have way too much time in your hands, have the school' host club take care of it for you. The host club is compiled of 21 members, im sure one of them will fit your preference. Indulge in fine dining as handsome rich men accompany you, showering you with love and affection. The host club is here to fulfill all of your fantasies of having a handsome rich man as your boyfriend. We encourage you to join us. Neo Host Club is your perfect vacation, we are here to aid you from all your stress.

Lies. All lies. At first everything was perfect, no bumps or kinks in the road. Being with Jaehyun was like a dream come true. But, like all dreams, at some point you have to wake up. Everything could've gone much more smoother if you would've never gotten involved with him in the first place. You went from being a one-time customer, to his personal call girl. You loved him with all your heart, but he loved himself way more. He took it upon himself to choose his pride over you. The host club wasn't as perfect as it seemed. It was not a picture perfect place where nothing could go wrong, It was just a utopian world made up by troubled kids, who hoped to forget their miserable lives outside of school. You know that now... He could've chosen love over tragedy, but his pride prevented him from doing so. He had a reputation as the host clubs most charming member to up hold, and he certain couldn't risk it for some girl he sleeps around with. He chose his pride, not you, thus shattering your relationship... or, whatever it was that you two had....

You were left with a shattered heart, he left you to pick up the pieces all on your own. It was not love, but instead a tragedy.

Warning: multiple smut scenes, bisexuality, grammar errors, implication of Asian reader, degrading terms, and over all a whole shit show

Word Count: about 5.k

___________

You gazed out the window of your limousine and sighed. Your face contorting into an expression that displayed 100% discomfort; you looked as if you were about to throw up any given minute, soiling the red velvet rug and your brand new uniform. The tingling sensation in the pit of your stomach seemed to be like a never ending stream. An endless flow of nervousness and anxious thoughts, feeding your anxiety like a wild fire, stirring up a cyclone of possible panic attacks or mental break downs. It felt as though you were on the verge of crying and shitting your pants.

Today, you'd be starting a new chapter in your life. You were finally attending the infamous SM academy, a school known for its excellent education system and outstanding clubs. You've heard many rumors about SM, but the most repeated are about a particular club called neo host club. It's apparently compiled by 18 charming male students, proudly running the club in it's second year at SM academy. The club was said to be extremely gifted, talents ranging from singing, dancing, rapping, and even magic acts.

You were sure they were nice and all, but you weren't buying it. A group of extremely good looking men with impeccable manners. It was almost too good to be true. What is this?, a sappy fanfiction written by a fourteen year old high school student that has nothing better to do? Yes. From what you've heard, they seemed like robotic brain washed idiots, fooled into acting like manga characters. It was best to not interact with them, given your long track record of obsessing over anime characters. You came to this school to learn, not to get involved with boys. No love affairs or scandalous awkward run in's. You were here to further your work ethics and that's all, there was nothing in your itinerary about getting involved with boys. Besides, something about them seemed fishy...

You gazed at your parents one last time before finally stepping out of the car. It was evident from your expression that you did not want to be here. You've protested a million times and made it completely obvious to your parents that you didn't want to attend SM. Originally, you wanted to go to JYP Arts, a school who focuses more on creative liberty rather than academics. It's most commonly known as a school who values creativity more than anything else, earning it a bad reputation from parents such as yours. You wanted to attend JYP rather than SM due to your passion for art, but your parents disapproved and left you with no other option but to attend SM.

They insisted that art wouldn't get you any where, and that it was more of a side hobby rather than a job you can actually make money off of. You were crushed, but weren't surprised. Your parents had always raised you to value money over happiness. Ever since you were little, you were tought that living in luxury and loneliness was better than living poor and surrounded by love. The only time you actually made your parents proud was when you won a hefty prize on some petty competition; not when you won a trophy for your outstanding literature work. Not when you donated half a million dollars to charity, in fact, they seemed bitter about it, rather than proud.

To them, your trophy room filled with over 200 golden medals and trophies was nothing compared to the dollar signs you'd rake in. As a child, you've always joked that your parents were like the cookie monster, but with money. Having always seen them in the study, counting huge wads of 100 dollar bills, usually accompanied by other stacks of fresh paper; Naturally, you saw them as a psychopath with an unhealthy obsession over money, greedy and hungry (but without the blue fur and garbage can of course.) None the less, they still treated you with love,... In their eyes.... You were sure that in their own twisted way, they loved you with all their hearts. They just didn't show it much, or at all....

Life with them as parents was....rough... You would've been fine if you had other siblings to socialize with, but your parents thought of children as a menus and that you were far than enough for them. You figured out pretty quickly that you were only born because they needed a heir to the family business. You weren't aloud to talk nor even look at the children that would play outside the gates of your mansion. They iced you out from everything outside the walls of your house. Forcing you to make friends with the statues and paintings that littered your home. It was indeed sad, sad enough for the staff to take pity on you and go well out of their way to interact with you.

Thankfully, making some great friends in the confinement of your own home. Over time, you weren't so lonely anymore. There was Mrs. Kim, your librarian and teacher who home schooled you up until this point. Mr. Kim, the gardener. Mr. Lee, the chef and baker. Emily, one of the maids around the same age as you. Sehun, the son of your head maid. And lastly, Mrs. Oh, your head maid and Sehun's mother. They weren't exactly the normal group of friends people your age would have but they were great. So much fond memories were made with them, they raised you more than your parents ever did.

Morning classes flew by quicker than you expected, and before you knew it it was time for lunch. Your morning mainly consisted of you arriving to classes late due to your unreliable locker not wanting to cooperate, and boring lectures given in both 2 classes. You still couldn't shake off Ms. Lee's lecture about sexual intercourse, she had practically begged and yelled at your table to not have sex. Yes, specifically your table, earning lots of snickers from the other students and shy glance from you while your seat partner tried not to piss her pants. You did not expect a 40 year old lady in a purple get up to yell at you about sex on your first day of school. You expected your day to go much more normally than this, hopefully your evening will go on much more smoother. But some good did come out from Ms. Lee's excessive screaming.

While your loony teacher was yelling at another group about something you couldn't quite understand, you had managed to make a friend somehow. Her name was yeri, at first you'd expected her to one of the more quiet students, but boy were you wrong. The moment Ms. Lee stomped over to your table yeri's lips were practically bleeding, due to her bitting down on it way too hard to prevent herself from laughing. You liked her a lot, having shared some common interests and surprisingly similar personalities.

She even invited you to sit with her and her friends at lunch. You agreed of course, not wanting to look like a fool by sitting all by yourself. You would be vulnerable to judgmental stares and occasional murmurs. After class you stuck by yeri like gum to a shoe. She had informed you that it was usually her job to witch hunt her friends down. Understandable, given that the school was at least the size of fifteen malls. One could easily get lost. This 'witch hunt' however, wasn't as complex as you'd expect it to be. You had managed to find all four of them in under five minutes. Though it was painstaking, mentally wise. Yeri said 'seek for those that look ill minded'. It had taken you a while to figure out what the hell that meant, as you did not speak her witch lingo. But after a few seconds you had managed to translate it as 'look for the idiots'. You left it to her to find them though, as you weren't the judgmental type. And sure enough she did.

They were all huddled around a girl; and from what you can see, she seemed to be distressed in a way. Vulgar profanities spill from her lips as she aggressively throws books into her locker. They were all pretty, but looked very intimidating. From what information you can gather with your eyes, they definitely weren't the most well-behaved students here. One opted for a leather jacket instead of the required school blazer. Some wore fish nets instead of stockings. Two wore plaid skirts. And almost all had hoop earrings on, which you know for a fact is not allowed. They all sported bright, eye catching makeup; with hair ranging from violet high lights to straight up platinum blonde. The contrast between yeri and them was unimaginable, but fitting. The only remotely juvenile thing about her is her ash grey high lights. Other than that, she seemed like your typical well-mannered girl.

"Oof, whose the babe." A very pretty girl with red lipstick and perfectly lined brows said whilst pointing at you with her lollipop. You looked her up and down and immediately got chills. She wore black latex thigh high heels; a plaid miniskirt with a leather belt, accompanied with chains; and an off white blouse, nearing grey in the color spectrum; with a sleek black leather jacket, that tied the look all together.

"This is y/n. She's new. Y/n, seulgi." Said yeri. Her hand landing at the dip of your back, pushing you forward gently but with the foundation of force. The grip you had on your books tightens, pulling your notebook closer to your chest. You weren't necessarily scared, just weary.

"Ou, fresh meat." This,... Seulgi uttered.

"Careful she bites. Hi, I'm wendy." Stated the girl that was distraught earlier, as she moved her locker door a bit to take a peek at seulgi. Observing her, you smiled back.

She wore her hair in space buns with red and purple highlights; complementing their whole 'grunge chic' look. Her outfit was all mixed and match, from a yellow plaid mini skirt and red tank top, to a lilac and pink wind breaker. Chaotic, but stylish. Her gaze shifted from seulg to you, with a pleasant smile on her lips. To which you return, as you didn't wanna be caught observing her... She then aggressively shuts her locker door before turning your way.

"Cafeteria?" She questioned and you all nodded. You weren't one to oppose a grumbling stomach after all, so you complied.

Once seated in the cafeteria, you took a minute to take it all in. The place looked like the queen's ball room with the fancy domed roof and pillars, not to mention the giant chandelier that hung in the middle of the room. It was quite spacious, fit for the only finest. You couldn't expect any less from Korea's top school.

"Look whose here." The girl whom you've come to know as irene spoke, nudging her head towards the brown double door entrance. Your gaze following, and landing at a group of boys. All handsome and well dressed... I guess you were staring at them way too intensely, since one of the girls spoke up.

"Careful, you don't wanna get close to them." Wendy whispers in your ear.

"Why not?" You ask, turning her way.

Seulgi scoffs. "They're a bunch of a-holes but everyone here's too dumb and blinded by their looks to figure it out." She states while probing her miniscule fork in the air in their general direction.

"Seems like you have something against them." A sly tone laced your tongue as you spoke. You didn't know where this new found comfort came from since you were antisocial as fuck. But it was quite easy to adjust to them. They weren't as bad as you thought. They were actually very nice and well-mannered. They just have trouble obeying rules... You felt comfortable with them, almost like you've known them your entire life.

"Ya!? Well, I do!"

"Last summer seulgi got into some beef with taeyong, the guy with red hair and the leader of 'nct' as they call themselves. Anyways, They dated but seulgi came out as les and he got really salty about it and released nude pictures of her and her titties." Joy laughed while seulgi scoffed once more.

"They were nice though..." Wendy informed with a mischievous laugh.

"I know! If anything it just made the girls fond over me more. I mean get a load of these double D's." You spat out your tea as she pushed her breast together and leaned forward to attack you with them. Everyone bursts into a giggling fit as you coughed vigorously.

"But still, it pissed me off!" With her eyebrows furrowed she threw the tiny fork in her hand at her empty tray. The laughter didn't seem to die down and you thanked joy for the napkin she handed you to recollect yourself. You thought to yourself, maybe this wasn't so bad.

Not much had happened since lunch. Third period wasn't that bad since irene and joy accompanied you in math. Not to mention that it was practically a free period due to a technical difficulties. Last period was with seulgi and wendy. The three of you spent majority of language arts goofing off as the teacher read segments from Romeo and Juliet. Wendy made exaggerated expressions as the infamous "Romeo, Romeo, wherefore arth thou Romeo" line was read off... resulting in her being sent to the principal's Office...

And now you were back at your miserable humble abode, wilting away like a plant without water. It was only then when your macbook started vibrating with notifications, that you decided to take a break from painting.

Instagram: Yeri_is.petrified started following you...

Instagram: TheWendyBird started following you...

Instagram: Joy¡!_xoxo started following you...

Instagram: Irene♡_ started following you...

Instagram: Seulgi_ started following you...

Incoming call from: Yeri_is.petrified +4 others.

[Decline] [Accept]

You furrowed your brows in confusion, how did the manage to find your account so easily. You sighed unknowingly as you clicked the accept button.

AznBabe_ has accepted call...

"Hey bitch." Yelled seulgi. You looked at her side of the screen. Instantly you noticed her odd preference in decorations as her room looked like a night club. There were mixtures of reds, purples, and blue illuminating lights. You presumed that were caused by various neon signs of some form. Her roomed looked like a strippers den. Especially with the red and black silk sheets she had.

"Asian babe, really?" Asked Irene. Her room was definitely more mellow. It fits her whole "your mom wished she gave birth to me" vibe. Very prim and proper, her color palette from what you can see is mainly black and white, with a plant here and there.

"Ya, lol..." you deadpanned. "How did you guys even find my IG?"

"It took a lot of searchin. By the way, love the whole edgy-urban- im-a-badass-dont-mess-with-me thing you have going on in your feed." You laughed as wendy emphasized her words, using hand gestures to prove her point.

"Ya, totally different from the whole good girl thing you have going on. It's hot. I like it." Added joy. Understandable since to took pride in reinventing yourself just for the internet. In the eyes of your followers you were a rebellious lil demon' that smoked and road motorcycles. But in actuality you were a goody-two-shoes that just so happens to vape and have access to thousands and thousands of urban clothing. You did ride a bike though but you preferred the rose gold custom Lamborghini you got for your birthday last year.

Truth be told, it was just an act. You weren't entirely sure what prompted you to create this edgy persona of yourself. I guess it was just to distract yourself from the oh' so pitiful life you lived now. A double life if you will...

"You should dress like this tomorrow. You'll fit right in." Said yeri as she held up her left hand in the form of a 6 sign.

"Why'd you losers called anyways?" It's funny how comfortable you've gotten with these girls that you've barely known twelve hours ago. You felt like you've been apart of their friend group since the beginning even though you've just met them today.

They all shrugged before going back to the task at hand. Irene was probably finishing up next weeks homework. While Yeri and Joy were mindlessly scrolling through their feed. Wendy has her camera off but by the sound of things she was probably cooking. Seulgi, well she was just laying in bed smoking. As for you, you were just tidying your work station.

"Are you guys planning to go to yukhei' party tomorrow? I heard he's going to have a cheese fountain." Wendy announced as she turned her camera on, giving you full view of the mess she made. Stains ranging from red to greenish yellow adorned her white shirt. And the gold spatula she was holding had burnt pieces on it.

"The boy loves his cheese." Laughed seulgi as she talks another drag from her blunt.

"Wait a minute, isn't he that guy from the club you said to stay away from?" You questioned, looking up from what you were doing to give them a look of confusion.

"He throws really good parties." Irene shrugged, not bothering to look up from her notebook.

Wong Lucas was Indeed a questionable man, but there was no doubt that he threw the craziest parties. He was pretty much what you'd expect a nineteen year old rich kid to be, wild and rebellious. It was a known fact that he got his spot at Neo through one of his parties. He was the one that arranged most of the clubs events because he was really good at it. For the most part he has a pretty squeaky clean record. Aside from little rumors here and there.

And that's how you found yourself dressing up hot and steamy for a party you didn't even know the location to. You decide to go casual yet still sexy. It didn't take you long to decide on a red latex, skin tight skirt with a Gucci belt, paired with a black lace bracelet styled top, and black velvet thigh highs. As for your hair and makeup you kept it simple, opting to just curl your hair with a subtle black winged liner and a bright red lip, also accompanied by perfectly lined brows and extra gleaming highlight.

Seulgi was already at your house since she insisted on getting dressed there. The party didn't start till nine and it was only seven twenty so you had plenty of time to lounge around. Seulgi went with a dark purple velvet off shoulder flaired dress, with black thigh high heels that laced up at the front. Her hair was styled in a bun with her bangs hanging loose. And her makeup was very minimalistic, similar to yours except she had a nude lipstick on.

"Smile for a picture slut!" She yelled, positioning the camera in front of you both. You did your go-two insta hoe pose; shoulders back, one eyebrow slightly raised, gaze soft yet sassy; lips pressed together but lightly tugged into a small smirk. You figured out that the pose made you look irritated and confused yet still hot. The next picture was just of you and seulgi giving the camera the middle finger with your eyes closed and tongue stuck out.

"You look hot in all of these." Seulgi complimented as she scrolled through the pictures. Deciding the top five that worked well in her favors before posting it on her IG. Not so long later the doorbell rang, indicating that someone was present at the door.

Seulgi_ tagged you in a photo

[Image]

10,000 likes

Born in the pussy, i'll die in a cunt.

579 comments

_JaeD_ +58 others has started following you...

The party hadn't even begun and already the place was packed. Cars ranging from Lambo's, Royce', and Mercedes littered the place. Luckily Irene found a place to park her convertible. You knew that this place was heavily guarded since it was known to be one of the more classier part of Seoul. So when wendy suggested to park in the streets, none of you seemed to worry about any possible theft.

The house was huge, certainly not as large as your house but definitely enough to fit a hundreds of people. From your knowledge of revenue, or just money in general, the house looked to be worth a good nine million, ten at most. It was a modern home so you knew that it had to be well over a million. Since most houses that have that specific structure were more on the heftier side of things. And there were stone statues everywhere. Those aren't cheap to come by.

You all walked up to the security man with a guest list and patiently waited for the group of girls to finish. You knew judging by their clothes that they weren't from the privileged life. The knockoff Gucci was a huge give away. Normally you wouldn't have a problem about these kinds of things, but knowing how upper class parties work, the odds are they were going to get thrown out.

You watch as the girl whined and screamed to be let in, claiming that she'd tell her father about him. You almost took pity on them, enough to say they were with you. You would've if it weren't for half of them giving you the stank eye.

"Step aside. Name?" The man asked you.

"Lee Y/n, of the Lee dynasties." You said confidently, staring back at the girl who had been glaring at you the second you walked up here.

"And you know who we are." Joy piped.

"Hi wonho!" Greeted wendy.

"Right this way girls." The guard known as wonho smiled before opening the door for the six of you.

"We're with them." One girl said.

"No you're not." You laughed at Irene's words, strutting into the home. It reeked of alcohol and drugs. The air was littered with smoke from the smoke machine, and atmosphere gave off a more chill-club kind of vibe from the red and blue lights the laminated that places. The place was jammed pack with people, some you recognize from school.

"Let's go get a drink." Seulgi whispered in your ear. You nod whilst looking around. She mumbled a inaudible 'this way' before pushing your forearm to the direction of the kitchen.

Your jaw drops. There really was a cheese fountain...

The kitchen wasn't as compacted as before, leaving room for you to actually wonder. There were only a few groups of people and from what you can see out the sliding doors, they were all outside by or in the pool.

"Look theres pizza."

"Theres a cheese fountain. A fucking cheese fountain! I thought it was a joke-"

"Ohhh nooo, Yukhei never jokes about cheese..."

You watch in amusement as yeri chugs down her twelfth glass of martini blue. (S/o if you get it). At this point in, you've lost count of how many shots you've had and the many types of alcohol you drank. Everything became a drunken blur, gaze hazy, mind fuzzy. The blaring music was coming through filtered, like you were under water. Everything felt like a mirage. Every action your body did, your brain did not comprehend. Thus resulting you on time out, under the watchful gaze of wendy and Irene.

A huff leaves your lips as you slumped and grabbed another slice of pizza off the counter you sat atope of.

"Why can't I just have another one..." a pout forms on your face as you groan in frustration.

"Because y/n you've already had 24 shots of that neon green stuff." Says wendy.

"Hey Yuk, what is that stuff?" Irene grabs a hold of the muscular male that happened to pass by, pointing at the suspicious looking bowl of glowing green liquid.

"Oh, that?.. ask Sicheng and Nakamoto, they made it. But I think its mountain dew and monster with vodka and sprite, something like that." Lucas says before placing down three boxes of pizza and tacos and leaving. Leaving the two to groan in agony, somebody had to take care of you.

"I'm going to the washroom..." you say, hopping off the granite counter and wobbling off to a random hallway.

"Okay..." mumbled Irene as she takes a sip from her plastic red cup.

Uncertain where your legs were taking you to, you watch as seulgi pushes a girl into an unoccupied room. You were unsure of her name but you've seen her in your fine arts class. She hangs out a lot with those JYP kids.

"Have fun Seul!" You laughed, banging your forearm into the wooden door before drunkenly walking off.

Somehow you had managed to find the washroom. You swiftly made your way in and locked the door behind you. Clearly missing the figure that smoked in the shower. You blink meekly at the sink, forgetting why you went to the washroom in the first place.

You sigh, propping yourself up on the counter. Your body swayong lightly to the current migos song blasting through the speakers outside. You yawn lightly, thanking god that the red and black aesthetic happening outside correspondent in the bathroom as well. The red led light that illuminated the room was certainly much more calmer than the yellowish lights in the kitchen. It made things a lot easier to actually see.

The male watches you with amusement in his eyes. Taking another drag from his blunt, he shifts his weight onto the shower wall.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing here?" He asked, nodding is head upward before tilting it to the side and taking another drag of his cigar. His hazel brown eyes staring down at you as he lifts an eyebrow, waiting for a respond.

You hum lightly, swinging your legs absentmindedly. "Just chillin!" He laughs slightly at your answer before making his way to you and leaning against the bathroom counter.

"Then lets chill together. My names Yuta. You?" Evident in his voice that he wanted more than to just relax, but it only goes by unnoticed to you as you happily told him your name.

5 minutes later...

"Oh fuck!! Just l-like that! Shit!!!" You scream loudly as you grip onto Yuta' hair. A smirk forming on his lips as he looks up at you with sly eyes. A milky way of lust and hunger filled his hazel ord. (Pun not intended) Moans fall out of your mouth as Yuta sucked on your clit. Your vision fogs as your intoxicated mind tries to comprehend every wave of pleasure coming your way.

"I-im coming! Fuck!!!" Screaming at the top of your lungs, your breath increases as you struggle to unleash the tightness in your stomach. Your pitch rises ten octaves as you release onto Yuta' mouth. Your mind in a blissful ecstasy as you ride out your high.

"Well, that was fun." He says in a sly tone, lifting his head and licking his lips.

"Visit me if you ever want more..." A chuckle erupts from his mouth as he handed you a pink card with golden accents on all four corners. You watch as he leaves before reading the cursive golden letters on the card.

| Neo Host Club |

Empathy,

We turn dreams into reality.

| Room: 127 7am-6pm |

You raise your brow in confusion as you examine the card front to back. We turn dreams into reality? What the hell did that mean? An escorting buisiness perhaps.. though you highly doubt the school would allow such a thing. Regardless of the clubs purpose, it was still worth checking out. As the name and slogan intrigued you very much.

And thus, you began your journey down the rabbit hole of poorly chosen decisions and midnight drunk hook ups. But sooner or later the spiral will begin to unwind and all will be revealed. After all, they didn't call him the king of hearts for nothing...

How was that huh? Probably not what you expected but oh well :/ don't expect for part two to be out any time soon!!! Currently working through writers block :(

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