#i sit here either laughing maniacally or wheezing in confusion every time

[annasmc]

Hi, sorry for bothering you if ur busy. But could you possibly do a headcanon with the Obey Me! Brothers reacting to their Stone-Cold Face! S/O and their best friend having crackhead moments? I hope this make sense and happy holiday 🤗

Okay this is probably kinda late but here we go

Also feel free to leave an ask anytime

And Happy Holidays :) to you and to everyone

The Brothers reacting their Stone-Cold Faced S/O Having a Crackhead Moment

Lucifer

Well this is a surprise,

He’s quite amused to see this side of his s/o but at the same time ashamed

They better not act this way in public, this is a serious threat to his reputation,

Diavolo thinks it’s quite funny

Lucifer is a bit shocked at first, who would have thought his sweet s/o (without the sweet) can turn into this

He is relieved though to see s/o this happy.

He may be a little upset though, he would like to make them this happy too,

He watches on in both disgust and amusement.

What is this behaviour? What is this?

The jokes and talk between the two friends is kinda concerning,

How do you find half this stuff funny?

“Well Lucifer looks like you have some learning to do”

“No I don’t Diav- PLEASE! What are you doing here?”

Tries to focus on work but can’t due to the conversation going on repeat through his head,

The SCREAMS tho, they echo through the whole HOUSE.

He still can’t believe this, the next day MC is back to normal, like nothing happened.

Now the house seems a little quiet with his beloved s/o’s laughs.

Mammon

“Oi human, don’t start switching personalities like that”

Mammon just can’t quite grasp that this person rolling on the floor who can’t breathe from laughing at the worst joke Mammon has EVER heard was you,

The same person who looks like they have no soul 24/7

Poor guy is a bit freaked out bless him

Mammon, since this a rare occurrence finds that it’s a privilege to see this side of you,

So, he gets quite possessive

“Mammon, tell me again why I can’t go into the common room?”

“Asmo I have told you, MC is in there!”

He gets both jealous and reliant of MC’s best friend, how come they are able to make HIS s/o laugh and not him, but he also falls in love all over again and their laugh.

He’s a bit flustered as he is not used to this side of MC but nevertheless can’t help but grin even as his s/o is on the floor mouthing “help” bc they can’t breathe and clapping their hands like a seal with their mouth wide open

He loves to see their tears of joy streak down their face as they squawk and laugh about Diavolo knows what

But he won’t admit it, when his human is back to normal he’s a bit sad but relieved, he feels like he has unlocked a new part of his one and only and he won’t be willing to share.

Levi

He like a cat which runs of at the slightest of noise,

Levi isnt SCARED but he’s SKITTISH

Who is this person? Definitely not his s/o

Levi was drawn to their calm and stoic nature, this is totally difficult. He can’t help but wish for them to “come back”

His s/o is also spending to much time way to much time with their best friend. He should be MC’s Apple of their eye

He hides in his room until the door is swung open (MC got free room entry privileges) by his laughing s/o who comes to his side and screeches out the conversation they had with their friend.

He’s a bit shocked but ends up feeling more comfortable around you after time

The occasional giggle comes from Levi and he’s gazes lovingly at you,

Then the envy kicks in, HE wants to make you laugh like that, HE wants to be able to bring out this side of you.

It ends however when you stop breathing and silently laugh while falling over in his lap,

The wheezing “help” scares him and he’s left defenceless and confused as he stares down at you.

And then the gasp for breath, this guy seriously has to interact with people more often. He’s SCARED

He’s secretly happy to see you this way, but is relieved to see your normal stone cold face, he’s feels a bit honoured to have seen you that way,

It’s a little secret he is not willing to share with his brothers.

Satan

He’s seen it all, read it all, heard it all and so on,

He was not expecting this, he’s seated on the couch with his books, glancing up with disappointment and shock writer on his face,

The wails and unholy screeches coming from the two writhering lumps on the ground were foreign in this house

He could live with this, a tiny bit childish for his liking, he fell in love with his calm and collected s/o, not this....

...maniacal monster

It’s a bit odd but he doesn’t really mind

He’s still a bit shook but he’s satan, he got a grip on himself pretty quick,

He’s a bit relieved to see this, he’s read that laughter is good for ones soul

And I mean, he wants his world to be happy

It’s different from what he’s used to but it’s a change

Not him jotting down notes of how his s/o best friend makes them laugh

He just wants the best for you ❤️

Asmo

Laughing is good for your skin, you overall health, it’s a form of self care,

So ofc Asmo is relieved to see his S/o laughing

“Oh honey it’s about time you laughed”

But oh my what is that face

He’s a mix between happy that your laughing and slightly concerned for your wrinkles, you won’t get them will you?

Honestly, Asmo is all up for this new you, he thinks your smile and laugh is GORGEOUS

Laugh more for Asmo, he’s loves it.

He will go up to your friend and ask for tips on how to make you laugh though

When you go back to your normal stance, Asmo will probably gaze at you lovingly and with awe, you’re so mysterious~

Attempts to make you laugh again, and will probably call up your bestie to visit for a while,

He’s fallen in love with you again

Beel

He’s taken aback, poor bby

This is so unlike you, where did his s/o go?

Probably goes to Belphie for help, who doesn’t really help

Honestly this little bean is a bit freaked out,

But he gets used to it pretty quick

Soon he’s out here chuckling along to your antics, and watching with pure amusement and love

His brothers find it quite wholesome

Beel really did fall hard

Know Beel thinks that you should laugh all the time, every second of the day, eight days a week, he will attempt to make you laugh

He LOVES it, to see you laugh and lose that cold attitude,

Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, but that doesn’t matter, to him, as long as he tries

Please smile for Beel

Belphie

He did not sign up for this

He thought being a boyfriend was easy, simple, and he thought he had you all figured out too,

He’s sick and tired and he just wants to sleep, he liked it better when it was quiet

He would be all wrapped up in bed with either you in the room doing whatever you do, or you snuggled up next to him

Now, he’s stuck with listening to the cries of BANSHEES, echoing down the halls

After an hour or two of heading the screams and wheezes and the occasional silent laughter, you come blundering into the room

He feels betrayed, like how DARE you be happy for someone else other than him

Mad belphie hours

He’s going to be glaring at you but also silently inviting you to be by his side

He thinks that he only enjoys your quiet, cold side, but now , he’s not too sure

Maybe he likes the happiness once and a while, maybe he wants to see your face beaming with joy and laughter

It makes you look pure, even when your laughing at the stupidest jokes out there, and when your laugh turns ugly, and when you sitting there with your face all twisted in silent laughter

It’s ugly, but in a good way, it’s beautiful, and he does need a good laugh once and a while

He’s too emo

He needs some more joy in his life

Okay so I kinda strayed a little i think from the original request 🤭, here you go

#obey me #mammon #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #satan #obey me head cannons #Lucifer obey me #Lucifer x reader #belphegor x reader #obey me Lucifer #headcannons #obey me headcannons

[my-whumpy-little-heart]

Persistence - 4

My first Bad Things Happen Bingo fill, featuring the next installment of the pirate whump series, for Handcuffed/Manacled. Requested squares are white hearts, completed squares are red hearts. If you want to request any, send an ask with the trope and (optionally) a character of mine to fill it with.

Series Masterlist

Content warnings: creepy/intimate whumper, choking/strangulation, collar whump, 

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“Wonderful. Well, until then. Make me proud, buttercup.”

The door shut, and the waiting game began.

It would only be a few hours. Floyd had worked longer, more strenuous days than that before. He would be fine.

The stiffness set in quicker than he expected. Shifting the weight on his knees only relieved the ache for a few seconds before it returned worse than before, the prolonged stress and pressure bruising them quickly. His shoulders ached from being wrenched behind him and his back protested at the compression. Floyd couldn’t relax, lest he pull any harder at the too-tight cuffs around his wrists and cut off his circulation.

Slowly but surely, he lost strength. His legs were begging him for permission to give out and slump to the floor, but the tug of his collar and the promise of suffocation was a greater threat than the pain. Floyd battled exhaustion with the sheer potency of his fear, which kept him balanced on the precipice of stability until he inevitably tumbled down into panic.

But not yet! He was stable, and he was hurting, and he had no idea what time it was, or how long it had been, and Floyd was fine.

The first time his legs buckled, his terror choked him before the collar had the chance. Heaving lungs couldn’t comprehend that none of the air around them was coming in. It was pure adrenaline that pushed Floyd’s body to its knees and shoved air into his chest. His heart pounded with the adrenaline, demanding quick gasps to keep it going.

Thoughts clouded over into a haze. Had it been long enough yet? How long had it been? It had to be late now. Percival would come back soon. He would return.

God, he needed Percival to come back but he never wanted to see that sick bastard ever again.

Disgust and longing curled together in his gut, and he felt sick with how hard the longing for his tormentor fought to win. Nausea drove him off balance and desperation kept him afloat. He fell again at least two more times within the hour. It never got better. He couldn’t get used to the absence of air in his lungs and the feeling of helplessness as his vision blackened and he drowned outside of water. His every instinct rebelled against it, but instinct couldn’t give him the strength to survive. As his body nearly dropped a fourth time, the door slammed open.

And the first feeling he felt was joy. Hatred pushed through immediately thereafter, sloshing together in a heady mixture that left him reeling.

“Aww, poor thing... you look exhausted,” Percival smiled. “Not planning on passing out, I hope? As much as I’d hate to punish you this early on, following orders is a lesson I like to teach with a firm hand.” He surveyed Floyd’s body, listing to the side, the leash nearly taut. Glassy eyes looked up and a whine caught in Floyd’s throat.

“No… ple-ease…” His voice was broken and cracking, weak from the constant pressure on his windpipe.

“I suppose I am a little late. I thought I’d watch you here a little longer, but…” Percival trailed off with a sigh and strolled over, reaching behind his captive’s neck and unclipping the leash. The moment the pressure was gone he collapsed to the floor, gasping and shuddering with the pain of moving so much again, but relieving the unbearable tension was more than worth it. 

“There you are. Is that better?” Floyd nodded despite himself, grateful for every breath flooding into his lungs after hours of restricting pressure. 

Percival let him recover for a few minutes there on the floor, slowing his breathing and heartbeat. The tension drained out of him with the last of his energy as he organized his thoughts, putting himself back together for whatever would come next now that Percival was back.

He couldn’t help but think back to his own crew once again. What were they thinking right now? Were they really coming after him? It felt so long since Floyd had been taken already... Did they think he had perished? Did they even care?

That was a useless thought and he knew it, but with every hour that passed it tugged at his heartstrings, insisting it had a place in this debate. It wasn’t like he’d been all that much of a necessity when he was there. He'd been a primary caretaker, sure, but that job could just as easily be given to an amateur who had been aboard only a matter of weeks. Nothing special, really.

“So, dear, what’s your name?” Floyd flinched and looked up to see Percival standing over him, a soft, conversational smile on his face. It took a few seconds to process the question before he opened his mouth to respond.

“I-I-” he coughed, falling into a rough fit that scratched and tore at his raw throat.

“Ah, you must be thirsty. And here I almost forgot I brought you a glass of water,” Percival laughed lightly when his captive’s head snapped up at the mention of water, an instinctive plea swallowed before it could crackle out. 

“Here, sit up for me.” He waited for Floyd to struggle and push himself up, but when the exhausted man didn’t move he took it upon himself to help. Percival leaned down, hooking two fingers in the back ring of Floyd’s collar and strangling him all over again as he was pulled to sit up against the wall, leaning on arms still restrained behind him.

Percival walked to the table, returning with a cup that Floyd only realized his bound hands wouldn’t be able to hold when it was brought up to his lips, and a hand gripped his chin. The struggle of dignity didn’t even have the chance to begin before the redhead gave into his overwhelming thirst and held still, opening his mouth to accept the water.

The liquid that flowed past his lips should have been sweet and soothing against his parched mouth, but he recoiled at the salty brine that he’d already swallowed, and was flowing uncontrollably thanks to Percival’s steady hands. The distinct taste of seawater burned against his raw throat as it went down, lighting up the cracked skin of his lips like gasoline and throwing the match all the way down to his stomach. Fire licked at his insides, and he coughed against the current in hopes that it would spill and stop. It didn’t even feel like water anymore, only serving to hydrate his body in the loosest of terms.

When the cup was finally empty, its contents having been forced down his throat or spilled over Floyd’s face and shirt, it finally came away from his lips along with the hand holding his chin in place.

“What the hell-” Floyd sputtered before a stinging backhand whipped across his face.

“Don’t even start. I could’ve done so much worse than that, and I will, in due time. Just be happy that I cared enough to offer you water this time and I’ll consider the issue resolved, alright?” Reluctantly, Floyd let go of his glare and averted his eyes. “ Your name, then?”

“Floyd.” His voice came out bitter and rough.

“Oh come on! I didn’t wait all that time just to get a last name. Spit. It. Out.” The light inflection on the last word sent a shiver down Floyd’s spine. He chewed his lip, avoiding his captor’s eager gaze.

“Benedict Floyd,” he muttered, “I don’t have a middle name. I-uh, I go by Floyd anyway so-”

“Benedict...” Percival tried out the name, raising a brow when Floyd flinched. “I think Benedict suits you rather well, don’t you?” He grinned when the harsh inflection on the name made Floyd shrink back even more. He shook his head but Percival kept on despite. “Yes, you’ll be going as Benedict here.” He leaned closer, breath ghosting over his captive’s ear. “I can’t see why you wouldn’t like it in the first place.” Floyd stayed resolutely silent, staring holes into the floor and wishing they could take him away from here.

“Anyway, Benedict, I was really wondering why you actually stayed how I put you. I was half expecting you to have figured your way out of it, having seen that slick swordsmanship of yours.”

“You… I was, I couldn’t move. What do you m-mean?” he said, shooting a confused glance up, and then back to the floor when he couldn’t hold eye contact. Percival got a funny look on his face, and nearly giggled when he replied.

“Oh, you know, pshhhew…” he made theatrical hand movements and sound effects that may have been intended as fire, “...did you even try?”

“Did I try what?” Floyd was almost irritated at this point, and looked back up incredulously. It took his captor a matter of seconds to shift from disappointment to disbelief, into a twisted sort of joy as he laughed. A genuine, full-body shaking laugh that would have been maniacal had his usually quiet voice not been wheezing through it.

“Ohhh, holy shit! You can’t, you don’t even,” Percival couldn’t get out a full sentence without interrupting himself with continued laughter halfway through, “come on, what are you, twenty? How old are you?”

“...I-I’m, uh, twenty-one.” he responded hesitantly, still entirely put-off by the sudden mood shift.

“Twenty-one! And he can’t even, he doesn’t even… Hell, and I thought the power restrictor was a necessary measure! He hasn’t even lit his first fire, the little pyro…”

“What are you talking about?” He’d gone mad. Either him or Percival, he supposed; he couldn’t even tell if this was some damned hallucination where he’d wake in a moment, tied up to the wall again. But the flowing coat of a man knelt quickly before him, linking his fingers under his chin and propping his elbows on his knees.

“Dear, have you ever heard of magic?” A finger came forward to bounce playfully off his nose, and he wrinkled it, drawing back. Floyd had decided that his captor was definitely the mad one here.

“Magic… magic isn’t real, Percival.” And right then, before Floyd’s eyes, he disappeared. Just… departed from existence. Perhaps it had all been a hallucination after all.

But he could hear footsteps echoing around him, and phantom fingers on his cheek, and lips on his ear, speaking in a low drawl, “If you ever address me by name again, you may find yourself rendered unable to speak completely. I would watch my tongue very closely if I were you.”

His heart pounded out of his chest as Percival fizzled back into the room beside him, the smirk of a sly fox on his lips.

“Now what was that about magic, sweetheart?”

It was all too much. Floyd couldn’t tell if it was the exhaustion, the emotion, or the surprise that pushed him over the edge before he was falling, spiraling down towards the ground and into darkness.

Next part

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Tag list (contact me if you’d like to be added or removed): @whump-tr0pes, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @doitforthewhump

#whump #pirate whump #Benedict Floyd #Percival #stress position #exhaustion #stressed in a stress position wow #collar #collar whump #choking #shackled #creepy captor #magic #surprise! there's magic in this universe #and the whumper can turn invisible #what a joy this is going to be #yall better look out #or not #because you cant see him #hahaha #using the whumpee's name in a demeaning way #there's a reason he doesn't go by benedict after all #oh and darn it this got really long sorry about that #I just needed to end the scene in this chapter #Persistence

[andiandyandee]

We Are Going to Be Friends Pt. 8

Check it out, I finished the stupid chapter, and it’s not even angsty. (Or in other words, the chapter where we establish that Roman and Logan are completely hopeless and also Logan is soft (tm)

Words: 1681

Here’s the Series on a03

Heres the last part

Tag List: @datfearlessfangirl @princemesscharming @illogicalthinking @holliberries

Let me know if you want tagged! Please Reblog this, without reblogs I don’t get feedback and without feedback you can expect fewer chapters because I’m less motivated to write. 

Anyway here’s the fic:

    By the time they actually finished working through Remus’s English work, it was dark outside, and the crowd downstairs had grown considerably. Where there had at one point been only a few, there were now easily twenty teenagers downstairs. When Logan and Remus walked into the living room, the crowd was, in fact, singing broadway songs. Remus adamantly refused to join in, and Logan didn’t know them, so he too just watched them sing, slightly bemused. Once they had ordered pizza, 10 of them, as a matter of fact, the songs died down and the whole group was mostly just laying around, several conversations happening at once. Logan wasn’t speaking to anyone in particular, occasionally making a quip or answering a question, but mostly just curled up on the couch, glad to be anywhere but at his parents' house.

    His relaxation was cut short by Kai flopping down on the couch next to him, his head in Logan’s lap.

    “Give me attention.” Kai groaned, shifting uncomfortably. Logan instinctively started playing with his hair, which is what he usually did with Alex when she got like this, but he couldn’t help noticing the way Kai was grimacing as he tried to get comfortable.

    “Are you… In pain?” Logan asked quietly, handing Kai a pillow to help elevate his back a bit.

    “Oh. Wait, give me less attention than that.” Logan raised an eyebrow, “It’s fine, just EDS.” Kai replied, obviously hoping Logan would either be too embarrassed to ask or too proud to admit he didn’t know something.

    “Oh, do you have your braces? Or pain meds you need to take? I would be willing to get them for you.” Kai looked at him, mostly shocked, but also confused.

    “You know what EDS is? How do you know I even wear braces, maybe I don’t.”

   “Yes, I am vaguely familiar with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, as a member of my typical social group also has it, though theirs is the vascular kind, rather than the classic type you appear to have. And based on the constant bruises to your hands, wrists, elbows, which are all in the shape of typical bracing equipment, along with the fact that you regularly wear long sleeves or gloves to hide your braces when you do wear them,” Kai made a face at that, “plus you are, currently, wearing a knee brace, I thought it might be an easy jump to make.” Logan had kept his voice so low, it was unlikely even Remus, the closest to the pair, could hear them.

    “My meds would be great, but I don’t want them to see me in my braces. I’ll put them on before I go to sleep.” Logan pinched his face up, but with the benefit of being exceptionally tall, he also had a far longer reach than most, which meant he easily grabbed Kai’s bag, handing it to him.

     “These people are your friends, you know. They wouldn’t mind you wearing something to make you more comfortable. It’s not embarrassing to show that your strength sometimes needs a little help.”

     “Don’t you mean it’s not embarrassing to show weakness?” Kai grumbled, sitting up.

    “Did I say it’s not embarrassing to show weakness? I don’t think I did. It’s horribly embarrassing to show weakness, I would know.” He grinned conspiratorially at Kai’s confusion, “Remus saw me cry like an infant less than 12 hours after meeting me. This,” Logan gestured at the braces and pills in Kai’s bag, ignoring the way Kai looked at him when he admitted that little tidbit of information, “this is not weakness. It is incredible, but vulnerable, strength. And there is no shame in them knowing that you are strong, even if you need braces to, as my acquaintance October would say, ‘kick someone’s ass’.” Kai turned slightly red, mumbled something about kicking his ass if he didn’t stop with the feelings, and pulled his wrist and hand braces out of his bag.

    Kai had eventually gone back to the floor, now trying and failing to flirt with a girl Logan didn’t know but thought might be named Lauren. Remus had moved closer to Logan, leaning against the couch and was occasionally making subdued quips about something ridiculous. Mostly just random facts or commentary on the things the group was doing.

    “Lo! What music do you listen to?” Roman was holding his phone, clearly looking for something to put on. Logan turned red, realizing that pretty much any song he enjoyed would not work with this crowd as it did with his usual acquaintances.

    “I.. don’t think any songs on my average playlist would be suitable for this particular group of people.”  Roman nodded, as if that made sense.

    “Ah, Logan likes that pg-13 music. Should have guessed that.” Logan rolled his eyes, but Roman put on Fall Out Boy with a smirk, and Logan shrugged.

    “My typical music tastes are a little more.. riot starting than this, but sure.” Roman raised an eyebrow at that comment, and then grinned in a way not unlike Remus’s smile, too wide, a little maniacal.

    “Logan Whatever-Your-Middle-Name-Is Starr I refuse to believe you have ever, once in your life been involved in a riot. You’re definitely a ‘Use Your Words’ kind of guy.”  Logan replied, without thinking, with the same joke his friend group made every time someone said they ‘seemed like the type to use their words.’

    “Urine Speaks Louder Than Words,” and then, as if they weren’t already the exact opposite of what the group expected, he followed it up with, “Besides, cops, Nazis, bigots, and assholes all respond better to being kicked in the face.” The chunk of the group who was listening all had wide eyes, but Remus was trying to hold back tears. He was laughing so hard he wasn’t making noise, just tiny, wheezing breaths every few seconds. “I uh... Mean... yes, certainly, a debate is the reasonable course of action to achieve our goals.”

    “Remind me to not piss you off.” Roman squeaked,  his cheeks and ears a little red. Logan, who was trying to avoid eye contact, took this as fear, and immediately went to assure Roman that he would not hurt him, but then somebody got the idea to play truth or dare, which Logan politely declined participation in, which mean of course he was now sitting in a circle on the floor playing.

    “Logan! Truth or Dare?” Dahlia asked with the slightly evil grin most of the group had when asking Logan or Roman to do anything. He had a feeling they were trying to accomplish something, though Logan could not for the life of him figure out what it was.

    “Oh, Dare, I suppose.” Logan shrugged. So far they had dared him to demonstrate his “Strength” by lifting Roman bridal style, had him recite Shakespearean sonnets dramatically, and sing “Fall for You” which was a little too emo for Logan, but several of the group seemed to know. The truths were far more awkward, like asking him his favorite eye color, which was brown, his sexuality, which was queer with no more specifics, if he had any crushes, which he had admitted he hadn’t thought about and did not have an answer for.

    “Let me do your makeup!” She demanded, already pulling a makeup bag from behind her.

    “That’s fine, I suppose. Are you planning on using foundation or eyeliner?” She nodded

    “Yeah, probably. I have some lighter foundation I use on Elliot sometimes.” Logan rolled his eyes, Grabbing his own bag.

    “That won't be necessary, we can use mine. I’m far paler than Elliot. And much cooler-toned, at that.” Roman was looking pink and starry-eyed again.

    “You.. you wear makeup?” He asked in a small voice.

    “Yes, I often wear foundation or concealer, and wear eyeliner regularly on weekends.” He gestured at his face, which now that Roman was looking at it closely, he could see that there was makeup there. Logan looked at Dahlia with a neutral expression. “Would you prefer I take mine off before you begin?” She nodded.

    He went into the washroom and removed his foundation, which left his dark circles and light freckles visible. He scrunched up his nose at his appearance before coming back into the living room, where Dahlia had turned the lights on in, and everyone had dismantled the truth or dare circle. “Are.. we no longer doing truth or dare?” Logan asked with a confused look around.

    “No, I think we’re just going to do makeovers now. All the straight boys are offended about it.” Dahlia grinned as Logan sat down. “Jesus, Lo, have you ever slept in your life? You look like Remus with those circles.” Logan rolled his eyes fondly, handing her his make-up, which was really just foundation, concealer, powder, and eyeliner. She got to work, walking him through what she was doing, though he had to admit he wasn’t paying much attention. Roman was getting his makeup done by Elliot, Remus was doing someone's makeup, but Logan hadn’t cared to remember their name. The night was domestic, a few more jokes about Logan’s comment, twenty minutes of laughter when Dahlia revealed Logan’s makeup and Roman choked on his drink, barely getting out an ‘it looks good’ before he left to get a shower and change to clean up after spitting orange soda into his lap. Logan had felt mostly embarrassed at that, not sure why Roman had had such a negative reaction in the first place. He thought the makeup was well done, though perhaps the red lips and dark blue glitter eyeshadow was a little more dramatic than he was used to. They watched movies until it was nearly light outside, which Logan complained about, only a little since he had plans in the morning, and when Logan left at 9 AM, picked up by Micheal, one of the seniors Logan hung out with most often, in the 1986 pick-up that was more rust than it was metal at this point,  he was in a relatively good mood.

#logan sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #logince #eventual logince #teen au #punk au #sanders sides #men in makeup #discussions of illness #discussions of fighting #ask to tag #ask to be tagged // #my writing

[jcmorrigan]

Little Coincidences

The F/O? Giovanni Potage from Epithet Erased. The S/I? Rachel Scribere - mundie, writer of much fanfiction, independent contractor supervillainous minion who has also given up on adulting. (Most of those things apply to me IRL!) This is the one where I’m REALLY banking on no one who went to high school with me following me on Tumblr right now, because I get into some personal-ish stuff here that was very specific to my graduating class. I just...wanted my current f/o to show up a ghost from my past. And what are f/o’s for, if not that?

***

         It started when Giovanni ran past me, pressed a marker into my hand, and yelled, “MARKER FIGHT!”

           Yes, there is context. I wanted to simulate the exact sense of confusion for you that I felt when he did that.

           To be clear, it was during down time in the “evil lair” that our sector of Blasters had taken over – a public library that had been defunded by the city but never torn down, so really, it was a bunch of empty bookshelves (where you could occasionally find an old and really weird book they’d missed on the clear-out) where no one would think to look for us because this entire building was basically a health hazard. We were only about ninety-five percent sure there wasn’t asbestos in the walls.

           Also, if I’ve talked before about the mall incident, or the kiss before the skyline – this was before that. A lot before that. Back when I knew I liked Giovanni in the romantic sense, but he wasn’t exactly aware of that, nor did he really like me in that way. No, this was when I was a pining idiot and we were just friends.

           At which point he shoved a marker into my hand.

           “What the fuck?” I asked.

           “MARKER FIGHT,” he repeated, as though that explained everything.

           The worst part was that it actually did.

           See, I hadn’t wanted to say it at that time, but it frightened me. I’d seen this done before, in one very specific place. How had he known? “Just to be clear,” I said deliberately, “this is that game where each of us wields a marker of a different color, we LARP it out, drawing on someone is a ‘wound,’ and we tally the winner by who has the most of their color on everyone else?”

           “Good. I was worried I’d have to explain the whole thing to you. Now we can skip the tutorial phase and go right to the EVERY-BOY-FOR-HIMSELF RIVALRY!” He let out a raucous and malicious-sounding cackle for about thirty solid seconds before telling me, “You get a ten-second head start.”

           I wasted no time bolting away from him, darting at random zigzags through the shelves to avoid any other Blasters who were playing. Then I heard the triumphant scream of “TIME IS UP, COMPOSER!”

           At which point I almost ran into Ben.

           “Oh, SWEET!” he cried, raising a red marker high. “Maybe this is how I finally get the nickname ‘Stabby’!”

           I screamed as he put a red mark across my forehead. I then retaliated, drawing a line of cobalt-blue down his ear as though lopping it off.

           “MY EAR!” Ben screeched. “SHE VAN-GOGHED ME!”

           I used his cries to dart away around the shelves…right into the same area as Crusher.

           “So,” he growled, raising his lime-green marker. “It’s come to this…ROMANTIC RIVAL.”

           “Don’t try me right now,” I warned, showing him my deep-blue pseudo-dagger. “I’m armed and dangerous.”

           “I think the only way to settle our mutual affections for the Boss is to duel to the death.”

           “So you have chosen death, then.”

           It was rather obvious why Crusher and I didn’t really get along most days. However, for a few minutes, we kind of forgot that we were supposed to hate each other. I managed to leave several long blue lines up Crusher’s arms, screaming “SUBMIT! SUBMIT!”, until suddenly I was pinned down, getting green scribbled down my entire face as Crusher roared, “SURRENDERRRRRR!”

           From a row away, Ben groaning, “Come onnnnn, you know I have dibs on ‘Stabby’! Don’t ruin this for me!”

           Suddenly, Crusher’s eyes widened; “I’VE BEEN HIT!” He rolled over onto his back, making exaggerated, dramatic death noises.

           “COMPOSER!” Spike, the one who’d perpetrated the fatal silver blow, extended a hand to me. “TEMPORARY ALLIANCE!”

           I let her help me up just in time for Flamethrower to skid into the area, striking several cheerleader-precision poses with flair as he brandished his fire-orange marker.

           “AVENGE MEEEEEE!” Crusher yelled.

           Flamethrower’s cheerleading practice was put to good use. Spike and I combined couldn’t stymie him; he danced circles around us, and our skin displayed orange marks of his prowess. Meanwhile, Crusher changed “death” positions five times, making louder groans each time to try and get attention.

           “CRUSHERRRRR!” this from Darkstar, who’d just skidded onto the scene. “NOOOOOO! WHO DID THIS TO YOU?”

           “THEY DID IT!” Flamethrower jabbed his marker at Spike and myself.

           “HE DID IT!” we yelled, pointing back at him.

           “FLAMETHROWER!” Darkstar accused. “HOW COULD YOU?”

           “ME? BUT – “

           “THIS MEANS WAAAAAAR!”

           As Team Composer finally got the upper hand on Flamethrower, Darkstar paused to whisper to me, “I know one of you two got him, but I’ve been waiting for WEEKS to get Flamethrower back for eating my pudding out of the staff lounge.”

           We didn’t argue.

           Behind the shelf, Ben yelled, “Oh, where was this when you found ME stabbed?”

           We all froze when the sound of a running motor alerted us to the impending horror.

           “…Please tell me Boss decided to bring his Vespa into this to spice it up,” I said, voicing what we were all thinking. “Please, please, please tell me it was NOT hijacked by – “

           Our worst fears were confirmed when Car Crash came driving Giovanni’s scooter around the corner at top speed, his marker taped to the handlebars; “BEEP BEEP, FUCKERS!”

           All of our rivalries were gone. We screamed and ran as one herd of panicked cattle, trying to get as far away as possible from Car Crash on a stolen motorized vehicle. At some point, Ben ended up in our crowd. I didn’t bother asking.

           As it turned out, we were all playing right into the hands of the enemy. We hurried to the circular area around the children’s info desk only to find the area quickly filling up with a thick mist. Mist that smelled…suspiciously delicious.

           “NO!” I screeched. “MISSION ABORT! MISSION – “

           It was too late. We were trapped in the Fog of Lost Souls.

           “BOSS, NO!” Crusher dropped to his knees. “SPARE ME! PLEASE! I LOVE YOU!”

           “I LOVE YOU MORE!” Spike screeched. “SPARE ME INSTEAD!”

           I couldn’t even see either of them. Somehow, we’d all gotten horribly separated. The distinct sound of Car Crash running the Vespa into the info desk and groaning, “Aw, man!” resounded.

           The maniacal laughter I’d heard earlier when gifted my weapon sounded again, but louder, and from on high – he was standing on top of one of the bookshelves. “YOU POOR, SIMPLE FOOLS! …WhoIloveverymuchandhateinsultingbutthisisaroleplay. YOU WALKED RIGHT INTO YOUR OWN DOOM! Alliances and loyalty mean nothing in this bloodthirsty war! NONE OF YOU SHALL BE SPARED! TELEPORTS RAPIDLY BEHIND EVERYONE!”

           I’m half convinced he actually did teleport this time, because the screams sounded from everyone right in order of one another; somehow, Giovanni was able to locate each of us within his fog and strike out, drawing glitter-gold wounds on each of us in strategic locations. I could feel the cool ink swipe hard across the back of my neck.

           I did the only thing one could do, which was to drop to my knees and scream in faux anguish. Then slump to the floor as if well and truly decapitated.

           When the fog cleared, it turned out all of us had had the same idea, lying strewn about like a murder scene. Even the Vespa had been drawn on in metallic gold ink in the confusion and was lying toppled.

           Atop the info desk, Giovanni laughed triumphantly, hoisting his marker to the ceiling. “YOU ARE DEALING WITH NO MERE MORTAL! THIS WAR WAS LOST THE MOMENT IT WAS BEGUN!”

           “Would it be foul play to act like we were all just playing dead and then rush him at once?” I muttered.

           To my surprise, it was Crusher of all people who answered back, “No, it wouldn’t.”

           We all knew what we had to do.

           “Hey – “ Giovanni nearly fell back off the desk. “Boys – no – YOU’RE ALL DEAD – “

           I yelled “FAKEOUT!” at the same time that Spike yelled “MUTINY!” and Ben yelled “ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE!”

           We charged, climbing up onto the desk. It was your standard library info desk – at least standard to all the ones I’d seen – meaning it was semicircular in design. Giovanni fell back onto the floor right in the middle of the circlular area. After a brief pause in which he assured us, “I’m fine; please continue,” we vaulted over the desk en masse and drew on every bit of exposed skin to the sounds of his tortured screams.

           It was the most fun I’d had on the Blasters since becoming a Blaster-adjacent independent contractor villain. However, I still couldn’t shake how haunting it was that I had already known the rules of marker war. There was no way – I hadn’t gone to school with any of the Blasters, and my family hadn’t even started out in Sweet Jazz City. And I wasn’t sure at all how to address this.

 ***

           The second incident was also in the library, a few days later. I was heading into the employee lounge (which had originally, when it was a functioning library, been…an employee lounge) with my phone so I could make a highly sensitive business call about appraising a hijacked load of game consoles, followed up by a dentist appointment I’d been putting off.

           One minute, I was strolling into the lounge, strutting like any villain would, phone in hand. And the next, I was sitting on the floor, heart racing with adrenaline, someone’s scream ringing in the air.

           It took me a moment to realize that scream was mine.

           It was followed up by laughter – a slowly building wheeze into an outright chortle. “Composerrrrrr! I knew you’d freak, but not like THAT!”

           I replayed the events in my mind. What had happened in that missing flash was that someone who’d been hiding behind the door frame had leapt at me and jumpscared me while I had been on my way into the lounge.

           Not just any someone. No, one very specific fanged, pink-haired ball of energy.

           “GIOVANNI…POTAGE,” I growled, slowly turning my head to regard him.

           He had tears in his eyes now from laughing so hard. “You should’ve seen your face,” he squeaked. “It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life!”

           Well, I’d always wanted to hear that from him, but not in that context.

           “I…am going…to kill you,” I growled.

           With an “Eek!”, Giovanni realized he needed to run, and he did so.

           I needed a weapon. The fridge was the first thing I saw. Throwing open the door, I saw a pack of pudding cups labeled “DARKSTAR’S (don’t touch, Flamethrower!!!”). And nothing else.

           I did not feel sorry for Darkstar one bit.

           Armed with chocolate pudding, I barreled through the rows of shelves, looking for my wayward boss. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t entirely angry. I wasn’t that angry at all. But when your crush jumpscares you, that is just not something you let go without having some fun.

           I happened upon him behind the first-floor stairway, where I backed him up against the underside of the stairs. “NOT THE FACE!” he screeched as he put up both arms.

           And I lost resolve.

           When a few seconds had passed and Giovanni found himself not pelted with pudding, he asked, “Hey, what gives?” as though legitimately frustrated with me. “You caught me! Now you gotta dish out what I gave to you! Geez, did you forget everything I told you about villainy and revenge?”

           “This isn’t right,” I muttered. “Sorry for wasting your time. I’ll go now.”

           I hadn’t meant it to sound that melodramatic. Anyway, I turned on a heel to return the pudding to its home.

           “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!” Giovanni seized my wrist as I turned away, and I felt my heart flutter. “Composer, this isn’t like you! Where’s the vicious femme fatale I mentored into villainous perfection?”

           I froze. “Actually doing anything about the jumpscare is more effective at scaring people off than the scare itself, believe it or not.”

           “What the hell? What even is that crap? Just get me back already! Stop being weird!”

           Maybe, just maybe, I’d gotten this all wrong.

           So I started slowly and deliberately unwrapping the lid of the first pudding cup right there in front of him.

           “Now RIGHT IN THE FACE!” Giovanni encouraged.

           I gave him a quizzical look.

           “Come onnn, Composer! I don’t have all day!”

           So I slopped the pudding onto his face halfheartedly.

           “Seriously?” he sighed. “You can do way better than that.”

           “You’re right,” I realized. “I can.”

           So I smacked the second one onto his nose, full stop.

           “Now THAT’S what I call some DELICIOUS VENGEANCE!” Giovanni laughed. “But seriously. I have things to do. Important, evil things.”

           “Okay. I still have to make those calls.”

           “In the lounge?”

           “Yeah.”

           “…Could you do me a favor and get me a soda from the gas station across the street first? I’m thirsty and decaffeinated.”

           I shrugged, rather confused but not about to be rude about it. “Sure. Be right back.”

           “I’ll come pick it up from you in the lounge.”

           It wasn’t until I was repeating my steps that I realized the ruse. “Oh, no fuckin’ way,” I muttered as I approached the lounge.

           I shook the plastic soda up good and hard. Then chucked it into the lounge.

           “HYEEEAH!” Giovanni yelled as he revealed himself to scare an inanimate bottle of soda. “…Wait.”

           “REALLY?” I groaned, rolling my eyes.

           “It was hilarious!” Giovanni argued. “You’re the best person to scare!”

           “I do need to actually get some work done today, you know.”

           “Fiiiiine,” Giovanni sighed. “I’ll leave you alone. Just – “ His eyes widened as he thought of something. “Hey, you don’t mind me hanging out in here while you make your calls, do you?”

           Just me and the object of my affections hanging out alone in a room? What was he playing at?

           “See,” he went on mischievously, “if you’re in here making a call like nothing’s wrong, and another Blaster sees you from the outside of the door…”

           “They’re going to assume there is absolutely no one waiting to scare them behind it,” I realized. “You’re a fucking genius, Boss.”

           “I know.”

           “Deal.”

           As I took my seat, bringing out my phone, Giovanni had retrieved the soda bottle. “I am pretty thirsty, though – “

           “BOSS, DON’T – “

           The minute he opened the cap, it exploded into a geyser that soaked him.

           I couldn’t make my call for a solid fifteen minutes due to laughing too goddamn hard.

 ***

           The camel’s back broke when we were alone together at the strategy table, going over some reconnaissance notes I’d brought back from a surveillance mission.

           “So anyway, I think we have the best chance from one of these three windows,” I explained, cycling through flash cards I’d taped photos to. “We could test for alarms by chucking a good old-fashioned brick through the glass.”

           “Or a bottle of soda that was shaken up,” Giovanni teased.

           I laughed. And also flushed. I hated that he was so goddamn oblivious, sometimes.

           “I mean, it’s practically your specialty!” he argued, leaning back in his chair and setting his ankles on the table, crossing them, one over the other.

           The problem was that it was Casual Friday. Which was not an official Blaster protocol, but rather something that Giovanni himself had developed for this specific faction. He’d thought it would improve morale, and he was right. I myself had resorted to a pair of sweatpants and a band T-shirt that didn’t match. He was wearing a pair of battered jeans and a favorite gray sweater of his, edged in white faux fur. That much I had known.

           I hadn’t seen his shoes yet.

           And right before my eyes, one over the other, he crossed a pair of red Converse high-tops.

           The strategy meeting was abandoned. I slammed my flash cards on the table, rising up and yelling, “WHO TOLD YOU?”

           “OKAY, I ADMIT IT!” he screamed, looking like I’d gotten him with his hands in the cookie jar. “BEN RATTED HIM OUT BECAUSE BEN’S A SNITCH!”

           “HOW. DID BEN. KNOW ABOUT HIM?”

           “BECAUSE HE WAS IN THE LOUNGE THAT DAY AND SAW HIM TAKING IT!”

           I flinched. “We’re not on the same page, are we?”

           “You’re…not asking me about how Ben ratted on Flamethrower for taking Darkstar’s pudding, and I told Darkstar because I thought it would be funny to start shit?”

           I wasn’t really sure where to take that. “…No.”

           “Thennnnnn what are we talking abouuuuut?” His voice rose a little bit on every word to express his utter confusion.

           I sighed heavily. “So you didn’t hear anything about my high school?”

           “No.”

           “Nothing. Not a thing.”

           “Composer, I have no idea where this is going.”

           I sat back down. “This is a complicated story. You don’t wanna – “

           Instantly, Giovanni had repositioned, leaning across the table excitedly. “IS THIS WHERE I GET TO FINALLY HEAR ABOUT THE DARK AND TRAGIC PART OF YOUR BACKSTORY THAT DROVE YOU TO A LIFE OF CRIME?”

           I found myself smiling. “I mean, my parents aren’t dead ghosts. I gotta have some raison d’etre, right?”

           “Tell me. Tellmetellmetellme.”

           I couldn’t look him in the eye. “So…when I was in high school, there was this…guy.”

           “Ooh. This sounds promising.”

           “And I really wanted…”

           Oh, God. I couldn’t tell Giovanni that I was acting this way because of someone I’d had an obsessive crush on. Then he might make the connection that I had a similar one on him. (I had greatly overestimated how canny Giovanni could be about such things. This was back in the day when you could tell him upfront you loved him more than life itself and he wouldn’t get it.)

           “…to be his friend.” And sadly, that was probably the heart of it, more than the romance aspect itself. “He was very loud and weird. But in a good way. Or so I thought, anyway. Not like I was alone, either. Everyone in my school wanted to be near him. EVERYONE. When he changed school districts our last year, there was literally a CROWD of girls around him at his locker begging him to tell them contact info. While I sat several feet away, pretending to read my book, hoping that he’d notice me for NOT being part of the crowd. What a load of bullshit. Then, of course, there are so many guys who claimed to be straight and hung around him just a little too closely…he was that pretty. He was REALLY pretty. And he was smart and he was charismatic and he was fun and…he just…he never wanted to interact with me. He’d throw me just enough of a bone to keep the flame alive, and then act like I wasn’t even real. Probably because I was super dumb and immature back then. Like, way super dumb. I would try to play along with his stunts and he’d blow me off. I finally became disillusioned when he…broke a rule, later on. It doesn’t matter. It was dumb. But I told myself he’d crossed a moral event horizon. I let myself believe it was that one incident for years. …It was never about that. It was about how I wanted to be close to him for years, and he wouldn’t let me in, and he wouldn’t completely shut me out, either. Though maybe that’s my fault for not just…walking up to him and asking him to be my friend. I’ve always been chickenshit.”

           “So…what makes you think I know about him?”

           Giovanni’s tone struck me as strangely sympathetic. I chanced looking into his eyes –

           Oh, God. Wrong move. How had I never noticed they were that brilliantly pink before? I mean, I had known they were pink, but this was like having a rose-colored spotlight turned on me. And were those little gold flecks in the iris? Or was my crush-filter just seeing things?

           But once I stopped seeing the trees, I got a good look at the forest. I couldn’t remember having seen Giovanni so pensive. So concerned, yet in a way that wasn’t over an injury sustained by a teammate or the impending arrival of the police. He was genuinely getting sad off this story.

           “…Because the little quirks I fell for him for are just weirdly similar to the stuff you’ve been doing this week,” I admitted. “He and his posse did marker war all the time. I think his was red? I always wanted to play in the marker war. It looked like they were having so much fun, and I wanted to face off against him. And then the jumpscare. He did that to me, once. Almost exactly the same way you did. That’s where I learned the tactic of throwing an inanimate object through the door. He got me good, and I got mad, and then we never talked about it, if he thought it was funny or what. I thought maybe he thought I was ACTUALLY mad, and that scared him off.”

           “So THAT’S why you didn’t exact your chocolatey revenge.”

           “Bingo. I was just terrible at talking about my feelings, so I just insulted him a lot instead of being honest. It was probably all my fault. And the shoes. He had a pair like that. Exactly like that. I used to try and get his attention by…” I let out a long, deep sigh. “Telling him they looked like they were run over by a ketchup truck.”

           “That’s not a bad one-liner.”

           “‘KETCHUP TRUCK’ ISN’T A BAD ONE-LINER?” I shook my head. “Anyway. I dunno. I can never figure out if he was just an ass or if I was just…” I sighed. “These are just coincidences, aren’t they?”

           “Yeah,” Giovanni confirmed. “They are. I thought I invented marker war. If you ever see this guy again, tell him I gotta sue him for the rights. And I wear these shoes ‘cause they’re devil-may-care and hot-rod red, keeping my aesthetic suitably edgy even when out of uniform. …They’re also comfy.”

           “So I just told you all that for no reason. Like a dumbass. It isn’t even that great of a tragic backstory, is it?” I was laughing then, to try and cover up how absolutely sheepish I felt. “You didn’t need to know any of that, and nowwwww it’s all awkward.”

           “Not awkward. Just…really confusing.”

           “How so?”

           Giovanni gave me a dramatic shrug; “Why didn’t he wanna hang out with you? You’re GREAT at marker war! You fit right in! And you’re honestly the most fun person I’ve ever scared! You think any of the boys freak out that hard? That was hilarious! You’d better watch your back now, because you’ve given me an incentive to try and do it SO much more.”

           I wanted to make some kind of snappy retort about throwing soda bottles. However, it felt like I was receiving a catharsis long overdue. Maybe it didn’t matter who was wrong and who was right, back then. Because now, I had someone who did want to have fun with me.

           Just as a friend, I thought. But maybe that was all that mattered, and the crush could be dealt with later.

           “I was so much worse back then,” I tried to argue. “I was hyper.”

           “So you mean you were even MORE fun?”

           I almost wanted to cry.

           “Whoa, hey, hey, hey!” Seeing the perturbation on my face, Giovanni rushed around the table, lightly putting his hands on my shoulders as he knelt beside my chair. “You’re plenty fun to hang with, Composer! Every day, I’m really glad I helped you get started in the villain biz and invited you into the lair! I mean…back when I was in high school and I tried to do stuff like that for fun, nobody really paid attention to me, either, and I would’ve KILLED for someone to actually think I was cool instead of just…some weirdo who wore capes to school and drew original supervillain characters for all my art projects.”

           “You wore a cape?” I asked. “That is so cool!”

           “Yeah, well, no one said that THEN.”

           “But it was! Now I’m kinda wishing we could’ve gone in the same graduating class.” And also wishing that he would never take those hands off of me, ever.

           “NOYOUDON’T,” he said hurriedly. “Because I was…ummmm…I was a juvenile delinquent, and you were obsessed with rules! Yeah! And I just…wasn’t the person you’d want me to be.”

           I wouldn’t figure out until a later discussion what that meant, truly, and it had nothing to do with breaking or following rules. But that doesn’t have to be tread upon now. “Actually, you’re right. Better things happened the way they did.”

           “So what else did that loser not do with you for fun?”

           “He was the most popular kid in our entire school,” I muttered. “No one thought he was a loser except me.”

           “Yeah, because you actually have a BRAIN in there! And I say he was a LOSER!”

           I smiled at him. “I guess…I dunno, I always heard he was great at dancing. And I always wished we could dance. Probably just because of societal and cultural expectations. But I’m a shit dancer. Like, there was this whole movement dedicated to making fun of – where are you going?”

           Giovanni beckoned for me to follow him; “Come on!”

           “Wasn’t this originally a strategy meeting?”

           “Don’t care! We’re breaking the rules, baby!”

           I followed him back to the staff lounge, where I watched him struggle to push the table off to the side. He got it out of the way before I could offer my help, then flitted to the radio sitting on the counter by the sink. “Let’s see here…”

           I could feel my face filling with heat. “Boss, I don’t think this is a great idea.”

           “Shut up. It’s my idea, so it’s a great one.” He was cycling through the stations. “No, no, no, no, no, no – PERFECT!”

           What he’d found was an anti-authoritarian anthem currently on the rock top 40. Not exactly what you’d think of as a dance number, but it had enough of a beat that I could work with it if pressed.

           Which he would have to do a lot of if he wanted to see me make an idiot out of myself like that.

           “Come on!” he encouraged. “Show me some moves!”

           “I’ll look stupid!” I hissed.

           “SO? You don’t see that stopping me from doing literally anything!”

           “…Did you even hear how that sounded coming out of your mouth? Also, this isn’t a dance song!”

           “Um, it’s a song, so you can dance to it.” He gave a long, drawn-out sigh. “Are you really gonna make me start this?”

           “Oh, no, you don’t n – “

           “Cut in whenever.”

           I wasn’t sure how him starting to dance was supposed to encourage me at all. Because I’ll be honest: he was probably only an average dancer. But I was below average, and looking at him through the crush-filter. He looked like the most graceful living being I’d ever beheld with my two eyes, spinning and rocking in time with the heavy guitar.

           I was not going to look good next to that.

           Of course, this was not any ordinary man I was dealing with. It was Giovanni Potage. Meaning he had a contingency plan. Without any warning whatsoever, he seized my hand and pulled me into a spin with him, and then, well, I was already in motion, so I had to keep going.

           By the third song, it didn’t even feel awkward anymore. I just felt alive. I know I looked like an absolute dork, but I had stopped caring, throwing out arms and leaping about to the hard tempo of every dark anthem. The fourth song was a personal fave of mine – with an incredibly complex guitar riff that just begged a person to go double-time. As I attempted to execute a series of spins to match, I simply lost balance and fell over, hitting the table on my way down.

           Stupid. Idiot. Why was I doing this? I’d just made an ass of myself in front of –

           Without even really pausing, Giovanni dipped before me, offering his hand. I took it on instinct, then rose, letting him reel me right back in, so glad he’d just hit resume where I’d slammed into pause mode.

           At last, I collapsed into the pushed-aside chair, panting heavily. “No more,” I heaved. “I need…to catch…my breath.”

           He hopped up to sit on the tabletop beside me. “Now THAT was some fun,” he remarked. “We gotta do that more often.”

           This was the same pitfall I’d dropped into so many times back in the day, with the ghost of my past. Making up excuses to get near him. Taking casual opportunities to interact with him without making my real intentions clear. Maybe this whole time, I was afraid that would drive him away.

           Maybe this whole time, I’d been thinking of him as a jerkass without actually acknowledging how hard he really blew me off for three fucking years. So what if I wanted to get closer to Giovanni? We were friends. And I liked him. Maybe that would go somewhere. Maybe it wouldn’t. And most importantly, he wanted to dance with me.

           “Yeah,” I agreed. “We should.”

#selfship #i'm at soup! #and if it turns out any of my classmates IS reading this #i'll eat my personal fan

[lloydskywalkers]

snip, snip

*weeps* I finished this just in time, here’s a trade-

This is for @ninjawhoa , who’s an all-around great person who goes and does really sweet art that successfully distracts me from every other wip I have. (And this fic is entirely based off that, because the headcanon that Kai spikes up Lloyd’s terrible hair is great, okay.)

“And then I just, like, drown it in gel until it sticks right.”

Lloyd watches in fascination as Kai finishes off sculpting his hair into an extra-sharp spike, making sure it falls just right. Kai turns back to the mirror, surveying his reflection. Ugh — it’s been humid lately, so his hair doesn’t stick up quite like he likes it. But the Fire Ninja never has a bad hair day, so Kai’s got enough hair gel to make up for it.

Besides, this is more of a learning session than a full routine. Because FSM knows the kid needs it.

“So you cheat,” Lloyd says, squinting at the bottle of hair gel in his hands. Kai double-takes — how’d he get that?

“It’s called ingenuity,” Kai sniffs, snatching the bottle from Lloyd’s hands, giving him a side-eye as Lloyd scowls. He carefully places the bottle back in the medicine cabinet of their tiny bathroom, hiding it behind Nya’s bath salts and that moisturizer she never uses. “You gotta know how to overcome the weather, Lloyd. Hair care is very important.”

Lloyd props his elbows up on the counter beside him, standing on his tip-toes as to see his own reflection. “I guess,” he says, obviously trying to sound disinterested. Kai struggles to suppress a snort as he watches him pull at the edges of his bangs, clearly trying to hold them up in a style that looks like his.

Oh, all right.

“Here.” Kai grabs the bottle back out, rolling his eyes. Darn kid, worming his way so deep into his heart that he’s sharing his hair gel now — what’s happened to Kai?

“Hop up on the counter,” Kai says. Lloyd looks confused, but he scrambles up the sink counter, swatting Kai’s hand away as he tries to help him.

“I got it, I got it!” he huffs, and Kai watches in amusement as his legs flail briefly in the air before he finally pulls himself up, grinning triumphantly. “There. Ninja.”

“Oh yes, the mighty green ninja, regularly struggles to get up on counters,” Kai says, snickering.

Lloyd blows a raspberry at him. “The mighty fire ninja, regularly dances to Nya’s girly disco songs when everyone is out-“

“You said you’d never say anything!” Kai hisses, pulling Lloyd into a mock chokehold as he cackles. “You swore, you little punk, or I’ll tell Sensei where your candy stash is and eat it in front of your face-“

“No-o!” Lloyd wails, still trying to bite Kai’s arm. “I won’t say anything, I promise, don’t tell Uncle Wu I have a secret candy stash!”

Kai gives him one last hair ruffle before he lets Lloyd go, laughing at the disgruntled expression on his face. “Sound deal,” he says, as Lloyd mutters darkly about blackmail under his breath.

“Now, what I was trying to say,” Kai says, picking the bottle of hair gel back up and unscrewing it. “Is that I’m gonna do your hair.”

Lloyd watches him warily. “Wait, what?”

“I’m gonna give you a cool hairstyle,” Kai says, already squeezing some of the gel onto his hand. “Trust me, it’s gonna be way better than the lame one you’ve got now. I bet I can get some serious spikes outta that mess.”

“I dunno,” Lloyd says, eyeing the hair gel. “It smells kinda girly- ack!”

Kai’s already sprayed Lloyd with the shower nozzle, wetting his hair just enough to where it’s manageable. Lloyd sputters indignantly, wiping drops of water from his eyes. “What was that for, you jer- hey, stop!”

“Oh, relax,” Kai says, as he works the gel into Lloyd’s hair. He frowns as he runs his hands through the mop, catching on snarls and tangles. “Geez, do you ever brush your hair? This is a rat’s nest.”

“My hair isn’t a rat’s nest!”

“Well, it’s not now,” Kai says, tugging (gently) through the tangles. Lloyd fidgets a little, but he relaxes the more Kai runs his hands through his hair. Kai grins — so the kid’s not immune after all.

He continues to slather the gel into Lloyd’s hair, starting to push the - ugh - bangs up, styling them. “Who gave you this haircut, anyways?” Kai says, frowning. “Were the teachers at Darkley’s that cruel?”

“I did,” Lloyd says, glaring at him. “It was gettin’ too long, so I hacked at it with the safety scissors when the teachers weren’t looking.”

Kai gapes at Lloyd, his eyes wide in horror. “Safety scissors?” he wheezes. He shakes his head, starting to work on the back of Lloyd’s hair. “I’ll educate you, green bean. I’ll save you from yourself.”

“It’s not that bad,” Lloyd grumbles, looking down. Kai just smiles slightly, focusing on fluffing the ends of Lloyd’s hair up just right. He pulls a few locks to the left, spiking them up, squints a bit, then pulls one or two tufts down, giving it that rebellious little edge.

After a few more moments of tweaking, Kai finally pulls back, surveying his work with pride. “There you go,” he says, smugly. “A hundred times better.”

“Please, I bet it’s terrib-“ Lloyd turns, going quiet as he looks at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes go wide, and he traces the edge of one of the spikes ever-so-gently.

“Ha, you love it,” Kai smirks.

Lloyd flushes, and he spins back around, glaring at Kai — and wow, look at that, he can see his eyebrows properly now. “I do not!” he says. He turns back, looking in the mirror again. “It’s…it’s a little cool, I guess,” he says, his hand following one of the spikes again, clearly marveling it. Kai smiles in satisfaction.

“Now, let’s cut it.”

Lloyd whirls around, his eyes going wide in horror. Kai opens and closes the scissors, and Lloyd yelps, covering his head with his hands.

“No!” he cries, sliding off the counter and making a break for it. “No, get away from me with those, you maniac!”

Kai just grins viciously, chasing after Lloyd with the scissors as he shrieks, sprinting down the hall of the Bounty.

It only occurs to him after Nya’s chewed him out that literally running around with scissors probably wasn’t the best move. Good thing Lloyd looks darn cute with his hair spiked up — successful distraction, ten points to Kai.

*****

“Kai, I am literally begging you, go ahead and cut it, please.”

“Give me a sec, this is sensitive stuff!” Kai grumbles, trying very hard not to start sweating. He carefully levels the scissors again, hovering over the ends of Lloyd’s now much-longer hair, pulling a strand out between the scissors, and…

Kai quickly pulls his hand back, yanking the scissors away. Lloyd makes an agonized sound, kicking at the counter where he’s sitting on the cover of the toilet seat. “Just cut it already, you’re making it worse!”

“I’ve gotta come up with a good style, first!” Kai defends, waving the scissors around. “You gotta have a vision before you make art!”

“Then could you at least move the scissors before you like, accidentally snip my neck or something?” Lloyd says, in strained voice.

“I wouldn’t cut your neck,” Kai says, insulted — but he stops waving the scissors quite as much.

“If anything, it looks like he’s gonna take a chunk out of your ear,” Nya says, where she’s huddled in the bathroom corner, watching Kai warily.

Lloyd yelps, throwing his hands over his ears, and Kai glares at Nya. “Would you stop it? Have a little faith in me, c’mon!”

“I like my ears,” Lloyd says pathetically, in a voice that sounds just a tad too much like the old Lloyd-

Kai swallows. It’s still Lloyd. Still his baby bro. He just…looks a little different, sounds a little different, that’s all.

And Kai’s going to make sure he’s got a good haircut. If the tea’s gonna have the nerve to age him up and still leave him with that terrible haircut, then darn it, Kai’s gonna give his little brother this one justice.

(Stupid grundle, and stupid Kai for not figuring anything else out-)

Kai takes a breath, and focuses back on Lloyd. There’s no going back now. They’re just…they’re just gonna make the best of it. Lloyd is holding it together like a champ, it’s the least Kai can do for him to act the same.

Kai purses his lips, staring at the blond curls again. Lloyd’s hair is a lot longer than it was, so the awful bangs he’d been getting used to don’t really exist anymore, but it’s still lacking any real style.

So, new style. Kai taps his finger on the edge of the scissors, brainstorming. He doesn’t wanna give Lloyd the same haircut as any of the others, and he doubts he can pull off Kai’s — Lloyd’s hair is thicker, the blond strands better suited to easy waves and little curls that form on the ends. Kai racks his brain, trying to think of a hairstyle that’d work. He mentally scrolls through the latest celebrity styles, any pictures he’s seen recently-

Huh. There was that picture he spied scattered among the papers on Sensei’s dresser the other day, when he was totally not snooping for next week’s chore list — some random brunette couple, a smiling woman with glasses and some tall guy who was too busy laughing at her to look at the camera.

Kai looks at Lloyd again, ignoring how he squirms under his gaze. Huh. Random dude on Sensei’s dresser might have had the right idea. It didn’t look like that difficult a cut, either…

“Okay,” Kai says, snipping the scissors twice and grinning. “I’ve got it.”

Lloyd still looks a bit scared, but he nods. “Okay,” he says. “I-I trust you. Just make it look good, please?”

Kai feels something tug on his heart, and he brushes one of the long blond strands out of Lloyd’s eyes before he can stop himself. “I’ll make it look awesome,” he promises.

Lloyd takes breath, watching nervously as Kai brings the scissors back up. Nya covers her eyes with her hands, but she watches them through her fingers.

Not giving himself any time to hesitate, Kai snips cleanly through the thick blond hair, and tries not to think too much about how it feels like he’s cutting the past away.

New hairstyle, same Lloyd. It’s a new beginning, that’s all.

#my fic #ninjago #lloyd garmadon #kai smith #u have killed me with ur art i hope you're happy

[ladydracarysao3]

In Love, Serenity  

Chapter Nineteen: Faded

Notes Two songs for the background of this chapter, both from the Diablo III OST

I recommend "Azmodan" during the, I will call it "tense" part of the chapter.... Spotify Link here -or- Youtube Link Here

Then, after the violence is finished, I recommend "Leah" for the following section... Spotify Link here -or- Youtube Link Here

[Read Chapter 19 on AO3]  or [Start from the Beginning]

-Abner-

The door handle to her room gently rattles, stirring her awake.

Confused, Abner sits up in her bed and rubs the sleep from her eyes, while trying to bring the room into focus. The darkness is only illuminated by a low, almost spent, fire in the hearth.

Her sensitive ears listen as light, sporadic tremors intensify on the handle. The metal of the lock jiggles and clangs. Before she has the wherewithal to call out to the intruder, the sounds stop. The air is deathly quiet, she peers curiously at the door handle, wondering if someone in the inn tried the wrong room, or perhaps she was just hearing things.

But she wasn’t hearing things.

Violently, the door starts crashing and booming. Someone on the other side is slamming into it again, and again, and again. Abner’s heart bangs in her chest so fiercely that she can hear it in her ears. She needs to get her blades, but she cannot move. Paralyzed, she feels cold sweat drip down her back, and terror rip through her chest. She is stuck watching the wood of the door bend and snap with every thrust made against it. She desperately tries to scream for help, but her breath hitches. The door finally bursts open, lock snapped, and wood shrapnel flying everywhere. At that moment, Abner finds her voice.

“No…” a hushed, croaked whisper in disbelief. “It can’t be.”

“Did you think you could get away, again?” His voice is dark, arrogant, and petrifying.

Abner begins to shake so thoroughly, that even her voice tremors, “I... I…k-killed you…”

His laughter has so much force that it shakes the room. The window panes rattle, picture frames on the walls threaten to crash to the floor. He stands there in the doorway, staring at her, fresh scars on his neck from where she cut him. His body is spotted with blood and worn off paint. His leathers and furs are stained a deep red-brown, and his face is uncovered. There looms the face of her worst nightmare. Ofred, here to take her back. His eyes gleam wicked malice and seemingly glow red, as if possessed by a demon.

Her heart beats so fast that she can’t breathe or think straight. Nothing but sharp, shallow gulps of haphazard air that fails to fill her lungs. It feels as if he is reaching across the room and choking the life out of her with just his glare.

He roars maniacally, “Are you so sure it was me you killed?”

Abner is suffocating. She grips at her throat trying to will it to open, but her hands are wet and slippery as they slide over her skin. Panicked, she looks down to find that they are covered in blood. She is covered in blood. The barmaid and Hawke are lying on either side of her, motionless. The sheets over them are drenched in blood and covered in rips and tears. Abner stares at a bloody dagger in her hand and immediately drops it, recoiling from the implication.

“No,” she croaks, still gasping for air, “I didn’t… I didn’t do this!” She vigorously shakes Hawke’s body. Voice, a coarse squeak, she pleads with his motionless form, “Hawke… Hawke, wake up… please wake up…” His body lays limp, quiet. His eyes lie open, but nothing’s in them… blank… empty… dead.

Tears roll down her cheeks as her husband howls in the doorway. “You always knew I’d find you,” he snarls at her, the glow of his red eyes intensifies. Every scar on his massive body glows as well, as if evil power grows within him, searching for its way to pour out. “The Hand of the Mountain Father owns you, cunt.”

Venomous, Abner chokes out the inherit defiance she has never been able to quell, even when she should. “That isn’t your name, Ofred. You are nothing to Him. You are a disgrace.”

He takes slow menacing steps toward her as she rips at the sheets to get away. The immensity of the blood pooled around her is too viscous. She slips and sticks to the bed. She tries to scream but her throat scratches and splits.

“You are nothing. You never will be. You have disgraced your clan and our people. You fucking piece of shit!” It takes all of her energy to force out her weak, suffocating voice, as she braces for his attack.

He grabs her by the neck, his flaming eyes burning into her with murderous rage. He slowly crushes her throat with his hand, holding her naked body in the air like a rag doll. Abner coughs and sputters, clawing at his hand and kicking her feet in the air. Hysterical, she fears that he will actually kill her this time. “Please,” she chokes a whisper, “Not again… please… I’ll be good… I swear…” pleading as she strains for air.

“Too late for that now, whore. It’s time you know once and for all who owned you and your pathetic little life.” He growls before throwing her violently against the stone fireplace. Her head cracks against the mantle before she lands in a heap on the floor, certain she has broken bones.

He lunges toward her as she grabs the fire iron and points at him. The metal trembles from her shaking, weak arm. He laughs at her attempt at defense and lets the iron slowly enter his flesh, while continuing his advance.

Horror overwhelms her, how can this be happening? “No… no…” she squeezes her eyes shut as his hands reach out to break her. She readies herself for the pain as best she can, screaming in terror.

Two hands grab Abner’s shoulders.

They are smaller than they should be.

The hands shake her forcefully, but not with cruelty. “Abner… you are alright. It was just a nightmare. Open your eyes. He is gone.” A voice gently hums to her, but she is too afraid to open her eyes. He is going to kill her this time, she’s sure of it. Tears squeeze through as she shivers and trembles.

“Calm yourself. Open your eyes, da’len,” the voice thrums.

Elvhen.

Opening her eyes in a flash, Abner wheezes and gasps for air as if she had been drowning. Finally able to breathe again, she looks around frantically. She is sitting in a clearing, surrounded by trees, and wearing a light, cotton chemise. The moonlight gives the grasses around her a soft luminous glow. A cool breeze sings through the reeds, they whisper to her in the deep blue.

Abner concentrates on slowing her breathing as her heart rate calms. The figure holding her shoulders is silhouetted and kneeling in front of her. She strains to see him in the darkness, her eyes gradually adjusting to the low, midnight light. He releases his grasp while she squints.

The fadewalker.

“H--how?” Abner quietly stammers, tremors still vibrating through her body.

“You are dreaming, da’len. I sensed your distress,” He says simply.

As Abner slowly regains composure, the tremors stop. It was a dream. He wasn’t there. He didn’t break me. I am okay.

I am okay.

She puffs steady breaths, releasing tensed pressure in her body, she eyes the fadewalker suspiciously. “You… sensed… me?”

His large elvhen eyes shimmer in the soft light, but she cannot quite make out the details of his face. He silently stands to his feet and offers her his hand. She takes it. With steady, yet gentle strength, he pulls Abner to her feet. His long thin fingers are agile, but firm. His skin… soft like velvet.

His hand lingers on hers. She stares at him curiously, causing him to remember himself, and snap his hand away.

Standing in the moonlight, she can better see his face, and she studies it quietly. Searching for answers in how he carries himself. Abner has always been very observant, with an ability to easily read people’s expressions. But while this dark mage with a mane of dreaded hair, dressed in furs, bones, and scraps of cloth, appears as untamed as the wind, he in fact, carries himself in a perfected stoicism. His stare is impassive, blocking her from trying to read his thoughts or his intent.

They stand there silently for what feels like an eternity, but the silence helps her mind continue to soothe until she has fully relaxed. Confident that Ofred is still dead, her curiosity about the stolid fadewalker only grows. Abner’s inherent impish guiles cause her to smirk at the elvhen mage. What is his game? Will he make a habit of intervening in her dreams? Why he even bothered to intervene in the first place, she wonders.

Noticing her smirking at him in spirited contemplation, he flattens his eyes and frowns. “You should be wearier of the human,” he states dryly, breaking the silence.

“What… Who?” she is briefly taken aback. That was ever the random statement… What more does he know about her? And how?

Contempt drips from his lips, “Your juvenile little mage boy.”

She snorts, “Hawke?”

“Yes.”

“Why would you give two shits ‘bout who I let hang around?” She is both mildly amused and annoyed by this fadewalker’s interest in her company.

He groans with displeasure.

With willful eagerness and defiance, she continues to question him. “What? What is it, Fadewalker? Why have you set your sights on me?”

Dead pan he ignores her and questions her instead, “Did your mother teach you Elvhen?”

Oh, does he think that will shock her? Trip her up? No. No, it will not. “You got a real body somewhere, Fadewalker?”

“Why do you cling to your human blood, when your elvhen blood is far more tenacious?”

“Do you lurk in the shadows and watch me during waking hours?” Abner crosses her arms, continuing to smirk playfully at him. He grows more annoyed with her questioning, as if he is not doing the same.

“Have you forsaken your legacy? Your culture?”

“Is this even what you look like? Or do you change your appearance? Do you shapeshift for everyone you stalk, Fadey?”

“What have the humans ever done for you?”

“Are you plannin’ on making a habit of this dream meddling, Fadey?”

“Enough.”

“Answer me.”

He grabs Abner’s shoulders sharply, startling her. He is pleased with himself for catching her off guard. A twinkle shines in his eyes as he lowers his face to hers and hums in satisfaction. Their eyes inches apart, noses almost touching, she feels his breath on her lips.

He whispers, “Wake up.”

Abner’s eyes fly open and her chest heaves in shock. She blinks and glances around her before moving. She is back in the inn. The sun has begun to rise, allowing for a cool, blueish ray of light to trickle in from the window. The hearth has not but soft glowing embers. The barmaid is missing, but there is not a drop of blood, and Hawke breathes deeply with heavy sleep to her right. The linens are damp around her, but this time from sweat, not blood, while she was fitfully asleep.

It was all a dream.                                                                      

She breathes and rubs her chest just above her heart to ease the pressure knotted there. Her other hand reaches to wipe sweat from her forehead and pinch between her eyes. What a fucking nightmare. She sits up on the bed, massaging her neck, half expecting it to be sore from strangulation. But she is fine.

Hawke’s hand caresses her, lightly feathering his fingers against the bare, clammy skin on her back. She turns her head and looks down to find he is blearily smiling up at her. The wild redheaded mage looks like a beautiful spirit. His gaze smoky with desire, his hair is adorably plumed and messy on the pillow. Strong, chiseled, bare chest calmly rises and falls with his soft breaths. She wants to reach out and run her fingers through his patch of chest hair, but she doesn’t. She wants to tug on his auburn beard, and kiss him passionately, stay with him like this – in bed – all day, or forever. But she won’t.

“Good morning, love.”  He hums up at her, “How did you sleep?”

Groaning, she flops back down to her pillow. Turning on her side to face him, she sighs, “Nightmares.”

He brings his brows together in worry, stroking her cheek delicately with his thumb. “Ofred?” he asks and she dips her eyes down. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Abner reaches up and holds his hand to her face, reveling in a fleeting moment of feeling safe. If she told him her dream, he would only have more questions. As much as the fadewalker may think she trusts Hawke, she doesn’t. She can’t. Holding his hand, she twists her face to kiss his palm. “No,” she says.

“You can trust me, Abner. You should talk to someone.” His usual stormy eyes are clear and sober. He softly encourages her, “Tell me what happened to you.”

How could she tell him? She can’t tell him. He would never look at her the same. He would harbor feelings about things he has no control over. She won’t be made to relive her secrets in order for him to think that they are ‘closer,’ or that it ‘helps’ her. She won’t lay out all of the reasons why she is different, for him to play hero to her heart. She won’t share why she never to truly fits in anywhere. Why she prefers to live life alone, than to put trust in another.

She can’t tell him how her mother and father were never supposed to love, never supposed to meet at all. But that they did and they bore her because of it. How her mother’s clan abandoned her for loving a human, an Avvar human of all things. Her father’s clan in turn, reluctantly housed them, because of how valuable they were in the hunt, however, Abner was never fully accepted. And when the blight killed her family, along with many others in the clan, it was she who was blamed for the Gods’ disfavor. She was the reason her clan was not protected.

She can’t tell Hawke that she was given to Ofred, without her consent, just to get rid of her and her curse. That at too young of an age, that disgusting man came into her hold, took her from her bed, and she never saw her clan again.

She can’t tell him that the man she was given to had an affinity for the small and the helpless. Or that his affinity came at a price.

She can’t share the tales of how she would limp to the healer regularly, explaining how she ‘slipped while hunting again.’ Or that the beast she attacked was ‘too strong’ for her. He cannot hear the fact that no one believed her tales, yet no one did anything about it. That to her new clan, Abner was secretly untrusted, unprotected, unwanted. Her blood, spoiled. Her womb, barren. Her purpose, unclear.

He can’t hear that one day, she couldn’t reach the healer. Her broken leg would not support her. Her battered arms, too weak pull her. How she laid broken and bruised for too long before she was found. That it was Ofred’s father who finally decided it was enough. He wanted her to leave, for good this time. And while he was distracting his son, his wife was giving her a small pack of supplies and sneaking her into the wilderness.

Hawke will never know that she was wretched and terrified. How she was haunted by the threat of being discovered and dragged back home, again. Or that Leliana was the one who found her, and it was she who helped Abner find her strength. She and the only man Abner thought she could ever love.

Hawke need not know that Abner vowed to never be weak again. That she revels in her learned agility, and however secretive, she now takes pride in her mother’s lithe and nimble frame.

He doesn’t have to know why she can’t trust.

She sighs after remaining silent for too long. He is looking at her, hoping she will divulge her secrets. “Hawke,” her heart sinks and she knows he can hear it in her voice. “This is why I was trying to push you away. You have too many questions. You already know too much. It is easier for me to shut you out… be angry with you, than to answer your questions. My past is my own. I don’t want to relive it. I want it left forgotten.”

She takes his hand in hers, rubbing her thumb over callouses and scars. He looks at her with melancholy disappointment in his grey-blue eyes.

He tries so hard to seem impervious, clever, and confident with the world, but Abner can see that he hides behind his sarcasm and nasty remarks. His willful insolence is a barrier to keep people from getting too close. Like her, he prefers to be wild and unpredictable, to vulnerable.

He thinks has chosen her to share in vulnerability, he is begging her to join him. But she won’t.

Smiling at her prescient admirer, she gently chides him, “I have lived a hard life. My time with him… was the worst. But killing him… killing him was the best. He is dead now, and that’s all that matters.”

She winks and gives him a soft shove in the shoulder to cut the seriousness of the atmosphere, “Now, unless you want me to tell you to ‘fuck off’ again… do not ask about it anymore.”

Hawke huffs a reluctant sigh, “Alright… I will let it be. If that is what you truly wish.” His face brims with fleeting hope that she will retract her decision and spill her secrets.

Bringing his hand to her lips, she kisses his knuckles. “Thank you,” she breathes the words into his skin.

#in love serenity #abner #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fandom #dragon age romance #my fic