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everlarkbirthdaygifts · 4 years

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Happy Birthday, everybirdfellsilent!

Happy belated Birthday, @everybirdfellsilent! Apologies once again for all the mix-ups and confusion with your gift! I hope you had a truly wonderful day back when it actually was your birthday, and that it was much more orderly than this! To bring the party feels back, @ally147writes has emerged from everlark retirement to write a birthday gift just for you!

AN: Let me tell you, @everybirdfellsilent, I agonised over the ending. This was the neatest and tidiest I could make it without writing you a novel. I hope it makes you chuckle a little.

Also a good time to let the audience know that I cannot write horror, or ghost stories, but dang it, I can write borderline crack, and I wanted to write Buzzfeed Unsolved-inspired ghosthunter!everlark so damn much.

Unbeta’d, because that’s how I roll.

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The old Undersee mansion doesn’t look haunted.

Not that that really means anything. Most of the houses they’ve visited over the years haven’t looked haunted. They’ve been completely normal — except for that one in District Ten that had some kind of summoning circle in the basement (Peeta will die hoping it was drawn with red paint, a super weird kid’s project, but he’s got a feeling he’ll be dying disappointed. And extremely terrified) — with completely normal gardens in completely normal streets.

So, no. Like most, the old Undersee mansion doesn’t look haunted, but it definitely feels haunted.

Peeta pauses at the bottom of the winding path. At its end, atop a small hill, the innocuous house sits empty, Madge and her family out for the next few nights while he and Katniss investigate. It’s as normal looking as any of the other exorbitantly large mansions on the street, but the longer Peeta stares down the deceptively cheerful, sunshine-yellow door, a deep, intense foreboding settles in his gut and ferments there.

He swallows. “Uh, Kat?”

Katniss sighs and stops at the first step to the porch, and Peeta swears he can hear her eyes rolling. Hard. “What is it, Peeta?”

“I just… I got a real bad feeling about this one.”

“Peeta,” she starts, mounting the first step, “you’ve had real bad feelings about all of them so far. And you’ve been wrong every time.”

“No,” he replies quickly, following behind in the relative safety of her shadow. “You’ve just chosen to deny whatever proof we do find.”

“A battery running out in our flashlight does not mean ghosts were playing with it.”

“It ran out at the exact moment I told the spirits to turn it off!”

“I don’t know how else to tell you that was a coincidence. The flashlight had been on for a good two hours by that point.”

“A little convenient, don’t you think? Come on, Katniss. Plus, it turned right back on again when we were done, so the battery can’t have been that damn flat.”

“I can’t understand why you’re so eager for this all to be the work of ghosts when it scares you shitless every single time.”

“What about the time the spirit box said your name?”

“Peeta,” she says with a strained laugh. “It said, Can’t Miss. As in, the District 12 Mockingjays Can’t Miss. It was a snippet of a goddamn basketball ad. It’s on the radio all the time on game days.”

“Yeah, and the spirit box allows ghosts to use radio waves to communicate. Of course it wasn’t going to find Katniss — who the hell’s advertising katniss? — so it picked the next best thing.”

“I’ll just sit here and wait for them to use a snippet of a pita bread company ad to talk to you, then.”

He glares at the back of her head. “I’m sure they would, if there was a pita factory nearby that advertised.”

She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Peeta. Let’s go find you a ghost.” She lifts a camera to her eyes and kicks the heavy mahogany door open and flicks on the gently swinging chandelier light.

“Ghosts, spirits, urban legends and other assorted demonic entities, how are we all this evening?”

“Katniss,” he hisses as he closes the door. “Some respect, maybe?”

“What part was disrespectful? I covered, well, maybe not the full the spectrum of possible occupants, but definitely most of them, and asked how they were. Honestly if they’re not going to reply, they’re the disrespectful ones, not me.”

The light flickers out. Katniss snorts. Peeta lets out a squeak he’s not proud of.

“She doesn’t mean it,” Peeta calls frantically. “For the love of God, she doesn’t mean it. I’m sure you’re all lovely and polite.”

The light flickers weakly and comes back on. The chandelier fitting swings like a pendulum, casting stretching and receding shadows over the white-sheet covered lounges and a thick, dark coffee table.

“What the hell do you call that, Katniss?”

“Shoddy wiring?” She shrugs. “Peeta, this house is about a century old. Probably more, actually.”

“Madge said it was renovated and rewired two years ago.”

She shrugs again. “Rats? Raccoons, maybe? That would explain the supposedly unexplainable shuffling sounds Madge thinks she hears.”

Now he rolls his eyes. “Why am I married to you, again?”

“Because divorce is costly and time consuming,” she says, kissing his cheek. “Besides, my logic goes well with your fatalistic romanticism.”

“None of that’s going to matter when this house goes all Poltergeist and swallows us.”

“Then what a good thing it is that that’s never going to happen.” She plonks herself down on one of the lounges and sets a pair of small motion-sensing cameras pointing at each entrance. Peeta swallows and hitches a thumb towards the kitchen.

“I’m… uh, gonna look around for a bit.”

“All right,” Katniss says absently. “Scream if you need me.”

“Will do.”

That dread in his stomach recedes and grows with each room he enters. He doesn’t feel anything wrong with the kitchen, or the dining room, but as he ventures up the staircase to the bedrooms, he swears he can feel something weighty on his shoulders.

A sound like a dry, rattling whisper like nails on paper echoes through the long hall leading to the attic entrance. Peeta gulps. “Hello?” He thumbs open the recording app on his phone and turns it on. “Is anyone there?”

The whispering sound grows. It doesn’t sound like words, exactly. At least, not words that he knows. They race up and along his spine until it sounds like they’re shouting in his ear.

Peeta squeaks, jumps about a foot in the air, and something skitters past, too fast to see. A wave of cold washes over him, settling in icicles on his bones, and for a moment he stands stock still, not even breathing…

Another whisper, one that sounds very, unnervingly close to hello, and he sprints back down the stairs to the living room, triggering the motion sensors into a high-pitched beeping sound.

Katniss bolts upright. “What the hell is going on?”

“Kat, were you… God, were you sleeping?” he asks, aghast.

“What? It’s boring down here.” She blinks blearily up at him. “Are you okay?”

“There… there’s something up there.”

“Something as in actually something? Or something like your imagination run wild?”

“Something like… it was making the strangest whispery, scratchy noises. I thought they were words, but… and then, something just… ran right past me. I didn’t see, but it was so so fast, and I —”

“Peeta, it’s probably vermin. And the wind. And just… a bit of everything coming together to make you think it’s ghosts when it’s… just, not.”

But his hands are shaking, and his pulse is more like one long thud instead of lots of little ones. “I just… I don’t…”

She rolls her eyes. “Would it make you feel better if I went and checked? You can stay here with these stupid motion sensors; they’re only picking up bugs, anyway.”

“No. No, I’ll go with you,” he says, setting a fist against his chest like that’ll do any good against his heart’s very valiant escape attempt. “Just in case.”

“Right,” she drawls, “just in case the wind gets me.”

He follows a step behind her, through the kitchen, down the corridor, and up the stairs. He doesn’t feel quite as heavy this, time, either. She cracks open every door they pass, six unused bedrooms, three bathrooms, two studys, and a small library, all silent. They’re left with one room at the very end. As she opens the final door, the whispering starts again, and a low moan like racing wind echoes.

She steps in, and he turns on the light. The room is huge, but full. A writing desk sits in the far corner, and a neatly-made four-poster bed occupies the other corner. Beside the door, a seated vanity with a wide, oval mirror wiped free of dust. On its table, a collection of large and small hairbrushes, and an open box filled with tangled threads and needles and buttons and snippets of fabric. But none of those things holds Peeta’s focus for long.

Instead, he stares at a wide cabinet spanning nearly the whole length of the back wall, covered so densely in dolls of every conceivable material, fabric and wool, porcelain and plastic. The whispering is almost deafening, and every time Peeta turns his head to look somewhere else, he could swear the dolls are twitching, blinking, watching.

“Did, uh, Madge ever mention the doll collection?”

Katniss scowls at the dolls. “She might’ve? I don’t really remember.”

“Oh, I don’t think you would have forgotten something like this,” Peeta retorts.

“I… well, yeah, this is definitely weird, but I don’t think we can call it haunted, or otherworldly.”

“What the hell else would you call it?”

“Any number of perfectly reasonable and logical things, Peeta. Mrs. Undersee likes weird, creepy dolls; what more can you say?”

“Don’t call them weird and creepy.” He sets a finger against her lips. “I’ve read about haunted dolls. If you’re not respectful, they might curse you.”

She rolls her eyes, but nods all the same. He doesn’t take his eyes off hers as he lowers his finger and shoves his hands in his pockets.

He turns back to the dolls, and clears his throat. “Uh, we mean no harm or anything. It’s just… you’ve kind of been terrifying my friend and her parents, and we’d like you to please stop. Please.”

Katniss whispers, “You already said please.”

“Can’t hurt to say it twice.”

“Did you bring the, uh… the thing? You know, the thing that reads the waves or whatever it was?”

He shoots her a dour look. “You mean the EMF?”

“Yeah, that. Do you have it?”

“No, I don’t.” He sighs. “It would have been in the pack with the motion sensors, so it’s still downstairs.”

“Spirit box?”

“In the pack, too.”

She surveys him strangely, arms crossed over her chest. “You really didn’t come prepared, did you?”

“I was prepared! I just… didn’t think I’d be accosted in the very first hallway I went into.”

She snorts. “Yeah, well, maybe next time you’ll think —” She stops, freezes, eyes riveted on something Peeta can’t see. His heart thumps harder and louder than he’s ever felt before.

“Uh, Katniss? Is something wrong.”

“Peeta,” she says, deadpan.

“What?”

“Look over there, in the gap between the cabinet and the desk. See that?”

He does see that. He backs up so hard he’s going to have a massive bruise on his ass from the vanity he’s just about knocked over. “Holy shi — Are those… are those eyes?”

“Yeah, they’re eyes. You wanna know what kind of eyes?” She picks up a hairbrush from the vanity stand next to them and hurls it at the gap.

“Goddamn raccoon eyes, Peeta,” she says as the small pack of raccoons scatter. “There’s probably holes in the drywall or something, hence your scratchy whispers.”

“I… oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Raccoons, Peeta. Ninety-five percent of the time, it’s probably rats or raccoons.”

“It wasn’t rats or raccoons in that place in District 10.”

“That… was an outlier of a house, I’ll give you that, but it was probably still just people. Very strange, very creepy people.” She nudges him gently with her elbow and cocks her head to the door. “Come on, we should try and see if we can find the holes they were coming in through.”

“You want to do home repairs?”

“Hey, we promised Madge an exorcism, didn’t we? This is just a different kind of exorcism.”

She hooks her arm in his, and they leave the doll room together. A sound like bye follows them out, but this time he can ignore it. Raccoons. Obviously.

“Why do you come with me to these things?” he asks when they reach the bottom of the stairs.

“Peeta,” she says seriously. “Know that I say this with all the love in my heart… you would die if I didn’t come with you.”

“If I did die, I would so mercilessly haunt your ass.”

She pats his arm, shakes her head. “No, you wouldn’t, Peeta. Ghosts aren’t real.”

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #everlarkbirthdaygifts #fan fic #by ally147writes

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lepussolum · 4 years

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@ambcrheart ━ starter.

❝ 𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚎. ❞ 𝙰 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚢𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 ━ honed with equal precision and lethality to that of a knife. For what more was there to say? It would be foolish to remain where one was clearly neither needed, nor desired. To linger would only further drive the point of one’s own worthlessness. Whether it was a lack of particular skill or out or a deep seated ━ though not unwarranted ━ sense of MISTRUST, Isa could sense that chasm between him and his newfound “companions” growing ever deeper. Their surreptitious glances rimmed in apprehension did not go unnoticed. No, they drove into his back like more than a dozen biting needles. This audience to his mockery left his fledgling heart sickened, which only furthered his frustration. Scream, lash out, do something ━ all these emotions welled up inside that little light and left his body trembling. Fingers curled into tight fists, rigid at his side as he nestled his features behind the collar of his coat.

❝ Now, Isa, you understand why this mission is not suited for one of your...caliber. To simply banish the Heartless back to the Realm of Darkness, rather than release the hearts trapped inside would only- ❞

Yen Sid, the legendary wizard whose feats were renowned even among Organization XIII, now patronized the former member. The poor attempt at dissuasion to mask his true intent only left the Diviner to slip deeper into an icy temperament. He had little desire to stomach much more of his excuses.

❝ You need not lecture me. ❞ With an outstretched hand, Isa summoned a Dark Corridor within the cluttered office of the Mysterious Tower. At his back he could sense the shift in atmosphere as half the room’s occupants grew guarded at the appearance of the shadowed archway. Master Aqua summoned her keyblade instinctively from where she stood by the desk, Terra already placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Any pretense of trust between Isa and the Guardians of Light was little more than a thin veil which obscured little of the lingering ANIMOSITY that dwelt between them and the Organization.

Out of his peripheral, Isa could see Lea take a few hasty steps toward him from where he idled alongside Roxas and Xion. Hand outstretched, he moved to grab hold of his old friend, perhaps in an attempt to explain the situation or soothe his evident irritation. However, Isa merely flinched away from his touch as though it were made of fire itself. Increasingly Isa found his impression of Lea to come across this way. Ever since his restoration an undeniable LIGHT within him seemed to burn ever brighter ━ scorching to a heart still splintered with DARKNESS. In contrast, the Diviner felt tainted. While Lea seemed to have shaken off the Organization’s remnants, Isa feared he continued to walk a thin line between light and darkness. He remained on the brink of redemption and destruction and he knew the others could sense the conflict within him as well.

Without another word, the former Nobody entered the wavering portal. He did not spare a second glance to his “comrades”, if one could even consider them as such. Thus far their intent seemed simply to humor him ━ appease the MONSTER ━ or out of consideration for Lea’s wishes. But it had grown painfully clear that there was no true place for Isa among the keyblade wielders. Could he truly blame them? No, not after all the suffering he had put them through under the orders of Xehanort. But this could not subdue his bitter heart. With a clench of his open palm, Isa sealed the Corridor behind him. In his mind he could practically hear King Mickey admonish his actions, reminding him how dangerous traversing through his previous means would now be. With a fresh heart cradled in his chest and no keyblade to be had, he was all but begging for a swarm of Heartless to attack. Or so that was the little king’s impression. It seemed as though Isa was either underestimated or FEARED ━ there was no middle ground.

I am not so weak.

To be misjudged so cruelly was an insult. Time and again, the Guardians would not even give him a chance to prove his worth. Without a keyblade he was little more than a liability in their eyes. Did they expect him to simply waste his days away without purpose in Twilight Town? Did they fear that if they gave him a chance that he would lose control once more? With a click of his tongue, Isa stormed off down the path that stretched through the Realm of Darkness. At the very least he could prove his worth to himself ━ or vent his emotions somewhere else. In passing he had heard Yen Sid discuss a minor outbreak of Heartless numbers within a world inhabited by living toys that would be addressed in the near future. Curiosity had piqued Isa’s interest in the assignment, for the destination sounded vaguely reminiscent to and experiment conducted within the Organization. Who was to say he could not look into the matter first?

Churning a few feet down the rocky terrain was yet another Dark Corridor that beckoned him through. It was a small blessing that Isa managed to pass through the Realm of Darkness unscathed ━ though he mused the reason being the darkness which continued to cling to his heart like cobwebs. Either way, he safely made his way to his destination, both intrigued as to what he would find and eager to blow off some steam. The portal spat him out into a rather cramped corridor; walls encased in steel framed him on all sides. Echoing through the winding metal hall was a dull hum, accompanied by a subtle gust every few minutes. A light seemed to reflect around a nearby corner and the faint sound of cheery melodies reverberated from the same direction. Attention thoroughly captured, Isa made his way down the strange hall, head bowed slightly due to the short “ceilings”.

❝ How unusual... ❞ What awaited the former Nobody at the end of his journey was an abrupt end to the steel path beneath him and a drop into a massive toy store. It would appear the Dark Corridor placed him within a ventilation system, judging from the bird’s eye view he now had over the shelves below. But what was more curious was just how he fit inside such a usually small space. His enchanted attire shifted his appearance to match that of the world so as to preserve order. Considering the denizens of this store were living toys, it came as no surprise to him to see his knuckles fixed together like that of a ball-joint doll beneath a white cotton glove. Fascinated, Isa brought a hand up to delicately trace his now warped features. Cool porcelain met his touch, eyes far too large to be anything close to that of an actual human ━ though his scar still marred his brow even in this new body. Not only did his features change, but his clothing as well. Gone were his usual jacket and pants to be replaced with a tailcoat and slacks. A blue ribbon bow tie decorated his button down shirt to match the pocket square neatly folded beneath an emblem to match the moon and star piece he usually bore. Even his sapphire locks had been slicked back and gathered into a fluffy braid finished with a ribbon. The entire set emanated the butler aesthetic.

Not my first choice, but it will do.

With a shrug of resignation, Isa peered over the vent’s ledge to see a path down. From this distance he could already spot a small horde of Heartless congregating by a dollhouse perched upon the shop’s windowsill. A collection of toy boxes propped up beneath him in a convenient makeshift staircase by which he could easily climb down. The dress shoes which adorned his now tiny porcelain feet did not provide the best traction, but he managed to make it to the store’s solid ground without wiping out completely. Unfortunately, his entrance left Isa rather exposed and the lingering Heartless were quickly drawn his way. Not that he would complain having come to this world more or less in search of a decent fight.

His steps were leisurely paced, not at all disarmed by the dozen malicious creatures that now approached him. Hand outstretched, LUNATIC formed in his grasp through a flash of brilliant blue light. The claymore weighed no more than usual despite his new form, the frigid steel vibrating with power ━ as though it desired little more than to unleash its full strength and rain havoc down upon all who dare draw near. In response the Heartless grew agitated, provoked by the potential threat. They crept towards his approaching figure, their twitching forms also mimicking the toys which surrounded them. A small snort of amusement escaped the Diviner,

❝ You find strength in your numbers? ...How pitiful. ❞ In a swift arching motion, Isa dragged the head of Lunatic long the store floor. The blade seemed to SCREECH with delight as it sent a streak of energy towards the nearest Heartless. With a wail, the monster was banished back to the Realm of Darkness having not so much as a chance to fight back. However, three more Heartless quickly filled its place. The “minor outbreak” Yen Sid had anticipated appeared more aptly as an infestation. Shadows seemed to shift in nooks and crannies, gleaming hues eyeing him hungrily as they looked for the proper opening to strike. Still, Isa remained unfazed, his expression carefully trained in chilly apathy even as the horde grew about him.

❝ Do try to entertain me for a while, won’t you? ❞

#*･ ‧͙ ☾ ᶜᵃᶜᵒᵉᵗʰᵉˢ ˢᶜʳᶦᵇᵉⁿᵈᶦ. — ᵖᵃʳᵃˢ ☽ ‧͙ ･*#*･ ‧͙ ☾ ⁿᵉᵐᵒ ᵐᵃˡᵘˢ ᶠᵉˡᶦˣ. — ᵉᵖᶦˡᵒᵍᵘᵉ ☽ ‧͙ ･*#ambcrheart #//lowkey i had been musing on this starter for days i was so excited #//let me know if anything needs adjusting #//also i hurt myself in my confusion with this starter istg #//i didn't mean to make isa so emo but here we are #//also i headcanon that yen sid did enchant isa's clothes #//so he can at least tag along with lea sometimes #//and not affect the world order #//hence his appearance in the toy box

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starryikesen-blog · 6 years

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boyfriend! mitsuhide

CONFESSION

- when you first assumed your role and duty of chatelaine, you were receiving orders from mainly nobunaga and the other warlords

- the jobs, ranging from serious to absurd, would always be completed by you at the end of the day, no matter how ridiculous it was

- none of those were really dangerous, because those were left to the vassals and even the warlords themselves to settle

- however, this— this was peculiar

- this particular request from masamune and hideyoshi combined had certainly piqued your interest

- after receiving a neatly wrapped multi-layer lunch box, you went over to mitsuhide’s manor and into his room

- you weren’t so comfortable around him compared to the others, and reasonably so, since history in your time had recorded him as the mastermind behind nobunaga’s supposed death

- and he just gave an aura of general… sketchiness

- even as he sat down, in front of his messy desk strewn with books and papers, his eyes skimming through a few documents, it sent a chill down your spine

- he had an effect on you, for sure, it just wasn’t a pleasant one

- “hello. what brings you here?”

- the next thing you knew, those sharp amber eyes bore right into you, a thin smile spreading across his face

- “uh, masamune told me to deliver this.”

- you unwrapped the cobalt blue fabric and set the lunch box in front of him, before automatically going about to rearrange his things into a few neat piles on the mat

- “insisting on trivial things as always, i see.”

- despite those words, you could sense a hint of fondness in his voice, and as frightening and unapproachable mitsuhide was, you had to admit that you partly accepting this request because you wanted to know him better

- (and also because masamune wouldn’t accept a “no” as an answer)

- you watched as you sat opposite him, perched somewhat worriedly and curiously, as he picked up one of the layers of the lunch box, containing a few vegetables, and attempted to dump the contents into another layer with curry—

- “no!”

- “no?”

- “sorry, i meant no, don’t do that. you’ll ruin the flavour.”

- mitsuhide stared you for a moment, before smirking and putting the vegetables back down on the desk

- “it doesn’t matter to me, but i’ll stop, since it seems to disturb you.”

- “i mean, the curry’s sweet and watery. the vegetables are crisp and salty. they just don’t mix together well, no?”

- “no. flavour doesn’t exist for me.”

- that sentence hit you pretty hard, and you had to ask hideyoshi when you ran into him in the corridors

- as you suspected, mitsuhide can’t distinguish flavours, and to your horror, you were also informed that he didn’t take good care of his health

- he’s basically no better than mitsunari, just not that extreme, but still pretty bad

- and that set a flame in you to take care of him— pretty contradictory to your initial behaviour, but you couldn’t help it

- since then, you’ve always made time to head to mitsuhide’s manor; and every time, without fail, you bring a lunch box with you, and make sure mitsuhide doesn’t crush everything up and eat it

- but he wasn’t there all the time, and frequently went missing for a day or two before returning

- upon your inquiries, he would simply smile and say he made a little “business trip” to meet someone and do something

- and it really worried you, because you knew mitsuhide was a nice person, at least under the cover of a big bad wolf

- he’s just too smart and scheming and that made people say… certain things about him, that made your mouth taste sour afterwards

- you wish you could prove to them how kind he actually was, but when you think about it, you were, too, once someone who didn’t know any better and assumed mitsuhide’s personality right off the bat

- and you were sure that he was like this for a reason, though he never let you in on anything private

- you dismissed it as something required for the nature of his job, which was partially right, but still, you wished he could let his guard down a little around you

- you expressed this wish to him, and he returned it with a teasing smile and promised to do so

- honestly, mitsuhide doesn’t know why he did that, and did the weird pinky thing (you called it “pinky swearing”) but he knew that you cared a lot for him

- he’s a little amazed and amused by how innocent you were, trusting him without any questions whatsoever; he’s used to being treated like the opposite, and people either suspected him, feared him, or hated him, save for a few people here and there

- as innocent as you were, some people would call you foolish, and mitsuhide knows he would’ve normally, but you were so strong and this dogged determination of yours, as well as your optimism to try again and again really struck something in him

- he just couldn’t bear to see your expression if he ever called you nasty names

- but he hasn’t ever held back like this— with other people, he doesn’t twitch when questioning them, torturing them, because it’s necessary

- so why was he so weak when it came to you?

- besides, mitsuhide isn’t someone oblivious or dense; it doesn’t take him much to accept that he’s attracted towards you

- but you and him were like two different ends of a whole spectrum; you were opposed to war, which you made clear to him once, and you were honest, unsuspecting, pure

- he was the opposite of all those, and you were like a white flower, bound to wilt in those hands of his

- but mitsuhide won’t stop his actions towards you, unless you like another person

- it started out as little affectionate gestures, like stroking your hair idly and patting your head whenever you went over to deliver him food

- and when he returned after going missing for a day or two, tiny forehead kisses were sometimes there

- this sudden increase of affection answered a large question that has been residing recently in your mind, and you were relieved, somewhat

- it was this period where both of you knew what was happening, but didn’t do anything to further catalyse it

- tentative was probably the word for it

- to put it in a more modern context, it was like you both harbour lovers’ feelings for each other, but none of you confirmed it, so technically you’re still friends

- you thought this was pretty pointless, so one time when you were reading in mitsuhide’s room and he was doing paperwork, you kissed him in one place none of you had before: his lips

- it was warm on yours, and unexpectedly soft, and that was all that you thought, as it was a peck on the lips

- mitsuhide didn’t move for a few seconds, and you thought he had ceased to breathe, but then he sighed and set his brush down

- “it’s going to be a lot of work.”

- “i know.”

- “i could die anytime.”

- “i know.”

- “and yet, you still want this?”

- “...yes.”

- he gazed at you with a mixture of emotions— the love for you bubbling up, but also while thinking how strange of a person you were, like a moth attracted to light

- except that he didn’t know he wasn’t the fire; but the moon instead, and he had no idea how much you were going to teach him

CUDDLING + KISSING

- mitsuhide wouldn’t be someone who spends his kisses on your lips; instead, he would be kissing you everywhere else for most of the time

- forehead kisses are a norm, and for absolutely no reason at all, it just happens to take mitsuhide’s place as the number one place to kiss you

- maybe because it’s pretty convenient for him to drop one there whenever you bump into him while doing your duty, and both of you are busy

- or he loves the way your mind and thinking works so differently from him that always catches him off guard, whether or not he shows it

- when he’s back from his little trips, you would show up in his room, smile bright and eyes sparkling, and he would sweep you into his arms wordlessly and let his kisses linger on your face

- when cuddling, you’re most probably on top of him, where he can see all the small details of your expressions and the way your facial muscles work

- it sounds weird, but mitsuhide is definitely someone who would prefer seeing your expression and reactions to the things he say

- he just thinks that you’re so cute and innocent, and also because they were expressions he couldn’t ever show

- and this surge of wanting to protect you from all the dark, ugly things residing in this world just rises up from his chest

- he would hug you just a tad bit tighter, and you know he’s having these thoughts when he goes silent and doesn’t answer you, just gazing deep into your eyes

- it’s not that he’s trying to block your words out; he’s genuinely lost in his thoughts, and it takes a moment or two before he snaps back to reality

- and as merciless and teasing he is, he holds you and drowns you in his love like your a precious porcelain doll, bound to break any time possible

- it’s just so raw and tender and so gentle

EMOTIONAL

- as stated before, mitsuhide does feel the constant urge to protect you

- but sometimes it occurs to him that he’s no better; he too, has stained his hands, caused many people to perish, and he’s merciless

- it strikes him that he’s that dark and ugly thing, and it terrifies him to no end, because the last thing he wanted was to drag you into all these

- he didn’t want to see that foolishly innocent soul fade away because of all these things, he wanted it to continue to burn bright among the abyss

- and sometimes, it throws him into this line of thought that you shouldn’t have fallen in love with him; he didn’t deserve it, and neither did you deserve this exposure to the darker side of humanity

- you could tell when this happens; he sort of just blocks out things whenever you talk to him, start mashing up his food all together again, and spends more time in the dungeons

- you’d have to drag him out somewhere calm and quiet, and outdoors, and silently sit by him as he processes that you’re fine and both of you are still together

- since you can’t really tell what’s going on in that mind of his, and also because you know mitsuhide would trust you enough to realise that you were strong enough to stand by him

- he just needed some time away from everything

- otherwise, mitsuhide is really well put together other times

- when you’re worried over something, or someone, such as mitsuhide himself, he would calm you by analysing how the thing you’re worrying over wasn’t even going to happen

- for example, if you’re worried that one of the warlords would be wounded in a battle, mitsuhide would tell you how the oda forces were way stronger and the chances of them being hurt were extremely low

- rather than using words to comfort you, he would try to make you weigh the facts and come to a more positive conclusion yourself

- he couldn’t lie in front of you and say everything’s fine when it isn’t, because he knows it would hurt you even more in the end if something actually happens

- in a way, it’s not what most people would like, but it’s his own way of protecting you, by making you mentally stronger and preparing you for everything

DOMESTIC

- man, mitsuhide needs someone domestic to take care of him, because we all know that’s one thing he can’t do

- or more like he doesn’t really care about it

- but when he sees you putting in so much effort to cook meals that have a more distinct flavour specially for him, he has this urge to put down his work and make time for you, which he hasn’t done before

- much like mitsunari, you would make sure to appear in between your duties as chatelaine to his manor if he was doing administrative work, and stay with him until you’ve seen him finish his food

- or you would coax him to sleep when it’s getting a little too late

- if he had to go into battle, or somewhere far away again, he would develop a habit of bringing something that belongs to you— an obi cord, a hair clip, anything

- he would look at it and silently promise that he would return to your side after it ends, and it makes him more careful than usual in order to be successful in the operation

- and when you return, you would pester him in hugs and little kisses and all, while asking if he needs anything

- he tells you every single time that seeing your happy face was more than enough for him, but you aren’t convinced anyways

- but that’s the truth, and you were his motivation to return alive and well everytime, and if mitsuhide was being honest with himself, he didn’t care if you didn’t love him back— just seeing you happy and smiling was enough for him

FINAL VERDICT

- all in all, this relationship is somewhat fragile, but not at the same time, if you understand. there are insecurities, but there’s the unconditional love and the amount both of you are willing to sacrifice for each other is amazing

#ikemen sengoku #ikemen sengoku imagines #ikemen sengoku scenarios #mitsuhide #ikesen mitsuhide #ikemen sengoku mitsuhide

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angelgirlsko12 · 5 years

Text

On A High Note (2)

FMA/BNHA AU. Took longer than expected to post this second part, but here’s the Kamijirou-centric stuff!

AO3

Toccata in J minor

He’s only in Central to take his state alchemist exam, but as he walks around the hustle and bustle of the city, Denki can’t help but think he’d like to stay here forever. Something about the hum of the streets here beats the safety of his home back in Resembool.

It is a bit overwhelming, though, seeing so many people. He knows his father came here for the same purpose when he was a kid, and he can’t imagine what that must’ve been like, being so young. He was definitely not mature enough to travel so far by himself at age 12.

Even now, he supposes his maturity is...questionable. Luckily he isn’t entirely on his own—Dad apparently has a lot of friends in high places—something that he’s always nonchalantly mentioned in passing—and Denki can’t help but be excited because he’ll get to spend time at the Havocs. Fuhrer Mustang’s rather busy these days trying to run the country (and he’s heard from his father there’s already another boy who’s been a temporary-turned-semi-permanent guest at their home). While it would’ve been cool to live at the Fuhrer’s estate for a few days, Denki knows he’d feel out of place somewhere so grand and regal as that.

Besides, he really likes Uncle Jean. Uncle Jean is down to earth and from the country much like himself and always has a lot of advice to offer him.

Especially when it comes to women.

“How did you and Aunt Becca meet, anyway?” He asks his first night there. He’s realized that, although he’s known the both of them for most of his life, there are still a lot of questions about them that have been left unanswered.

The aforementioned woman sets dinner on the table and pulls out her chair to find her husband’s legs comfortably propped up on it. She doesn’t hesitate to push them aside, taking a seat as she giving the man a sidelong glance.

“Military,” he smirks, gazing back at his wife.

“Your Uncle Jean and I had a thing when we were both stationed in East City,” she responds, shifting her attention to him as she passes him the vegetables. Denki carefully spoons some onto his plate as she continues. “Then, of course, Mustang decided to transfer his entire unit with him to Central so that was the end of that.”

“But fast forward a few years, and Becky was transferred to Central as well,” Jean adds, pausing to take a long sip of his coffee and leaned in closer to Denki. “I suspect she pulled some strings to come here, in hopes of rekindling things between us,” he whispers nondiscreetly.

“Don’t flatter yourself!” Rebecca retorts, punching him in the shoulder. “No self-respecting woman would be crazy enough to follow a man halfway across the country in the name of love!” She huffs as she crosses her arms.

Uncle Jean almost chokes on his water in his attempt to hold back a laugh. “ Really? You can’t think of anyone crazy enough to do that?”

She sighs. “They’re a special case, ok?!”

“Who’s a special case?” Denki asks curiously as he brings a forkful of food up to his mouth.

The man chuckles and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo.”

Aunt Becca shakes her head as well, gesturing with her fork as she talks. “If anything, you should thank Grumman for transferring his whole unit over when he moved to Central. He’s the real reason we’re together.”

The grimace on Uncle Jean’s face makes Denki choke on his food. “Yeah, I think I’ll stick to my version of the story. Sounds more romantic than what you just suggested.”

“As if Grumman isn’t Amestris’ secret matchmaker,” his wife mutters under her breath, just loud enough for Denki to hear. He contemplates asking what she means by that as well, but as the two of them continue their lover’s spat while he silently looks on, he decides that maybe there are some things he’s better off not knowing.

The certification exam is still a few days away. Denki had made sure to come a bit early—he’s been to Central before, but in the past it’s always been with his family and for “important matters” which have left little time for sightseeing. And Central is quite a big city—especially compared to the likes of Resembool—so there’s a lot to see.

While he could very well explore all of Central by himself, he’s glad when Uncle Jean offers to take him around the city. It is the weekend, after all.

Denki’s up surprisingly early on a Sunday, excited for what the day has in store. His personal guide is already by the door, and he approaches him with a spring in his step. “Good morning, Uncle Jean! Where are we going first?”

He’s a bit perturbed when the man hands him a large box. It’s heavier than he expects and he staggers backwards from the weight.

The man hoists an identical-looking box into his own arms with no problem, and Denki’s face heats up from embarrassment at his own lack of upper body strength. He’s always been on the skinnier side, but to have a man several years his senior be clearly stronger than him certainly isn’t helping his self-esteem.

“We’ve got to run a quick errand—then we can do whatever you want, kid.” He grins. “Gotta drop these off at the bar. It’s not far from here—just a few blocks.”

“Oh—ok, sure!” Denki responds, groaning inwardly. He hopes he can still feel his arms by the time they make it there.

Their destination is actually closer than he expected. He follows Uncle Jean up the stairs to the back entrance of the building. The door opens up to a well-furnished bedroom, and he watches as he walks to the foot of the bed and sets his box down.

“You can set the box down anywhere, Denki,” he grins. “Thanks for the help!”

“Ok, great!” He can feel the relief in his muscles when the weight in his arms is finally transferred to the ground. Uncle Jean gestures for him to follow him, and walks out through another door that leads out to a walkway overlooking the 1st floor of the bar. He excitedly leans forward on the railing to take a good look at the place. It is quite a sight to behold. He was expecting some run-of-the-mill establishment, but everything from the expensive-looking tablecloths to the chandeliers delicately draped with crystals to the sound of jazzy piano music proves that is not the case. The entirety of Resembool doesn’t have any place even close to this. “Wow! Everything’s so fancy. How did you guys end up with a place like this?”

“It was bought by Fuhrer Mustang awhile back,” the man responds, crossing his arms. “A gift for his foster mother. She’s not as spry as she used to be, and since Becks and I had been helping her run the place already she had us take over for her.”

“By the Fuhrer himself?! Whoa.” Denki marvels at the idea that the man would do something so generous. His own interactions with Fuhrer Mustang hadn’t been very telling, but his father had given him the impression he was a stingy old man who had once demanded he pay back 520 cens.

His eyes suddenly lock on the grand piano from which the jazzy piano music is emanating. More specifically, that there’s actually someone there playing said music. And that the person playing is a girl.

And while the piano’s on the other side of the room and he can only see a profile of her face from his current position, Denki can’t help but think that she’s...kind of cute. And, of course, the music she’s playing sounds magnificent.

“Hey Uncle Jean, who’s that?”

The older man glances at the young woman seated at the piano.

“Oh, her?” He looks back at the boy with a good-natured smirk and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “She’s the daughter of our bar’s pianist. Girl takes after her mother in talent, but since they don’t have space for a piano in their apartment, your Aunt Becca agreed to let her practice here during the day before opening hours. She's here from time to time.” He gently nudges the boy with his elbow, eyebrows raised. “I think she’s around your age, actually.”

“Huh.”

Uncle Jean starts walking back towards the door to the bedroom. “I’m going to put this stuff away, but why don’t you take a look around? Maybe start a conversation with Miss Jirou, if you’re up to it.”

“Miss Jirou…?” Oh, the girl.

Right.

“Mmhmm. Be cool, be yourself. Meet me by the front when you’re done.”

He nods in response, but the man’s already turned his attention to the boxes. Denki quietly makes his way down the stairs, taking a passing glance at the flower arrangements atop purple tablecloths as he walks around the tables towards the piano. As he draws closer, he notices that her hair, which had looked black from far away, is actually tinged with purple, a stark contrast to her porcelain white skin. It’s decidedly short for a girl, but the asymmetrical slant of her bangs frame her face well. What strikes him the most, though, is how tiny and doll-like the girl looks next to the grand piano she's playing. Uncle Jean had suggested they were around the same age, but he thinks she could pass for a child if she wanted to.

He hovers at the peripheral of her vision and listens intently as her fingers fly across the keys, not wanting to interrupt her current piece.

She glances over and finally notices him standing there and the music ends abruptly. The silence is deafening and Denki grins nervously in response. He hadn’t meant to startle her and isn’t sure what to say now.

Fortunately, she speaks first, and with a surprising amount of calm.

“Uh...what are you doing here?”

His brain starts functioning again after a few seconds and he’s glad words finally make their way out of his mouth. “I’m here with a certain Mr. Jean Havoc,” he says, walking forward to lean on the edge of the piano in what he hopes is a cool pose. “You could say we’re pretty close.”

“Oh.” She nods, a hint of recognition in her voice. Her eyes narrow at him. “Aren’t you a little young to be loitering at an establishment like this?” She takes her hands off the keys and crosses them defiantly across her chest.

He scowls at her. People tend to assume he’s younger than he actually is since he’s...not particularly tall. Much like his father, his height has always been a sore spot for him.

“First of all, this place isn’t even open yet. Second of all, speak for yourself,” he shoots back.

She seems unfazed by his comeback, bringing a hand up to play with the ends of her hair. “How old are you anyway?”

“Almost 18.”

She snorts, and he retorts rather defensively, “How old are you?”

“15.” Her eyes flick up to the top of his head. “What’s with the weird lightning bolt in your hair?”

“Oh, this? It’s stylish, obviously,” he grins back, puffing his chest out proudly as he strokes the streak of black amongst his otherwise golden hair. He's glad she could tell it was a lightning bolt. The symbol had kind of become his signature ever since he had chosen to specialize in lightning alchemy. Aside from that, a lot of his current outfit had been inspired by his Dad when he was around the same age. Denki had admired the all-black attire and more or less mirrored his outfit. With the addition of white lightning bolts. He wasn’t a fan of his father’s trademark red coat, though. Red had never really been his color.

She stares at the streak of hair, blinking incredulously. “...where did you say you were from, again?”

“I...didn’t?” Is his perturbed response, and she gives him a pointed look in return. “Oh. Resembool.”

“Ahhh, I see. Country boy, huh?”

“Excuse you.”

She shrugs. “I didn’t say that was a bad thing.”

"Oh. Uh..."

While he’s a bit surprised by this girl’s demeanor, there’s something about it he finds kind of charming. Of course, he’s quite the charmer himself. His Dad would probably be upset if he told him that hearing about the suave and popular with the ladies Flame-Alchemist-turned-Fuhrer Roy Mustang was what inspired him to go into alchemy in the first place, but that’s at least partially true. Denki clears his throat and attempts to make his voice sound deeper. “So it seems you know a bit about me now, and I hardly know your name. The law of equivalent exchange would dictate that—”

“Ahhh, you’re one of them,” she says, fingers pensively at her chin, seemingly unaffected by his attempt at flirting. Evidently she gets where he’s coming from, but he’s not sure what her disposition towards alchemists is based on that reaction. Still, he’s glad when she extends her hand to him. “I’m Kyouka Jirou.”

He blinks back stupidly before extending his own hand to shake hers. “Denki Elric.”

“Oh!” Her eyes widen as she draws her hand back and gives him another once over. “You’re an Elric? As in, Edward Elric?”

He grins. “Yup! I’m his son! So you’ve heard of me, then?”

“Something like that,” she chuckles, then mumbles under her breath, “More like, that explains why you’re so short.”

“HEY!”

She waves her hands in front of her. “Sorry, sorry, I’ll stop now.” She clears her throat. “Your family is close to Fuhrer Mustang’s, right? I’m good friends with his daughter so I’ve spent quite some time at their place. The name Elric comes up from time to time.”

“Fuhrer’s daughter...you mean Momo?” It’s a stupid question given Fuhrer Mustang only has one child, but it’s too late to take it back now. Luckily, this time she doesn’t respond with a sassy comeback.

“Yeah. You know her?” She asks, genuinely curious.

“Uh, yeah!” It’s been awhile since he’d last seen her but it was almost a given that the Elric family would visit the Fuhrer’s estate anytime they were in Central. He wasn’t sure if he could say he and Momo were friends, but they were on friendly terms, at least. He always tried his best not to make enemies out of anyone he met—his mother had always placed a lot of emphasis on that.

She leans back on the piano bench. “Wow. What a small world.”

They settle into a momentary silence that is just the slightest bit awkward. This time, he’s the one to break it.

“The music you were playing was really beautiful. I just wanted to tell you that.” In retrospect, he should’ve started this whole conversation off with that, but it’s too late to think about that now.

“Oh, uh…” For the first time since they started talking, she actually looks flustered. “Thanks, I guess…”

The look she gives him makes him feel slightly bolder. “May I listen to you play something?”

She swallows. “Well…”

“Whatever you want. Your favorite song or something,” he continues excitedly, then falters when she seems to shrink into herself. “O-or not! you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No it’s fine, just, uh...” She takes a deep breath and gracefully places her hands upon the keys, rolling her shoulders back. “Act like you’re not there.”

He’s...not really sure how to do that, but resolves to stand as still as possible as she presses down on the first note.

Miss Jirou starts off slowly, hesitantly, and Denki isn’t sure if that’s the nature of the piece she’s playing or her feelings about the current situation seeping into the keys. There is no sheet music in sight and part of him wonders if this is someone else’s work or something she composed herself. The tempo picks up as does the overall tone of the song, and he is once again blown away at how quickly her fingers fly across the keys yet maintains an air of gracefulness.

He gets so lost in the music that he just stands in stunned silence as she plays the last note. She looks up at him expectantly and he tilts his head to the side as he hums in approval. “That was great! Thanks for letting me listen.”

“Thanks for listening,” she says, looking away as her hand comes up to tug at the ends of her hair yet again. He notices the slight dusting of pink on her cheeks and feels heat rush to his own face. Denki looks away. Perhaps now would be a good time to make his exit.

“I have to head out, but uh...you said you spend a lot of time at the Mustang residence, right?” He smiles. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” she says, shoulders relaxing. “Yeah, maybe.”

He gives her a funny little half-bow. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Jirou.”

“Likewise,” she responds with a half-smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “And for future reference, Kyouka’s fine.”

He nods. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He gives a final wave. She returns her attention to the piano as he slowly makes his way to the front entrance, mind on the events that had just transpired more than his current destination. Luckily, he doesn’t do anything so stupid as tripping over one of the tables on the way there.

Denki pushes open the door, and is blinded by the brightness of the sun outside. He blinks repeatedly as his eyes adjust, searching for a familiar-looking tuft of dark blonde hair.

“Miss Jirou usually doesn’t play in front of strangers, y’know.”

He turns to find Uncle Jean leaning against the wall, lighter flicked open near the cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. The man gives him a curious look. “Sounds like it ended on a high note?”

Denki glances back into the bar and makes eye contact with Kyouka who had apparently just finished playing. She looks away, but he catches the smile playing at the edge of her lips, and feels his own face stretch into a grin.

“Yeah.”

#kamijirou #havolina #fma fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #denki kaminari #jirou kyouka #jean havoc #rebecca catalina #implied Royai #Mustang is Fuhrer

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