leon contemplates in the rain, ren finds a cat - and leon becomes a little more cheerful.
crossposted to ao3
It is pouring out, but his umbrella is folded by his side.
The heels of his boots splash the slightest bit into puddles, leaving splotches on his white clothing. There is something somber about the weather, air cold and crisp, water droplets pricking at his skin and hair, that makes him feel a little more exposed and a little bit melancholic.
"Oi! Leon!"
His head turns to see a redhead entering his field of view - the redhead (Suzugamori Ren, who else) is thoroughly drenched, water dripping from his hair, neither a jacket nor umbrella in sight. Despite sharing his appearance with a wet dog, he seems entirely content, even smiling into the storm.
“You’re gonna get soaked!”
“I could say the same about you,” Leon responds, giving the redhead a look-over before opening his mouth to speak again.
“Actually, you already are.”
Ren pouts childishly at that, crossing his arms, shivering, and promptly unfolding them.
“Why are you out in this?” he asks, soggy ponytail bobbing as he speaks.
“Why are you?”
“You first!”
Ren is a child, Leon thinks to himself - like that’s new news - but he resigns himself to being the first one to speak. It’s not like he has something to hide.
“I was just thinking.”
“Thinking, hm?”
The rain pattering sticks in his bangs, and he shakes his blond hair, spattering droplets on his white top. Momentarily, he contemplates opening his umbrella, but the icy prick of raindrops has an odd allure that holds him back.
“It’s your turn. Why are you out here?”
He dodges Ren’s question in that manner - Ren casts a look at Leon that Leon can’t quite read.
“I was going to the cardshop! But I got caught in this,” he says with a childish frown, like he really hadn’t seen how dark the sky had been all day (but then again, this is Suzugamori Ren.)
The downpour picks up.
Grimacing, Leon lifts up the umbrella, expanding it fully, raising the blue - and - white object over his head. Ren skitters over to Leon’s side and the latter raises the umbrella expectantly, eyebrow raised. Grinning, the redhead ducks under its cover, just barely managing to fit beside Leon under the small circle.
Leon opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by a vague exclamation from Ren (accompanied with excited pointing.) And then there is a hand on his arm and he is being dragged off, towards a side alley, and certainly not towards a cardshop.
It’s only a few steps before Leon sees what Ren is so verbal and excited about - a kitten, wet and curled up, shaking in the downpour.
“We can’t just leave it there!”
Ren has dashed out of the cover of the umbrella before Leon can respond, scooping up the black-and-white kit in his arms and then dashing back under the umbrella.
“I’m going to name it Phantom Blaster!”
“You - you’re keeping it? You don’t even know if it’s a stray.”
Ren’s cheeks puff out as he shifts position, putting a stray cat under his shirt. Leon briefly wonders exactly why he’s friends with this person again.
“Leon!”
The mentioned male sighs, shifting the umbrella in his hands to cover Ren and ‘Phantom Blaster’ more than himself.
“I’m just stating facts.”
Ren looks mildly offended, like Leon had just told him Shadow Paladin was the worst. Leon sighs again.
“Come on, let’s get him back to your place.”
The smile that lights up the other’s face is definitely worth all the prior events, Leon catches himself thinking. And shakes his head. And kills that thought immediately.
“You said you were thinking, earlier,” says Ren as they walk. Leon supposes it is supposed to be serious, but with Ren trying to contain a squirming cat under his shirt it comes off as anything but.
“Yes.”
“About what?”
Leon pauses, both in speech and in step - Ren nearly stumbles out from the safe haven the umbrella provides.
“Things. The past.”
The past is something he does not like to remember. He’s made too many mistakes too many sins, irredeemable choices - and he wouldn’t change them, either.
However, apparently his response isn’t satisfactory, as Ren frowns at it, looking out from under the umbrella to watch the rain fall down. Leon’s gaze follows.
“Don’t go getting all sad on me, y’hear?”
Leon blinks. Ren turns and grins, arms still wrapped awkwardly around his shirt. The rain falling on their umbrella fills the silence.
“Let’s hurry out of this,” is all Leon has to reply with.
“Leon.”
The seriousness in Ren’s tone seems like too much of a change in the whole mood.
“It’s okay.”
The assurance in Ren’s voice fills Leon with a belief - yes, it is alright. Shifting the umbrella in his grasp, Leon continues walking, Ren stumbling a few steps after him.
“What kind of name is ‘Phantom Blaster’ for a cat, anyway?”
“What would you name a cat?”
“Hm...Maelstrom, I suppose?”
“So you’d do the same thing as me!”
Yes, Leon thinks with a glance at the boy at his side, who’s smirking as if he’d won a great victory.
chung trinity - eco has an embarrassing family, to say the least. characters belong to aoidimitri and tsunderelen as well as myself.
word count - ???
basically, crackfic.
"So, did you get laid yet?"
You nearly choke on a spoonful of cereal as those words fill the air - across the table, your older brother looks at you expectantly, blue eyes evenly matching yours as your little brother tugs your sleeve.
"Eco-nii, Eco-nii, what's getting laid?"
You lower your arm and gently pry your younger brother from your sleeve, looking down into his green eyes (but not before you shoot a glare across the table at Orion, who's obviously trying not to burst into laughter).
"You're too young for that," you tell Lance, patting his head gently, "you'll know when you're older."
"He's ten, Eco."
"He's still a kid!" you protest, and then go to examining your cereal like it's a scientific discovery. Stir the milk. Watch it turn pink. Your cereal is probably soggy now. But pink milk looks cool.
"Eco."
"Orion," you reply, poking at a piece of cereal and not moving your head up.
"Aoi and Len - they're your friends, right?"
"Yeah!"
"Just friends?"
You groan, dropping your spoon back into your cereal bowl. Lance has left the room - you hear his voice in the other room and you guess he's probably talking to Aoi and Len. But you're stuck in a more incriminating situation.
"Maybe. Maybe not."
"I know you're gay as hell, lil brother. I thought I raised you better than to just let some hot men slip by you."
"Orion!" you protest, face cherry red.
"It's a simple question," he replies, spreading out his hands as you look up.
"Did you fuck, or not?"
You mumble something incomprehensible and pour your cereal milk into the sink, staring wistfully at the pink milk. And it had looked so cute! You're about to give your brother the answer of 'no' when you hear your brother's voice from the other room.
"Aoi-nii, Len-nii, what's 'getting laid'? Eco-nii and Orion-nii won't tell me but Orion-nii says you and Eco-"
You drop your cereal bowl on the floor with a loud crash that fills the house and cuts off your brother. You're sure your face is an incriminating shade of red by now, and in the other room you hear your… partners, if you will, stumbling for words.
"Nothing!" you shout, stepping past your older brother (who's laughing himself to tears) to get to the broom closet. You should've never introduced them to your family! Broom in hand, you return to the kitchen to clean up the mess.
Aoi and Len follow you into the kitchen, as if trying to escape from Lance (who's presently latched himself onto Aoi's leg - he may be ten, but in size he looks about seven). Orion's eyes gaze over the two, and you shoot a glare in your brother's direction. They are not open for him to hit on, thank you very much.
"Oi, Aoi, Len-"
The two turn and you wince. Your brother has snagged them in his trap. You pretend to have not heard anything and busy yourself with sweeping up the shards of the cereal bowl.
"You guys with my brother?"
Spluttering noises from both of them fill the room - they've always been more open about each other than with you - and neither of them speak.
You decide that having your boyfriends 'meet the family' is quite possibly the worst idea you've ever had.
The Ace of Cups may indicate a need to let your feelings flow freely, whether this is expressing your love for another of letting your tears out.
wordcount - 1627
There is a boy laying alone in his bed.
He is no different from a hundred, a thousand, a million other little boys - but there is something that calls your wandering soul to him, and you settle down onto the foot of his bed, not quite there, billions of particles wreathed in ethereal light. He cannot see you - you are used to this - but his shuddering, sobbing figure settles down, as if he can feel the warmth from your soul. You smile, a quiet hum coming from you as you brush back the hair on his forehead in a parental sort of way (he looks shocked and momentarily alarmed and you wonder if that was a mistake.)
"What's your name?" you ask him - and then regret it, because there's no way he can hear you or respond -
"J…Julius."
He speaks with a shaky movement of his gold-maned head, as if he isn't sure if he should trust you; then it hits you and you look at him, mouth agape.
"You can hear me?"
"Well, y-you're right here, that's not odd…"
You think to protest - it is! You are a god, wavelengths above human perception; and yet he speaks to you as if you were kindred spirits.
“Would you like me to tell you a story, young one?”
He - Julius - sniffles and nods, pulls up the blankets to his chin, and looks at you expectantly. You sigh, looking down at such a despairing face, so young and innocent, and yet so sorrowful.
“You have endured much hardship.”
You stretch out your palm, press it to his forehead, and a silver glow envelops you both; you are flooded with a wanting, a wish for something, someone too far gone and too far out of your reach, and you recoil back with a pang in your heart that isn’t yours.
“Close your eyes.”
He nods and shuts his eyes, clinging tightly to the blankets as if they were a lifeline. And as he lays there, you begin to speak.
“Once upon a time,” you begin (that’s how human stories begin, right?), “there was a lonely angel.
This lonely angel tried to carry everything on his own. He believed that all the hardships of the world were his fault and his burden to bear, and thus he continued through his life, heartbroken and waterlogged.
However, there was another angel that found him. This angel was young and innocent, but they could see the suffering in the other angel’s eyes. The older, sadder angel denied the younger one’s presence at first, but the small angel made its way into his heart.
And thus, the older angel learned to share his burdens and learned to smile once again.”
You’re bad at this, you realize as the words stumble from your lips; you can’t make these kinds of things up on the spot, obviously. But there are no longer tears falling from Julius’ cheeks, and he seems more in thought than in despair.
“Did the older angel...did he love the other angel?”
The question catches you off guard.
“Why, yes, I suppose.”
“I bet he would’ve been sad again if his friend died.”
The words are morbid, even for someone eternal as yourself; even moreso when the one that speaks them can’t be older than seven years of age. You don’t know how to respond, and the air is filled with silence that hangs for a few moments before a quiet snore enters your ears. Upon a glance, you discern the child is asleep, and you regard him with a smile for a moment.
Then you disappear into moonlight.
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
You watch him after that.
Perhaps it is irresponsible - you are a god, you have duties and choices and so much more - but this child that you protected that one moonlit night fascinates you. His wishes reach you, stronger than any humans’ you’ve ever felt, a simple but strong want for something that you cannot grant.
You do not make yourself known to him after that for what is (probably) years, but you protect him in the odd ways you can, grant his wish when he asks the air to let him pass a math test, sing to him as he sleeps.
He has nightmares, you notice on a night when wishes are scarce and thus so are your duties. You perch on his bedside, watching his eyebrows furrow and his body toss and turn, fitful and nerve-wracked. It is not your duty, nor your job (you are the god of wishes not of sleep), but you feel an obligation, a pull, to reach out to him - and that you do, pressing an ethereal hand to his forehead, soothing his thoughts with all you can - changing the horrors in his dream to his wishes.
He does not wake up, but his face relaxes.
Some part of you wants to speak to him, but you should not disturb him - humans need their sleep - and so you settle for keeping watch over him until the sun rises and you return to your home amongst the stars.
You are surrounded by stardust and yet it lacks the comfort it should hold.
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
There is a fourteen year old boy.
He sits alone in his room, scrawling lividly in a journal, drawing a picture of someone, something - that something is you. You watch him from the stars, seeing his hands form your face with lines and charcoal.
And then, you are no longer in the stars and his notebook clatters to the floor.
“Y-you!” he calls out, almost accusingly, and you settle beside him.
“Julius,” you respond, stiff and polite as always.
“Where the hell were you?!”
You recoil, flinching back as the boy looks at you with tears welling in his brown eyes. You’ve been there, haven’t you? At his side for seven years -
“I thought I went crazy, dammit! No one believed me that you existed and you disappeared for seven years! Seven years!”
“Is that...long?”
Julius blinks at you.
“You really don’t get it, do you?”
You shake your head.
“I am sorry. I.. I do not quite understand years in the same way as you, I think.”
He sighs and settles back against his pillows, looking at you with a mixture of contempt and kindness.
“I have not forgotten you, though - I have protected you from those nightmares you have, of their..untimely demise.”
“..thanks.”
You shift position at the foot of his bed. He turns his head away from you, and then looks at you.
“What’s your name?”
“I do not have a name.”
He chuckles.
“Well, how’m I supposed to talk to you? I have to call you something.”
“Antimony.”
“I thought you didn’t have a name?” he says with an eyebrow raised.
“I do not. But when I am referred to, I am referred to as such.”
“That’s a name, dumbass!”
You shake your head at those words, looking on the human with a small smile. There is something about him that is perfect, more perfect than you, and something about him that makes you wish.
“Antimony?”
His voice sounds seven again, a little bit afraid, and a little bit nervous.
“Can you stay here tonight?”
You nod solemnly to him, drifting off his bed to pick up his sketchbook and set it on his bedside table before returning to your perch at the foot of his bed.
When he awakes, you have faded away, leaving only a strip of silver fabric weaved from fallen galaxies behind.
()()()()()()()()()()()()
You watch him tie the silver band around his wrist.
He does not forget you - there are notes to you beside his bed, notebooks full of your face, and something beautiful and broken in all of these things. You collect them all, holding the mortal things in immortal hands, and wonder how long you’ll outlive them - outlive him.
But there is no time for dwelling on these things, and you have wishes to grant.
()()()()()()()()()()()()
There is an eighteen year old boy.
He sleeps peacefully, and he does not wish for anything. Perhaps that is what calls you to him again - that change, the change from longing to nothing. This time, you think, will be your last visit.
You place a hand on his head and speak, as if he can hear you, although you are sure he cannot.
“Once upon a time,” you begin, words choking in your throat - “there was a god who fell in love with a human.
This god was foolish - they were immortal, after all, and the human boy would grow and change and eventually perish. But they would not, and they watched over him for years. When he spoke to them, they were surprised, but he held their attention, and they followed him and loved him. However, he was never to know, and as he grew older, the god feared the boy would no longer be able to speak to him.
Eventually, the god knew the boy would grow old and stop being the person they loved.”
You are choking on your words - and this is ridiculous, you are immortal and transcendental.
“So they thought it would be better if the boy forgot them.”
You bite your lip. Your hand shakes as you press it to the boy’s forehead.
“Sleep well, Julius.”
The room glows silver and then you are no longer there, you are home, surrounded by nebulas and thousands of wishes.
A wake of stardust falls from your eyes.
()()()()()()()()()()()()
An eighteen year old boy wakes up.
Around his neck, there is a bottle - filled with silver and all sorts of colors, wrapping around each other, and he feel as if it full of stardust.
about four months old - also posted to fictionpress
wordcount - 525
the apocalypse isn't like you'd think.
when I was eleven, the world was ending.
it wasn’t like it is in books. the sky didn’t crumble, the people weren’t screaming, and the land didn’t topple into fire and brimstone. it was subtle and calm, almost as if nothing was happening; “freak storm set to hit new england” the weather reporter said one day, a smile on her face as if nothing was wrong. at the time I had tugged my mother’s sleeve, “we should evacuate”, “it’ll be fine, dear, you’re overly paranoid.”
so went my eleventh year of life, full of freak storms and floods, and never once did we move. our house flooded, one time, and me and my brother and my mother all sat in the attic, clutching pictures and food and waiting for it to end. there were snowstorms in summer and blazing temperatures in winter, and all the while my mother deceived herself, deceived my brother, that all was fine.
there were less liquor bottles around the house at the end of that year.
when I was twelve, the sickness came. “the sickness”, they called it on the news, “but don’t worry, it can be easily treated,” they lied. but no one panicked. not my mother or my sensible older brother or the people down the street, just went about their life like nothing was wrong. I sat in my room and trembled and breathed through a surgical mask, while the news reporter talked about the “small number of casualties” (lies, i’d done my research, i’d contacted friends around the globe; people were dying fast and they couldn’t fight it as it came).
“mom, I think the world is ending,” I said one night over dinner, a dinner that seemed all too typical.
“you’re being paranoid, chris,” she said in reply, twirling her spaghetti around her fork.
“isn’t that right, nate?”
“mhm,” my brother had said with a glazed look in his eyes, and that was when I excused myself from the table and put my surgical mask back on.
when I was twelve, I lost my family.
my mother believed the lies about the sickness and took my brother to the hospital and stayed with him. they both got it, so sick, and I didn’t dare visit them. I spent the days twining my golden locks into braids, untying them, and then eventually lopping my hair off altogether. eventually, the blonde dye faded too, and I stepped from being a sheltered girl to a rough and wild short haired orphan.
I didn’t cry.
there wasn’t time for tears. the streets were deserted, but I never removed my surgical mask.
when I was thirteen, I took to carrying a gun.
the automatic gun was heavy and awkward in my hands, at first, but I learned to use it. to protect what food I could scavenge on this dying planet, to protect myself. people offered to work with me; every time I refused. all I needed, I had. myself, my dog; a skinny husky that I had found about to be turned into food by some starving people.
by the time I was fourteen, I had survived the apocalypse.
oc ?? sort of notes. for my own reference tbh pls don't reblog
as his void counterpart, eco retains the same happy and smiling personality. however, he's forced himself to smile and laugh through so much he's lost touch with who he really is to the point where he can't stop smiling. he doesn't understand if he's sad or happy or angry, he's just..numb. and void. he doesn't have the same romantic feelings for aoi and len as he's lost touch with himself and shoved his feelings away because he viewed them as a problem, burying them under himself. if you ask him how he feels about something chances are all you'll get is lies. all of it.
but he can't stop. it's like he's addicting to lying and hiding because he's lost, he's void, without this wall he's built up.
Imagine Person B of your OTP ready to confess their feelings for person A after being friends for long time. When they meet, person A is eager to say something too and interrupts person B’s confession saying happily that they are dating someone. Person B smiles, but is heartbroken. When person A asks what person B was going to say, person B shakes their head and looks away, lying. What happens next is up to you.
You may seem strong, but it has taken you a long time to gather up courage.
If there’s one thing you’re horrible with, it’s emotions; you hide behind a grin, a laugh, a turn of your head, and ignore how you really feel - so, in a way, you suppose it wasn’t really the courage you needed, but rather, the ability to stop ignoring yourself. You tried hard, for so long, hiding the flutters in your chest and laughing nervously as they spoke to each other in words that the hatred was thinning in.
You’d never admit it, but you had been jealous at those times.
Extremely jealous, and more than a little unhappy, pouring through you and cutting at your heart. That was really what had made you accept your own feelings, wasn’t it, the fact that you couldn’t hold that feeling inside any longer? And yet, you have no other choice to say something, despite how much you hate it.
You are nervous, however, stamping the heels of your white shoes in the dust and watching the small clouds form as you grip a crown of flowers in your hand. Your free hand fiddles with your reddish hair, brushing over freckles as you push the strands from your eyes. It’ll be fine, you tell yourself, of course it will be, why wouldn’t it be - and yet the nagging doubt doesn’t leave you.
“Eco? Are you waiting for someone?”
“Ah - Aoi-san! That is, um, well, sort of?” you offer these words with a tilt of your head and a far-too-large smile. His face drops a little.
“Something wrong?”
“Of course not!”
“Well, I was looking for you! I wanted to tell you something!”
“I wanted to tell you something too - oh, but what is it?” you ask, unable to put your own feelings before him, even now.
“It’s sorta embarrassing, but…” the blond scratches the back of his neck.
“Len and I have been sort of on and off for a while, but we’ve decided to finally date!”
Your eyes widen.
Your lip trembles.
You drop the flower crown into the dust.
“-are you okay? Eco? What was it you wanted to tell me?”
His words blow past you as you take a step back, grinding the flower crown into the dusty ground with your heels.
“Eco?”
“It was nothing!” you reply with a faux grin, tilting your head away from him.
“Are you sure?”
But your face is a porcelain mask, not revealing anything besides a crooked smile painted on by worn feelings. Perfect blue eyes, complemented by the smile that doesn’t quite meet them.
“I’m sure!”
He makes a sort of sad smile at you, like he knows you’re hiding - and really, you both know that you’re hiding.
how many words have affected you, dear, pouring off your poised fingers, like tears or raindrops, maybe both when they say that words don't hurt, i don't think they've felt a word, really felt it a lingering pain "disappointment" "worthless" "stupid" like you're not good, never were good, were you, dear but it's all alright now, in my arms and no one will speak these things, and if they do, there will be no one to hear.
i. I walk, day to day, wondering which smiles are fake and which glowing ":)" hides a tearstained face. ii. I sleep, every night, worrying about those I love and wondering if they worry about me. iii. I smile, when I wake up and then I wonder who didn't wake up who isn't smiling and I frown. iv. I cry, when I go to sleep and then I remember people love me and we live in an imperfect world and I smile. v. I live, every day and I love every day and sometimes my steps falter and sometimes I cry but that is life and I am content.
germansingergirl
theartofmadeline
dailybridgerton
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