Really. Random. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. There are a lot of quotes in the dialogue that will be distinguished by italics. This isn't angst, but it's not really fluff either, so be warned. This is supposed to be a RusAme human AU, because RusAme. But America is Nyo and I changed her appearance, age, and name for reasons that are going to be explained in the text.
Disclaimer: Dark topics. Don't own Hetalia. I think that's it.
Свет во тьме - The Light in the Darkness
"I am more of a beast than human,
more drunk than sober,
more of anarchy than order,
more of a scoundrel than a saint,
more of a fallen than an angel,
but she loved all of my darkness
and so I gave her what's left of my light."
- Daniel Saint
The first time that Ivan saw her, she was in a library, standing up and reading a black book, and he thought that she was gorgeous.
A face lacking glasses, short, dark brown (almost black) hair streaked with purple and a few meager streaks of blue at the ends cutting off just below her chin, pale skin, gorgeous Prussian blue eyes, a few meager freckles dotting the space of her nose and cheekbones. A navy blue, strappy bandeau crop top a shade lighter than her eyes, a black, velvety-looking skater skirt, a World War II bomber jacket tied haphazardly around her waist. Dark tights, lace-up heels, jangly silver bracelets, silver rings, stone-studded vine earrings, a black tattoo choker necklace- she fascinated Ivan from the first glance.
She wore her darkness like some girls wear a little black dress.
Knowing someone was staring, she looked up to meet his gaze and smiled almost dangerously, her dark, matte, burgundy-lipsticked lips peeling over her white teeth as she cocked her head to the side, her jewelry dangling and clinking.
"Do you have a problem, sir?" Her voice was high, lilting, smooth as her dark eyes flickered.
Ivan shook his head.
"No."
He paused, and his heart thumped
"What's that you're reading?"
She introduced herself heartily, eyes a mask.
"A book. The name's Ashlynn. Ashlynn Matea Jones. Friends call me Ash, Lynn, Ashy when they're being drunk or annoying, or sometimes even Ashley for whatever the reason... so you can call me Ashlynn."
Ivan choked back a chortle before introducing himself.
"Ivan. Ivan Braginski."
She scanned his face.
"Russian? Nice."
There was a shroud of darkness surrounding her, Ivan noticed.
And so their friendship began.
. . .
Ashlynn and her friends could really drink. He had thought nothing of it when she had texted him, inviting him to go out drinking with her friends, and had tagged along. Now, Ivan was quietly sitting in the bar with them, nursing a glass of Vodka, wordlessly observing their faces, picking up on their names, and any other bits of trivia that he could gather.
There was Gilbert Beilschmidt, white-haired, reddish-purpley-eyed, and loudmouthed, chugging one glass of beer after another.
After that there was Lovina, dark-haired and hazel-eyed, who rambled to Ashlynn while drinking her wine.
Ashlynn herself was drinking moonshine, half-heartedly listening to her friend's rambling while also zoning out at the same time, mystery and upset laced in her eyes. Her phone buzzed and she looked down at her pocket in a start before she picked it up and answered it, her friend's eyes on her.
"Why are you calling me right now? It's literally eleven at night where I am in New York right now. That translates into... what, five in the morning in the Netherlands?"
There was a silence before Ashlynn snorted.
"Lars, since when. You've literally never been an early riser."
There was another hushed murmur before Ashlynn sighed in response.
"Lars, it's eleven at night where I am right now and I'm out drinking in a bar with my friends. If this is work-related, shoot. If you're wasting my time, you're dead."
The phone whispered again.
Ashlynn dropped her face into her hands.
"I thought that we were done with this case...?"
The phone seemed to sigh.
"Fine. Okay. Bye."
She hung up, before grabbing her purse.
"I've got to go. Lars just called me and told me that some work that I thought I'd finished is apparently not finished and I need to finish it and send it in as soon as humanly possible."
Her friends regarded her silently and concernedly before Lovina spoke up, her Italian accent laced with worry.
"Be careful, Ash. It's dark out now and you really don't want to..."
Ashlynn cut in calmly. "It's fine. I've got my keys and I'm smart enough to avoid guys in unmarked white vans."
Ivan finished his glass and stood up.
"I'll walk you home."
Ashlynn nodded silently and turned, walking out of the bar, Ivan following her close behind.
The two walked silently to her house. Everyone passed around them, not daring to touch the girl for fear of the imposing man beside her. Once they had reached her house and stood on the doorstep of her NYC apartment, Ashlynn turned to face him.
She hesitantly regarded him, seeming to consider something, before she leaned upwards and kissed his lips. He stood in shock for a minute before he leaned into it, accepting the hesitantly-given kiss. She reached up and twined her arms around his neck, pulling him further into the searing exchange, before they broke away, breathless.
"I've really got to go now." She turned around, unlocked her door, and turned to face him one last time to wave before disappearing into the house, the door closing fast behind her.
The dark shroud seemingly cloaking her shoulders disappeared with her.
. . .
Ashlynn and Ivan silently read in Ashlynn's library for a full few hours before Ivan spoke.
"I love someone."
"Oh really. Is that so?" She turned another page.
"Mmhmm." Ivan grinned before continuing.
"I saw her stunning eyes, a sight so peaceful. I was forced to forget her ruining lies. Even her scent is that beautiful: worth a lifetime of cries."
Ashlynn looked up, her lips twitching.
"She was beautiful, but she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful."
"Devastating?" Ashlynn interjected, looked thoroughly amused. "Oh, please do elaborate."
Ivan nodded. "Oh, she is devastating. Her smile is a funeral. All the boys and girls crumble like Rome for her."
"She wore her troubled past like scars - she had been through battle and though no one could see her demons, they could see the face that conquered them."
He took a deep breath and continued. "She has twisted, dark, and painful stories crammed between the cracks in her heart. Stay with her and listen, she's worth it."
Ashlynn's mahogany-lipsticked lips twitched.
"And why is that?" She indulged, prodding him with her foot.
"Because everything she does comes from within. From some dark impulse. I guess that's what makes her so thrilling to watch. So dangerous. Even perfect at times, but also so damn destructive."
"She's a tornado with pretty eyes and a heartbeat."
He grinned.
"She was chaos and beauty intertwined. A tornado of roses from divine."
Ivan took another deep breath before finishing. "She is delightfully chaotic; a beautiful mess. Loving her is a splendid adventure."
"Those are all quotes."
"Yep." Ivan nodded.
"And who's this lucky lady?" She pursed her lips, trying to stifle a grin and failing.
"You."
"Is that so?"
"Yep."
"Huh." She set her book down, walked over to Ivan, and pulled him up so that he faced her before she leaned up to him.
"You're right. She does have twisted, dark, and painful stories crammed between the cracks of her head." She grinned wickedly.
"I'll warn you. Damaged people are dangerous. They know how to make Hell feel like home."
Ivan softly laughed. "I know that firsthand."
Ashlynn nodded. "Good. The strongest drug for a human is another human being."
Ivan traded another smile, acknowledging her statement. "I also know that on a firsthand basis."
"There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights."
She leaned further upwards to whisper in his ear.
"I hope you do stay and listen." Her lips moved.
"I truly do hope that she's worth it."
The shroud of darkness lingered.
. . .
Ashlynn and Ivan lay up on the hilltop, staring at the darkening sky.
"...why'd you drive us out of the city, maybe even out of the state, to take me here?" Ivan glanced at Ashlynn, who stared fixated at the sky before she hushed him.
"Shush. You'll see soon."
There was a silence.
"If we're waiting, I must ask you this."
"Shoot."
"What broke you?"
Ashlynn turned her head to stare at Ivan, fixation broken, typically mysterious eyes now open and wide and confused.
"What?"
Ivan repeated himself.
"What broke you? What happened? What screwed you up so bad, emotionally and mentally, that caused you to be like this? Sure, you'll joke about them, but you never seriously talk about your feelings and you push people away when they specifically ask. You push kind people away and you let negative people in, God knows that I've met what you call friends. Lovina badmouths everything and Gilbert... well... is Gilbert. You don't open up, and you don't let people in to try and love or care about you. What happened to you? There's constantly this shroud of darkness around you, covering you, suffocating yo-"
"Shut up. Also, please don't badmouth my friends. Just because the majority of them are loudmouthed and brash doesn't mean that they're bad people. I'm the same and you don't judge me or badmouth me to my face. Besides, they could be much, much, much worse. There's a damn good reason why I cut off all contact to my old friends from my old hometown, and that's because while they didn't badmouth me to my face, all I got from them was pity. Pity for everything that I failed in, pity for my family, pity for me. Purely disgusting pity. Toxic people for me, really."
Ivan fell silent, worrying that he pushed her too far. They both stared at the sky.
"Beautiful colors are rare. Justice is never fair. Love is only fate. Solitude is never great."
Ivan looked to Ashlynn. "What did you say?"
She sighed quietly, barely perceptibly. "Just a quote."
There was a silence that lasted for minutes before Ashlynn broke it.
"The Hell started," she began, "when I was nineteen. I was still in university." Her eyes were milky, unreadable.
"Growing up, I had two loving fathers and a twin brother. I was the only girl in the family. I loved them." Her voice cracked, and she paused for a second.
"We were happy. We were so happy. I was a happy, pastelly child. Everything was pretty, bright, colorful. I painted the walls with words and splashed them with colorful adjectives. I wrote. Words would spill out from my ink, and I'd craft them into gorgeous stories that my brother would illustrate for. I'd write, he'd draw. We continued doing this throughout our childhood, throughout our teenage years. Together we created thousands upon thousands of stories both long and short. Then the Hell began." Her voice shook.
"Our fathers and my brother got into a terrible, terrible, terrible argument. My brother and I had both gone to university, but my brother wasn't happy. He dropped out to join the military. When my brother told our fathers this, that he had dropped out to join the military and he got in, they went ballistic. They were furious, told him that he was wasting his life by doing this. They were worried. They didn't want him to go, to put his life in harm's way. And he- my loving, kind, quiet, calm, passive twin yelled right back. He was upset that they weren't respecting his life choices. He moved out that day.
Eventually, he was deployed into combat. Our parents were sick with worry. I wrote to him constantly. I still have our letters. And then-" She choked on her words, shaking. "he died." She let out a large sob.
"It was during winter break. I was at home working when I had felt something distinctly wrong. I felt sick to my stomach, and although my intuition told me that something had gone wrong, my mind- my then still hoping, praying mind, hushed it, told it that it was being paranoid. Days later, the doorbell rang. I answered it. It was a man in uniform, holding a letter and a box in his hands, a sorrowful look on his face. I knew instantly- instantly what had happened, and I fell to the floor sobbing. My fathers came up behind me and had paled, and the man said the worst words that I have ever heard in my life- 'I regret to inform you that your son has died in combat.'" He turned to me, giving the letter and the box to me and told me that my brother wanted me to have this. He then left. I opened it, and inside it was all of the letters that I had sent him, a few unopened letters that my fathers had sent him, a few old things of his that he had brought, and his old stuffed bear that he had named Kumajirou when he was a kid but constantly forgot the name of.
I can't remember a lot after that because the memories are foggy, but I remember days of crying. Going into his room- much of his old furniture was still there- and curling up on his bed under the covers. Violently cursing the gunman who had shot my brother through the heart. Clawing at my own arms, screaming. Screaming to the heavens. Not eating. Not really drinking that much either. I can't remember what our fathers did but I remember hearing the sounds of broken weeping seeping out through their door. When the winter break ended, I didn't go back to school for a long while, and when I did, I wasn't motivated. I was barely functioning. People pitied me. I hated it. When the ceremony- when a soldier dies, their family is presented with a folded American flag- came around, I remember numbly leaving my classes early to go to it, and one of my fathers- my papa- not being there because he couldn't handle it. I was the one who took the flag numbly, shakily. Father was sobbing. The rest of it is a blur. I resumed my classes, barely feeling anything."
Ashlynn took a deep, hiccupping breath.
"Time passed. And passed. And passed. When I was twenty, my papa had a heart attack and passed away and my father-" She choked again, her body wracked with sobs. Not bearing to finish that whole part of the story, she cut it short. "he died soon after." Ivan rubbed her shoulder.
"I couldn't stand it anymore. I absolutely couldn't stand it. I finished university- I somehow managed to graduate- but when I went home, to the home that was alive and bustling for my entire life, the home where I wrote stories that my brother illustrated, the home where papa would cook and father would work- was dead. Empty. My bedroom was still full of decorations from my childhood. I'd curl up on my bed and wouldn't move. I had a Master of the Arts degree that I had intended to use for to bolstering my writing career but now laid idle and pointless as I had lost all passion for the profession. I lost my job. All my friends showed me was pity: pure, unadulterated, loathsome pity. And then I received the letter. I was, to put it frankly, depressed and wholly immersed in such a kind of self-loathing denial that was unprecedented for me." She took a big, deep breath.
"Throughout my childhood, I always had one grandparent. Father and his family had strained relations, and I had never met them. But papa- his father was still alive. I had met him a few times, all of which when I was a small, small child. He had passed away, and because I was the last surviving member of my family, I was the heir to his things. He had left to me the apartment in New York where I currently live and his old possessions."
"I now had two homes. And because I couldn't stand to stay in my old childhood home any longer, I moved to New York City. Seizing the opportunity, I started this new life. I adopted a different persona. I changed my style. I changed my behavior. I dyed my hair. I started using contact lenses. I started wearing my grandfather's old bomber jacket from when he fought in World War II. Despite me no longer having the will for maintaining a career in writing, I still wrote but changed my technique. My topics were darker. I applied my personal loss to it."
"I got into astronomy, rocket science, and space, and I somehow got a job working for NASA despite my poor performance at my last job and my lacking an actual degree in science, although I do think that the main reason why I got the had something to do with the fact that my grandfather had a friend who'd worked there before retiring that vouched for me."
"I still own my old house- I'll never be able to sell it no matter how empty it is because of nostalgia- but I haven't visited it since I moved. I haven't seen any of my childhood friends since I moved and I have no intention to do so. I started over here in New York City as the rough-and-tumble girl with a dark sense of a humor and an even darker attitude. No more good-girl, just me. The last thing I did before I was satisfied with the changes was change my name." Her voice cracked again.
There was a resounding silence.
"What was your name before?"
Ashlynn took a deep breath.
"Amelia Foster Kirkland."
"So you changed it to Ashlynn Matea Jones?"
She nodded.
"The one part of my past that I did want to keep was my brother. His name was Matthew, so I changed my middle name to a feminine version of it. And when the memories got too bad, I'd come out here to stargaze, something that I didn't have the patience for when I was a kid but I sorely wish that I did because Mattie loved doing it."
Ivan was silent before he softly spoke.
"You still dream about the people lost in your memory, fabricated by your nostalgia and romanticised by your broken heart."
Ashlynn looked up at him before murmuring, "Maybe I'll become a beautiful monster. A heartless creature. A Goddess of pain. Maybe then the emptiness of this bullet hole, they left in my chest, will finally make some sense."
Silence resonated before Ashlynn broke it. "Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody."
Ivan spoke.
"When I was a child, my family moved around a lot because of their jobs. We spent a lot of time alternating between living in Ukraine, Belarus, and Russia. Actually, it was for this reason that while I was born in Russia, my older sister was born in Ukraine while my youngest sister was born in Belarus. Anyway, between moving around our childhoods were pretty rough. My younger sister never really had the chance to make too many friends, so she clung to me."
"One day, my older sister disappeared. She left to go to her part-time job, and she never came back. We never found out what happened to her, but it was assumed that she had likely died. Her body was never recovered. My younger sister committed suicide. Our family broke apart. My parents got divorced. No one was talking to anyone. Eventually, I became sick and tired of it all. I moved here and haven't spoken to them since.
They both were silent.
Ashlynn spat to the side, then spoke bitterly. "Hell sent us the most evil disease and we humans called it 'love'".
"So bright the flames burned in our hearts that we found each other in the dark," Ivan murmured. "Lying here, in the dark, the thoughts and visions of you come strongest. I give in to them, always, in hope it will fuel a dream... a chance to be with you."
Ashlynn looked up at him and tried to crack a feeble joke. "Are you drunk?"
Ivan smiled faintly. "A sea of whiskey couldn't intoxicate me as much as a drop of you." He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. "I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul."
The stars came out, the constellations winking at them.
"Look," Ashlynn pointed, speaking softly. "the shroud has lifted."
A/N: I think that it's worth mentioning that this is actually a random little one-shot that I wrote over Christmas break that I never got around to publishing because life caught up with me. Also, I didn't have much time to edit this so I apologize for the crappy editing.
For those of you who are waiting for me to update my long-running stories, I apologize for the lack of updates recently. I recently had a huge test that I had spent a lot of time preparing for, and I've had a lot of homework lately, not to mention that my incredibly bad mental health and insomniac habits, tendency to push myself to the brink of insanity, and panic-attack proneness have all caught up with me as of late so I've had to deal with that. I'm going to try and not go into a full-on hiatus and update soon, but we'll see. Lots of apologies coming from this sad little teen on the Internet.
Please remember to review!
And here come the quotes:
"She wore her darkness like some girls wear a little black dress." -JW
"I saw her stunning eyes, a sight so peaceful. I was forced to forget her ruining lies. Even her scent is that beautiful: worth a lifetime of cries." -Parth
"She was beautiful, but she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful." -Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett
"Oh, she is devastating. Her smile is a funeral. All the boys and girls crumble like Rome for her." -Erin Van Vuren
"She wore her troubled past like scars - she had been through battle and though no one could see her demons, they could see the face that conquered them." -Atticus
"She has twisted, dark, and painful stories crammed between the cracks in her heart. Stay with her and listen, she's worth it." -T.H. Sin
"Because everything she does comes from within. From some dark impulse. I guess that's what makes her so thrilling to watch. So dangerous. Even perfect at times, but also so damn destructive." -Unknown
"She's a tornado with pretty eyes and a heartbeat." -Unknown
"She was chaos and beauty intertwined. A tornado of roses from divine." -Shakieb Orgunwall
"She is delightfully chaotic; a beautiful mess. Loving her is a splendid adventure." -Steve Maraboli
"Damaged people are dangerous. They know how to make Hell feel like home." -Unknown
"The strongest drug for a human is another human being." -Unknown
"There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights." -Bram Stoker
"Beautiful colors are rare. Justice is never fair. Love is only fate. Solitude is never great." -Parth
"You still dream about the people lost in your memory, fabricated by your nostalgia and romanticised by your broken heart." -Unknown
"Maybe I'll become a beautiful monster. A heartless creature. A Goddess of pain. Maybe then the emptiness of this bullet hole, they left in my chest, will finally make some sense." -Veronika Jensen
"Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody." - Mark Twain
"Hell sent us the most evil disease and we humans called it 'love'". -Conny Cernik
"So bright the flames burned in our hearts that we found each other in the dark." -Dallas Green
"Lying here, in the dark, the thoughts and visions of you come strongest. I give in to them, always, in hope it will fuel a dream... a chance to be with you." -QR
"A sea of whiskey couldn't intoxicate me as much as a drop of you." -JS Parker
"I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul." -Pablo Neruda