This is just a collection of little drabbles and one shots about Beast Boy and Raven :) I don't know how many I'll upload, or when I will get around to writing them. Highschool is tough, man gotta roll with it you feel
Anyways, Some of these will be based on songs, and some of them are just plain little stufflings that come to me in the night so I can write it on a sticky note and upload it the next day.
So, I've rated this K+, but some of these will probably maneuver themselves up to T... I'll warn you when that happens. For now, I think we're safe.
Scars on her fingers traced by red and brown told that she had been reading a stiff new novel, and the pages were as unbreakable as her demeanor. They were browned by age, despite the recent printing of the book. (Only from 1936? Why did she keep such modern tales?) Tea didn't help the condition. You might ask about the scars. The fresh new cuts, and the dried blood in a streak with the width of a single hair. They were paper cuts, of course, from her beloved books. They loved tearing her up, apart, wearing her down, bringing her guard up, letting her confidence down. But she loved them to bits, and nothing would stop the red and brown from pouring through her skin, every day, rampaging with two pairs of glowing red eyes and a maliciously evil grin, tearing her up, apart, wearing her down...
"Please stop," she said.
"Stop what?" He knew exactly what was wished to stop. "It's not like these boring old books do anything fun. Look at your hands! Look at all these scars. They really pack a punch for something so old, and dusty, and moldy, and-"
She was gone with a flourish of her cloak, darker than ever, reddening at the edges. He was finished with his deed for the day.
The next day, the scars were gone, and her hands were a clean slate for more works of painful, unnoticed works of art. Of course they were unnoticed, her lackadaisical façade bore no attention to herself, and only when she spilled the teeniest drop of her nightly calming lemon tea on her right index finger, did she pay any attention. (She paid attention to her favorite mug that lay in pieces on the floor, dropped by her fast recoil as well)
Sighing did no help, but he did. He swept right over, picked up the pieces, carted them to his room, and in 15 minutes, he presented her mug back to her. She looked at it. It seemed in perfect condition... No wait. There was a spiderweb of cracks along the surface, tainting the sheen white of the veneer.
"Sorry I couldn't cover up the breaks. There's only so much glue can do..." He trailed off with a sheepish chuckle. She took the mug in her hands and smiled, even if it didn't show on her lips.
"It's fine, thank you."
"You know, in a way, it kind of reminds me of you. And your hands. Covered in all those little scars. I mean sure, you can cover them up, but they're never really gone- because they happened. When something happens, it never leaves, no matter how much you try to mask it." He said.
She looked up.