#a piece falling into place to complete a picture I'm not familiar with.

[al-the-remix]

Random fandom thoughts/feelings

The reblog button is turned off on this post but I think it's another incredibly important one to be thinking about. I enjoy their framing of how the profit economy of other social media sites has been bleeding into fandom spaces on both tumblr, and like this post focuses on, Ao3. It's something that I've been noticing more and more and it really rubs me the wrong way and I feel like OP's post words it perfectly in a way I've been struggling to express.

This sort of connects the previous post I reblogged on the topic talking about how fandom is not a good in road for becoming internet famous.

A facet of this that's really bamboozled me recently is that I feel like i've been seeing more and more of is the idea that a singular person has a right to call "dibs" on a specific piece of media. Which is honestly totally fucking wild to me and if I'm being totally frank kind of dumb.

Every single one of us who interacts with fandom and by extent and IP is flirting with copy right law, the consequences of which everyone should be extremely familiar with by now with the fall of LJ and various lawsuits by authors, dmca notices, etc.

We have all heard the adage "there's no such thing as an original idea"; the idea that everything we create is the amalgamation of all the things that influence us, good and bad.

This is totally normal and good, actually.

For example, if I and another person both watch a TV show, see a production photograph that we really like and decide to draw it and post them one after the other it would be considered extremely bad behaviour to then turn around and make a big stink about how someone else had the gall to turn around and draw the same thing that I did. We can all look at a picture, video, lyrics to a song, become inspired and create something wildly different based on our tastes and influences--but we also are equally, if not more so, likely to create something nearly identical to our peers, especially in a fandom space where ideas are concentrated and we are all consuming each other's thoughts, opinions, and creations. More than once I've come up with an idea for a fic or a drawing that someone else had had a nearly identical execution of without us communicating or viewing each other's work. That's just the way the human brain works, we're hard wired to make connections in a fairly similar way.

You do not have a right to call dibs on any one photograph, clip of video, song lyrics or any other bit of media you might consume.

This stands for artists, writers, gif makers, AMV creators, and any other way you choose to express your love of fandom creatively.

If you are really hard pressed to focus on the numbers and work at being ~influential~ the burden is on you to distinguish yourself creatively.

There's a reason why not being able to see follower counts is so important to the way fandom and tumblr functions. The concept of ~small creators~ and ~big creators~ or BNF or whatever are all burdens you place on yourselves. No one is taking anything away from you by engaging with the same bit of media you are in a similar way. We all have a right to express ourselves creatively and emotionally through any snippet of media that sparks our interest. You do not get to "own it" just because you happened to pump something out first. There are no creative "dibs". This isn't even some sort of "fandom" etiquette thing that has gone thus unspoken. It's a strange possessive thing that I've seen crop up more and more as the idea of being a capital "C" Creator brain rots people's minds and atrophies their ability to be creative.

Sort of on a tangent, but I have a bunch of other personal random thoughts about how this push to be prolific stagnates fandom, but these are more complicated for me and I'm not as clear on how I want to express them. On one had I am completely on board with the "there is no such thing as cringe" mindset and that everyone has a right to create whatever super indulgent thing they want to without having to suffer people being snobby about it. But, on the other hand I feel very strongly that the cycle of people seeing one trope or characterization being repeated repeated over and over and gaining popularity, reading only that--writing only that--leading others to also only consume that, really stymies creativity and makes it harder to grow the fandom if people that are trying to enter aren't into That One Thing, while also ostracizing people who are already in the fandom that aren't into That One Thing. I strongly believe that people's tastes are at least 70% just what they're exposed to, and obviously not everyone is going to be into whatever weird niche concept they're exposed to through fandom, but the more they are the more opportunity they have to expand that horizon. I don't know how many times I've gotten a version of the "I wasn't sure I would like this but I gave it a shot and it turns out I really love it!" and how good that feels and how much I wish other people were emboldened to do the same instead of being so wrapped up in how their work may or may not be received.

This is mostly a subjective thing though, so it's less cut and dry. Like for example, I really struggle with engaging with transgender fic despite being transgender myself because of the way most AFAB fic is written to the point where I avoid it now almost entirely. Which, frankly, really fucking sucks but also I will be the first person to fight for other's ability to write transgender characters wether they appeal my personal feelings and taste or not.

Anyway, this is one of the reasons I'm so protective of fandom community events, especially ones that employ aspects of the fandom gift economy such as exchanges. There are one of the few wholly un self-centred places left where the focus is on gifting someone something they will love and giving back to the fandom at large by flooding it with art and opportunities appreciation and engagement with each other. It is not supposed to be an opportunity for you to think about yourself and "getting something good" in return or using it a convenient deadline. It also offers you an opportunity to engage with fic tropes and genres that you've never considered writing or reading before.

TL;DR if you've found yourself recently squabbling over how many notes your gifs, art, writing, etc. has been getting compared to other people instead of focusing on forging community ties and your own creative expression, I'm sorry to say you're doing it wrong.

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

i'm just a kid (i know that's it's not fair)

cw. olnf week 2024, pre!release, pre!relationship, step 2, day 2

pairing. sparkling leaves

notes. day 2 of @olnfweek2024. i actually hard a hard time picking between these two prompts so i used a wheel generator and sick days won so here we go. who said the interpretation of 'sick' had to be in the literal sense?

I’m sick of being a kid.

When Nyla was 10, she thought life would be one big adventure when she moved to a small town in Oregon.

At 14, reality has since set there’s little action to be found in the sleepy town of Golden Grove. 

Golden Grove is fine on the best of days.

When I was a kid, I thought I’d travel to the end of the forest. Mom’s rules be damned, one day she’d go further beyond the forest she ever thought possible and find something amazing. The grand adventure never came. Common sense and the desire to avoid being grounded would win and Nyla stayed on the beaten path.

It’s not that she hates Golden Grove. Far from it. But it’s hard to appreciate the location when Tamarack isn’t in it. Or to be more precise, when Tamarack is with her parents far from it. That has Nyla rolling around her bed anxiously.

Frederick and Nichole Baumann throw everything off whenever they visit.

Typically around this time, Tamarack’s cello fills the air as she practices a piece and Nyla listens cheerily from her room.

Typically around this time, they do homework together at the Baumann family dinner table.

Typically around this time, it isn’t strange if the two of them decide to head The Diner Table and share a stack of pancakes.

Maybe they’ll even feed pigeons at the park or walk through the forest they love so much behind their homes.

Instead of either of those scenarios, Tamarack is visiting her parents in Corvallis and there’s little Nyla can do about that.

“I’m sick of being a kid,” Nyla murmurs aloud even if she knows that will do little for her predicament. Allowances aren’t consistent in her house and with an education focused parent like hers, she’s too young for a job. Kids in the shows she watched always have some larger than life quest they embark on. In reality, kids her age have little to show for the emotional toils they bear.

If they were adults, Frederick and Nichole would have little impact over their lives.

If they were adults, no one would be in control of where they lived or where they went.

All of those decisions would be entirely up to the two of them.

Until then, Nyla O. and Tamarack Baumann’s lives are completely up to the whims of their parents. It’s just an overnight visit though, Tamarack’ll be back tomorrow. At least she’s supposed to; there’s nothing stopping her parents from deciding that visit becomes permanent.

.

“How was big city living?” Nyla asks with a lazy smile from her side of the booth. It’s the next day and Tamarack has returned from limbo and they are celebrating with breakfast dinner at the Diner Table.

“It was okay,” despite how her eyebrows knit, Tamarack’s lips quirk into a small smile. “Mom said that if your mom’s okay with it, you can come with us next time.”

“Trying to get us used to those long distance sleepovers already, huh?” Nyla replies wryly. She regrets her comment immediately when Tamarack’s smile falls and her shoulders sag. “It was just a joke,” it wasn’t. “It’ll be fun hanging out with your parents. I’ll actually get to know them.”

Frederick and Nichole Baumann are anxiety-inducing anomalies in the peaceful life Nyla has built in Golden Grove. They are scholars first and foremost and that takes precedence over everything, even their own daughter to a considerable extent. That picture doesn’t leave much for a positive interpretation of their character even if their actions led to Nyla meeting their daughter in the first place. 

Frederick gave Tamarack her eyes, Nichole gave Tamarack her beauty.

Both of them have pieces of Tamarack you can pick out but none of those pieces come with the warm familiarity Tamarack offers.

“What if we run away?” Tamarack blinks in surprise at your sudden suggestion and you repeat yourself. “Let’s run away together. No parents, no Corvallis, just the two of us.” In this old booth in the furthest corner of The Diner Table, it’s easy to pretend you’re grownups living your adult lives.

Yusuf is busy chatting it up with a trucker passing through the town.

A couple of vaguely familiar faces from Riverview rowdily discuss the most recent episode of Glee.

A trio of aunties dressed in faux fur coats and silver rings on their fingers enjoy their steak dinners and wine.

Who’s to say Nyla and Tamarack aren’t two women enjoying their time together before they hop into their car and drive to their shared home? 

They’ll own their two cats and Nyla will feed them dinner while Tamarack practices her cello one last time for the night. Then they’ll go to bed in the same house and in the same bed, not having to worry about whether or not Tamarack will be taken away. The idea warms Nyla’s chest even if reality dictates neither of them have cars, nor do they know how to drive. “We take off and get our own place.”

“No one’s going to rent out to kids,” Tamarack tells you pointedly but the smile on her face is genuine and she seems lighter.

“We’ll just live like Snufkin then,” Nyla raises her eyebrows playfully and Tamarack giggles at the display. It sounds like music. “We’ve already got the forest. We might as well start acting like we live in Moominvalley. I’ll build us a house and everything.”

“How are we gonna make money?” Tamarack asks incredulously.

We’ll live in a cabin in the woods, how much money could we need? They could grow a garden and rely on that for everything we need. Knowing some money would be helpful for the few times they would go into town, however, Nyla is quick to offer a solution, “you can play music.” Tamarack’s a genius at the cello, there’s no way she wouldn’t make money performing. “And we both know I’m gonna be a super rich novelist, we’re probably gonna move into a house before we know it after my first book deal.”

“You’re crazy,” Tamarack’s shoulders shake in her amusement and she’s grinning widely. When she smiles like that, Tamarack feels more like her 10 year old self. The version of herself that had all of the world’s confidence in one body. There are many times you wish the people of Golden Grove could see it but you can’t deny feeling special it is something reserved for you. 

Tamarack Baumann is special, she always has been.

It doesn’t matter if she’s a wild child throwing paper airplanes at strangers or the shy but determined teenager she’s grown into.

“Crazy about you,” Nyla agrees easily.

Rosy pink dusts Tamarack’s cheek at the admission, red eyes darting away in flustered satisfaction. Or maybe that’s what Nyla hopes from the way Tamarack’s lips curl into a small smile and her fingers fiddle with her napkin. A beat later, it’s Nyla’s turn to nearly jump out her skin as she feels Tamarack’s leg brush against hers under the table.

It’s rare Tamarack is this forward, not the way she used to be. Before teenage insecurities and anxieties settled in along with the impermanence of her placement in Golden Grove. Nyla likes Tamarack, Tamarack likes her. At least, moments like these tell Nyla Tamarack likes her just like how she liked Nyla when they were 10. It’s a fine line neither of them are quite ready to cross yet, but for now it’s fine.

“It’ll be fine, we'd work it out somehow,” Nyla ignores the heat of her face in favor of bravado and moves both her legs forward to twine around her best friend’s. “Just trust me,” she jabs her fork into their shared pancake stack. “My ideas are only bad 30% of the time.”

Tamarack’s cheeks are a deeper red. “Yeah,” she nods, dreamy and wistful. “Only 30%.”

[fayrinferno]

The (printed) collection

From time to time I get a question like, "do you have this or that book?" So, a few weeks back, I finally took them all out of their hiding place and grabbed some photos. Wish I had used my camera instead of phone, I had to stand on a chair to get it all and yeah, the picture is not the sharpest.

Anyway, I have some other stuff, figures and such, although I admittedly DO focus more on books as an artist/writer/translator. These books are the ones I translate from so I wasn't going for mint conditions, although a few of them are. You can see some of them still packed in the store bags. I included the CDs cause... well, they were next to the books and they do have some printed material as well.

The Shiren Suiki book gets a separate photo cause after taking the photos at home I realized I had left it at work when I scanned it... practically crying as I did cause it was barely opened when I bought it and it's a beautiful book. My Anvils are also very fragile.

I may do a complete list one day but for now, here are the quick descriptions.

ARTBOOKS & FANBOOKS I have pretty much all of the major official books I think, missing maybe 1-2 pieces. The one that may look less familiar is Hiroshi Osaka's personal artbook. I also have four of the relevant Nobuteru Yuuki artbooks. The bottom right one with the orange title is the issue of Newtype Magazine with a feature about Esca.

SMALLER BOOKS (let's pretend that's a category) Here I got all the novels (they are out of their sleeves cause I was working on them), all the filmbooks, Secrets of Escaflowne, Escaflowne Bible, and the Energist Memories manga/doujin collection.

DOUJINSHI I was mostly going for stuff I haven't seen online so I only got a handful. Besides the Shiren Suiki book, there are three Minato Tajima doujins (one of them is racy heh but I'm not hiding that I have it). One of the other doujins may look unfamiliar; it's a compilation book that includes other series (the character on the cover is from DN Angel). People who talk to me on Discord probably recognize the Nanoka doujinshi cover.

CDs AND THE LIKE I don't have all the soundtracks for some reason, probably cause I thought the missing ones wouldn't be hard to get. The PSX game is the special edition with the tarot cards. The LDs that I literally bought just for the covers and inlays. I also have all the audio dramas, some CDs with extras... and a phone card that was for some reason packed in a CD case lol (kidding, it's precious that they would give it that kind of protection). Oh, and there are two movie posters which I guess don't fall under either category.

I have some other stuff that is kinda related to Esca "by association" such as by artist or things that "looked similar" but I didn't include them. Also the figures. I may update this post with those but this is the brunt of it. I will be posting some goodies from these soon!

Same goes for the ongoing translations that I've been doing updates on in this post. Life is too short to delay them for months and years because of perfectionism, or rather, being self conscious about one's imperfect language skills. I am thankful to everyone who has helped me so far, proofreading my translations (coverteyes, pikafwance, sevenstars, and radical-rad1986)... I'm not tagging you guys but know that I'm VERY grateful, also to the other people who are helping me with other projects). I always had fun working together with you but it's no longer sustainable and I likely bit off more than I can chew. So I will get myself out of the way. There are two books that are almost complete as of today so I will just probably go chapter by chapter. I hope to be done with this asap but also December is a busy month for me so I'm not sure how smoothly it will go. Let's hope it does.

[xxlady-lunaxx]

I'm just like you, Nee-san! | {SaneGiyuu}

Theme: Angst mostly I think

Note: Slightly gore-y at the beginning but the descriptions aren't explicit so dw :33 If I could handle it than it's prolly fine!! (I hate gore sm!! Can't stand it yet I write it sometimes)

Major spoilers!! DKT! 

The picture makes Giyuu look so majestic (i mean he already is but even more so yk)

Giyuu's eyes sparkled as he watched Tsutako smooth out her dress.

"Nee-San! Nee-San, I'm going to be like you!" he said giddly. "I'm going to grow up like you and be really nice! And then—and then I'm going to find a boyfriend and marry him!"

"Oh really?" Tsutako teased. "A boyfriend?"

Giyuu nodded, then paused. "Should I have... a girlfriend?" he wondered. 

Tsutako shook her head. "Either one will be fit to you! I'm sure girls and boys would be falling on their knees for such an adorable Giyuu," she said, laughing. 

Giyuu smiled bashfully. "Well... more so for you, Nee-San!" 

Tsutako knelt down and hugged him. "You're the best person in the world, Giyuu."

He flushed. Tsutako complimented him ceaselessly but he always was unsure how to take them, embarrassed. "You!!" he shot back. 

She pulled away and booped his nose. "I'm sure you'll be an amazing person, 'Yuu. You already are so wonderful." 

Giyuu smiled brightly. "Can I help you pick out more flowers for your wedding?"

"That's so random!" she laughed. "But alright, why don't we go out tonight? The moon will be beautiful."

He nodded. "Okay!"

~~~

Tsutako held his hand tightly as they made their way back home. They'd been out longer than she had anticipated and she wanted them home soon given that her wedding would be tomorrow and she didn't want them both tired.

They entered the house and she had a strange feeling that something was off.

The door hadn't been locked.

Hurridly, Tsutako whispered, "Giyuu, go to our room and hide. We're going to uh.. surprise our visitor! Okay? Here, take the flowers. I'll be right there."

Giyuu nodded, confused but obeying, for he trusted Tsutako with his life. He hid under the bed, thinking that they would jump out on her fiancé (whom he assumed was the 'visitor') and scare him for fun. They often played around like this before and Giyuu loved amusing himself with these antics.

He heard Tsutako saying something from the room over as he slipped under the blankets of the futon and made himself appear to be a pile of pillows.

He heard her scream and at first mistakened it for one of surprise because she hadn't hid in time, but then he heard a note of panic in it. The door opened ever so slightly and Giyuu peeked out, confused. He looked right as a fast-moving figure slammed his sister against the wall.

Tsutako screamed again, pain lacing her voice and cracking it to pieces. Blood spilled out of her and Giyuu barely stopped himself from shouting out. He shut his eyes tight as the other figure beat her to death. Giyuu shook under the blanket, pale and terrified.

The figure left, then, and Giyuu waited a few minute in complete silence except for the light dripping of blood. When he was sure the other person was gone, the young boy stood and rushed out.

All the blood drained from his face as he saw his sister, not even recognizable, plastered all over the room. Some of her limbs were missing and blood painted the walls a deep, terrifying red.

Giyuu let out a choked sob and fell to his knees weakly. Why... Why had this happened... 

He didn't know what happened after that. He vaguely remembered someone coming by to see what was all this noise. He thought it was Tsutako's fiancé but he couldn't bring himself to think about her. He thought that perhaps something had happened and he'd explained everything but he only knew that now everyone was shouting at him, calling him dislusional and stupid. 

Giyuu found himself in a house he recognised but didn't know how to place it. Then he heard a voice calling his name. A familiar one.

"Giyuu!" the voice said. "Come here, you need to eat."

Not wanting to eat but knowing it was impolite to not respond, Giyuu stumbled towards the voice and into the room. A man stood there. He looked kind and sad. Familiar.

"Who are you?" Giyuu mumbled. He realized he didn't want to know the answer, though. But why?"

"Uhm.." The man looked confused for a second, then his expression softened in a bit of realization. Giyuu was going through a hard time, it was only normal for him to be a bit weary of everyone. "Your sister's fian-" 

Before he could finish, Giyuu's eyes snapped open and he turned abruptly and ran off, not wanting him to finish. He didn't want to be near this man. He didn't like it. This man had something to do with her. He would only make it worse, he would make him remember.

Giyuu ran for a long time, he didn't know how long or how far. He stopped only to take a breath, his legs weak with exhaustion. He breathed quickly, trying to calm his heart, and he panted pitifully. He sunk down into a crouch and looked around, resting his elbows on his knees to give him more balance.

To his relief, he didn't recognise this place. It must've been far from... there. Anywhere he knew would only bring back painful memories.

Giyuu sat back onto the grass and closed his eyes, leaning back. He would stay here for some time. 

And he did.

He fell asleep.

When he woke up the sky was already darkening and there was a person standing above him. Someone with a red tengu mask. Giyuu jolted up, confused. 

"Who are you..?" he whispered.

"Sakonji Urokodaki. What are you doing out here by yourself? It's dangerous," the man said, helping Giyuu stand.

"I... ran away?" Giyuu said tentatively, unsure what to say to that.

"Well, bad things can happen to children who run away. Why did you come all the way out here? There aren't many houses nearby," Urokodaki said quietly.

"Bad things already happened to me. I don't care." Giyuu crossed his arms and looked away.

Urokodaki paused and seemed to think about something. "Did a demon attack you?"

"A demon?" Giyuu asked, giving him a strange look. 

"Or not, sorry, I heard something about it a woman dying by a demon and decided to see what this was all about."

Giyuu flinched. "My... someone... died." He looked down, willing the tears not to come. No. He'd come here to escape the memories, not relieve them.

Urokodaki's posture seemed to soften and he crouched down to Giyuu's level. "Hey, do you have anyone to care for you?" he asked slowly. "I train people to become demon slayers, to rid of the demons who make the world horrible by killing our loved ones."

Giyuu looked up. Become a demon slayer, hm? If he did, could he... help people like Tsu-... like she did? Like she had done right up to her death..? He nodded carefully. He could be a wonderful person for her. He would save people because she had saved him. "Okay. I want to become a demon slayer."

Urokodaki nodded as well. "How old are you?" 

"Twelve..." Giyuu mumbled. Perhaps because he was so young that he wouldn't be allowed.

"I have another young boy your age I'm training at the moment. His name is Sabito. Would you like to meet him?" Urokodaki asked.

"Okay..." 

"You don't have anyone caring for you now, I take it?" the trainer asked as he stood.

"No." Her fiancé didn't count. He was... not an option. He would only remind Giyuu of her. 

"Alright. Let's go."

~~~

Years past in a blur. Sabito, the boy Giyuu had befriended, died a year later at Final Selection. It was horrible and it brought Giyuu into a daze, but he had to get back up. He had to save people like Tsutako had done. Like Sabito as well.

It was necessary. Something he felt would redeem all the times he'd been saved. 

Giyuu trained ceaselessly, pushing himself past his limits.

He became a Hashira.

He didn't know how, he didn't feel as though he deserved this title, but he had to do it. He couldn't back down.

And then... something happened.

He happened.

Sanemi.

Sanemi was rash and arrogant, the Wind Hashira. He was... beautiful. Giyuu loved him. 

In the past, Giyuu had thought about marrying. Finding a lover and marrying them. He'd told this to Tsutako. Well, he thought, here was the lover.

And what came after that? He'd said something about wanting to grow up like Tsutako and marry someone... 

Only one more step to that.

Of course, if Giyuu lived to see a day he could actually marry peacefully.

He wasn't all too hopeful on that, deciding there was no point on hoping for something so absurd.

And yet... 

~~~

Sanemi and Giyuu grew closer, surprisingly, despite their extreme differences. All of the Hashira were having a hard time believing it—including the two themself—but none of them were complaining. 

They ended up dating and Giyuu felt himself want to hope for the best for the future. He wanted to think that it would all be alright. He wanted to wish for a time when he could marry Sanemi. Where he could be happy.

But he forgot. He forgot one thing.

He wanted so much to be like Tsutako, he'd been striving to be as much as like her as he could.

He wanted to be kind like her, to help people his whole life and save other's. He wanted to find someone to love and to love him, to grow with him and to live with them to the end. 

But he forgot one thing about Tsutako. He forgot that she had died before she married. He forgot that she hadn't actually married yet.

Giyuu had fought Muzan and his Akaza and all the other demons that had been put out there for them in the Infinity fortress. And now... it was over.

Muzan was... dead. He was dead.

Giyuu found Sanemi amongst those who had survived. Unfortunately, Sanemi wasn't in a good shape. And yet, there was still hope. He was still alive.

"Sanemi," Giyuu whispered, placing his remaning hand on his lover's chest. 

Sanemi opened his eyes slightly and gave Giyuu a small smile. "Told you we'd get through it."

Giyuu practically laughed in happiness, tears springing to his eyes. "I love you," he said. "I'm glad you're alive."

"Yes, now we're going to marry and then live—actually live," Sanemi said, referring to the plans Giyuu had spoke to him before about. 

They'd agreed to marry when it was all over. If it ended. If not, then when they retired. It could've taken decades but luckily, they'd made it through. 

Giyuu got up and said, quietly, "I'm going to check on Tanjiro, alright? I'll be back."

"Mhm." Sanemi gave him what appeared to be a nod and Giyuu turned and left, looking for the Kamado he hoped was alive.

But... he wasn't.

Giyuu had failed.

He'd wanted to be like Tsutako, yet no matter how hard he tried, people died one after the other. 

Tanjiro was dead.

Giyuu sank to his knees and tried not to cry, bringing his head against Tanjiro's. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

Tanjiro looked up. 

Giyuu blinked.

The Kakushi around them moved, confused.

And suddenly, Tanjiro brought his arm up, moving as if to kill the Kakushi.

Giyuu moved instinctively, pushing the Kakushi out of the way.

"Tanjiro..?" he said.

The boy looked at him. Only, he was no longer the boy Giyuu knew. He was a demon.

"No!" Giyuu shouted. "Move. Move!" 

The Kakushi were confused, unsure what was happening.

Giyuu darted forward, knocking the Kakushi away from Tanjiro's attacks. 

"He's a demon! Anyone who can still fight! Please assist!" Giyuu shouted towards the direction of the others.

He heard people start to come around, but he didn't wait to see if they would come. Giyuu pinned Tanjiro down, trying to burn him in the sun. 

Why? Why did this keep happening?!

He saw Inosuke and Zenitsu move over and start fighting.

Inosuke hesitate and Tanjiro nearly killed him if it weren't for Nezuko moving in front.

"No! Nezuko! Don't do that!" Giyuu and Zenitsu shouted almost in unison.

Tanjiro wouldn't burn. He had resisted the sun.

Giyuu shoved Inosuke out of the way, not wanting him to die from Tanjiro. 

Nezuko was saying something to her brother, shouting. She blocked one of his attacks and Giyuu hurriedly slipped between Nezuko and pushed her onto Zenitsu, trusting him to care for her.

"Don't you dare hurt them," Giyuu said, his voice shaky. "Tanjiro! Come back! Come to your senses!"

Tanjiro looked at him with his blank, demonic eyes and plunged his hand into the Hashira's chest.

Giyuu let out a strangled scream and fell limp onto Tanjiro's arms.

Someone shouted and another darted forward, injecting Tanjiro with the last concoction to turn a demon back into a human. 

Both bodies fell onto the ground and Kanao lifted Tanjiro up and away, away from the person he'd just killed. 

Inosuke fell to the ground next to Giyuu's body and slowly turned him up, facing the sky.

"He died," Inosuke murmured.

Zenitsu nodded, leading Nezuko to her brother to save her from seeing the Hashira.

"He saved me," Inosuke said to himself, looking at his hands. "Tanjiro killed him."

~~~

When Tanjiro learned what had happened, he'd told them to kill him. He said that what he'd done couldn't be forgiven. 

But in the end, Tanjiro stayed alive.

When Sanemi was able to speak to him again, having been the closest to Giyuu out of anyone, had said that the guilt would be enough punishment. He said there was no use killing Tanjiro anyways since it would mean more bloodspill than necessary, and Giyuu had cared deeply for the boy and would've hated for something like that to happen.

Later, when Sanemi was allowed out, he made his trip first to Genya and Giyuu's graves. He had to see them.

First, he went to Genya's, sinking to his knees in prayer and apologizing to him. He left a couple flowers on the gravestone and moved on to Giyuu's.

When he got there, he stared at it for a long time, the shock still wearing him out to the bone. Then he bent down and placed a bunch of flowers on the stone. He sat down and placed his hands on his knees, looking down and closing his eyes. 

Why had Giyuu done that. Why had he let himself die...

"You wanted to be like her," Sanemi whispered finally. "Like your sister." He looked up, his eyes lingering on the words, "Giyuu Tomioka." 

"You said you would be like her... save people and then marry. You said she died before she married her fiancé. You are like her, Giyuu. Only, more so than you meant to be," Sanemi murmured, a sob lacing his voice. "Idiot. I wish you weren't. You should've lived. Why? Why'd you...

"Giyuu, I came here to tell you that living is going to be hell. More than before. Because you're gone. I loved you, Giyuu. I did. I do." Sanemi sighed and stood, looking one last time at the gravestone before turning away. "Goodbye. I'll see you soon."

{Word count: 2504}

I'm so proud of this. Why? I'm not sure, BUT I AM!!

Also,

i didn't swear ONCE in this whole thing :p 

I don't think hell counts anyways.. 

[aotdump]

Hopelessly Devoted

18+ Minors DNI

Various Characters---but if I'm being completely honest I’m def writing this picturing Zeke Yeager.

THIS IS NOT EDITED, SO THERE ARE PLENTY OF MISTAKES AND IT’S MY FIRST REAL WRITING PIECE PLZ BE KIND

---

When he looks back on his day with you, he was really surprised on how it turned out. Completely spontaneous, a day created out of boredom. It’s funny really, how today ended up to be a day that he will never forget. 

---

It started like any other Saturday. He wakes up just a few minutes earlier than you, though it's enough time to give him to admire your sleeping form and indulge in the quiet warmth that fills your shared bedroom. 

He pulls you closer to his bare chest with the arm that has gone just a bit numb from where you laid your head all night. He’s not complaining, he never would. Not when it’s you. 

Gentle kisses being placed on your shoulder stir you awake, his welcoming scent fills your nose, you smile. A scent that will always make you feel safe and at ease. Before you even open your eyes, you lift your arm just enough to cup his cheek and make your way up to run your fingers through his hair. 

“Good morning, angel.” He whispers, so gentle that goosebumps form on your skin.

---

From there the morning went as it usually does. You guys lay in bed for another fifteen, twenty minutes, wrapped in each others limbs and discussing any dreams you guys may have had.

You get up and get the shower going while he starts the pot of coffee. He grabs the towels, and you put toothpaste on his toothbrush. A daily routine that has occurred for so long that the air that surrounds you is sweet and domestic, he’s noticed.

While the water warms, he stands behind you in the mirror, tall figure towering over your own. You two brush your teeth and lock eyes in the mirror too many times to count because not having the glimpse of each other for just a few seconds feels like an eternity. It’s comedic really. He notices the frothy white grin you make when you catch him, he always does.

The shower is at a perfect temperature by the time you two step inside. He always lets you step under the water first, wanting you to enjoy the automatic relief it gives your muscles.

“How do you feel?” 

“Still a little sore, but it’s nothing too serious.” You reply sweetly. Your voice like honey.

He kisses your forehead, switching your positions. He notices the dark marks that adorned your neck, collar bones and breasts. Flashbacks of last night flood his brain. Your rising chest, labored breaths, and wanton moans--like scenes in a movie that he never wants to stop watching.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll be more gentle next time. I didn't mean to get so carried away last night.” He grins.

The giggle that leaves your mouth makes him fall in love all over again. “I wasn’t complaining, love.” The smile you two share is one that is familiar and full of adoration.

He bends down to give you a kiss, “Wash my hair for me?”

“Anything for you.”

---

By the time noon comes rolling around, you guys are completely bored. It’s been around an hour and a half of just cuddling and surfing the tv for a show to watch.

He’s playing with your hair when he says, “Love, I’m bored.”

“Me too, there’s nothing to watch.”

“We should go out today, how does a day date sound?”

You rise in excitement, squishing his cheeks until his lips pucker. You place a fat kiss on his lips. “That sounds fantastic.”

When you walk away, he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from you. It’s always been an issue, though you don’t seem to mind. He loves you, he loves looking at you. He never wants to miss a thing about you, wants to memorize every part of you that he may have never noticed before. He finds something new to love about you everyday, today, it was the way your eyes glossed in excitement. 

--- 

By the time you stepped out of the restroom, he was already done getting ready--thirty minutes earlier. But he didn't mind waiting, not when it comes to you. Easy conversation had filled the silence while he was sprawled on the bed while you were doing your makeup. 

The sound of the light switch filled his ears, “Okay, I’m ready.”

When you stepped out, he sat up and his breath was caught in his throat. Adorned in a white sundress, that fit your frame so well, it made his heart clench and his jeans uncomfortable. He notices the different items of gold jewelry he has gifted you over the five years you have spent together. Everything about you was angelic. You took his breath away.

“My beautiful girl,” he says while grabbing the left side of his chest and dramatically sighing and throwing himself on his back. “God, be still my heart.”

You laugh and walk in-between his legs, grabbing at his arms and lifting him up. “You’re so stupid.”

He lays his hand on your sides and looks up at you into your eyes, “I’m serious baby. You look stunning. I am so lucky.”

Your soft lips meet his, leaving a slight sheen on them. You move to his neck and inhale, the intoxicating smell of his cologne fills your nose and you place another soft kiss there. “Not as lucky as me.”

---

The day is spent doing all the things you guys have talked about doing, but never really had the time for it. 

He takes you to the quaint little restaurant that he recalled you wanting to go to for the past few months. Hand in hand you walk in and sit down. You sit across from him, reaching across the table and grabbing his hands while your foot rubs up and down his leg. A small effort of affection on your part that makes him feel warm inside. But, he has to admit. He hates not sitting next to you, but he hates not seeing your face even more. So, he’s alright with it for the mean time. Besides, his heights gives him the perfect view of your cleavage down your dress. You notice, of course, it’s not like he’s hiding it. 

You laugh and kick his leg gently, chuckling out a small, “Perv,” without even looking up from the menu.

He laughs with you, “I’m sorry, I can’t help myself.”

You squeeze his hand three times, he loves this restaurant now.

---

“That was delicious! Thank you!” You stand on your tippy toes to kiss his cheek, arm in arm. “What’s next?”

“Hmmm. Let’s go to the cherry blossom park, then after that new museum. How does that sound?”

“Sounds fantastic. I love you.”

He responds smoothly, “Not as much as I love you.”

You pinch his side, he loves that too.

---

He can't seem to stop taking pictures of you. Your being just far too beautiful to not capture. 

Tucked in a private corner of the park, laying on a blanket he had packed just in case, you look like a goddess. The early evening summer sun starting to go down casts a golden glow on you. It highlights the curves of your body, dress fitting so snug that he finds himself staring...again. You get up, soaking the sun up as much as you can before the season ends and the air turns frigid. With the way you’re sitting, hands behind your back, knees slightly raised, it makes the hem of your dress rise. Your thighs look soft, he wants to touch them, wants to taste them. He settles with playing with your hair, letting the soft strands fall between his fingers. 

He feels the four words dancing on his tongue, dying to escape his mouth. He fights it though, it’s not the right moment he decides.

The cherry blossoms are beautiful, but they don’t compare to you. Nothing will, he believes. Petals fall and get carried by the soft, warm breeze. They surround you guys entirely. It feels magical. Well, almost. He sneezes and your head quickly turns and eyebrows furrow. “Are your allergies acting up baby? Do you want to leave?”

He sneezes again. You think he’s so cute. “No baby, I’m fine. I know you love it here, we can stay a little while.”

“Nonsense. Let’s go.” You stand up and dust yourself off, offering a hand to your lover. He grabs it.

But, he takes his opportunity while still on the ground to flip your dress up to sneak a peak of the cute underwear you're wearing. 

You break out into a blush and laughter, you drop his hand leaving him to fall back onto the blanket. He joins in with your joy, a hearty laugh harmonizing with yours.

“Naughty boy! Help yourself up.” You joke.

“Clown underwear huh? How sexy.”

You laughter gets louder, he sneezes, “That’s what you get!” You reach out again and help him stand up.

“Let’s get out of here.” He folds the blanket and you take his hand, kissing it as if you were a gentleman in an old move.

The smiles on your faces are wide and true. He sneezes. You laugh. Cherry blossom petals blow, he sneezes again. He’s hates allergies, but he loves you. You love the cherry blossom park, so he does too. 

---

By the times you guys make it to the museum the sun has gone down and deep purples and blues fill the sky. 

The inside is extravagant, beautifully lit and incredibly romantic. 

“I’m so glad we finally made it here, you’ve been wanting to visit for so long.” You say and look up at him.

“I know, me too. There’s so much to see, we might be here for a while if that’s okay with you.” He’s giddy and excited, he’s doesn't feel the need to hide it. You're you and he’s him, there’s no side of him that he won’t show you.

“Baby, I don’t care if we’re here for years, as long as I'm with you I’m okay.” You reply as if he should’ve known. He does, but he likes hearing you say it.

“God, I’m so in love with you. Let’s go.”

Hours pass and people come and go around you guys. He loves it here you notice. You make a mental reminder to check up on the website for new exhibits to take him to. 

While reading the plaque next a painting, he's underneath a light that casts down a glow on him that makes him look holy. He looks peaceful and sacred. Butterflies fill your stomach and the need to get closer to him comes over you in a powerful wave.

Grabbing his arm, you pull him close, resting your head on his bicep. He notices you snake you hand under the hem of his shirt and rub his stomach softly. 

He knows you too well, all of your tells are seared into his brain. He notices the way you shift on your feet and gently squeeze your thighs together. What seals it all is the gentle, lingering kisses you’re leaving on his arm.

He quickly tugs your arm and leads you to a dimly lit hallway and pulls you into a deep and heated kiss that travels from your lips to your neck. 

Your breathing becomes labored, and a quiet moan slips from your mouth.

“You need me, don't you baby?” He whispers.

“Yes, please, yes.”  

He takes that and runs with it, “Let’s go home. As much as I love seeing you in this dress, I’ve been dying to take it off of you all fucking day.”

“But the exhibits.” You try to reason, even though you know what you really want.

At this point he’s been half hard all day, wanting to touch and ravage you from the second you stepped foot out of the bathroom. The exhibits are not his priority right now, you are. You always are. 

He leads your hand down to the front of his pants, you bite your lip and press your palm into it. 

He groans softly, and slowly slides his hand up your thigh and into your panties. He rubs your folds and dips in quickly. Wet, so so wet. You watch him bring his fingers to his lips and suck, groaning again at your taste.

“I need you so bad baby, I know you need me too. We’ll come back another time, but right now I just need to get you home.”

Yeah, he likes seeing the new exhibits at the museum, but he loves seeing you naked even more. You are the most beautiful, priceless piece of art he’s ever laid his eyes on.

---

When you guys reach the door to your home, he’s already unzipping your dress while you unbuckle his pants. Pushing you into the entry while shutting the door with his foot, he kisses you so passionately you forget how to breathe. 

His lips are soft and fit yours like a puzzle. You guys stumble down the hallway and into the bedroom. He lifts you up and on the bed, encasing you under his arms.

You grab his face and bring his lips to yours once more, the feeling of his tongue, the taste of him, makes you need more.

He rubs on your clit and you moan into his mouth, he smiles. He really, really loves that sound. 

You strip each other of your clothes, chest to chest. He rises and looks down on your blissed out form. Eyes hazy and blown out with lust. Picture perfect, he thinks. 

“God you are so gorgeous.”

You reach and stroke him and his head rolls back with a groan. “I think it’s you who is the gorgeous one.”

He blushes, he loves you. 

He takes his place between your thighs, inhaling your scent, taking a languid lick. “I’ve been waiting for this all day, you taste so, so good.”

He keeps up his actions and your fingers run through his hair while his pump into you while his tongue brings you to bliss.

Your moans fill his ears, he’s in heaven he thinks.

By the time you cum, he needs you more than ever. He finds his way up to kiss you, after his worships your sensitive nipples. He tastes like you. Your knees find their way pressed against your chest and he slowly rubs the tip of his painfully hard cock along your clit, right before he sinks into you slowly. 

You finally feel whole, he completes you. You love this feeling. 

---

When he cums, he cums inside. You wouldn't have it any other way. He loves watching it spill out of you, just for him to finger it back inside of your sensitive hole. What's left on his fingers, he sucks it off. He knows what’s coming, but it never fails to excite him. 

You reach up to his face and bring him close, opening your mouth. He slowly spits, letting the mixture of the both of your orgasms fall on your tongue. Your eyes roll back and fall close.

“Don’t swallow it yet.” He likes seeing the white substances on your tongue. He’s quick when he dives down to kiss you, tongues savoring the taste. 

It’s both of your favorite flavors.

---

You’re both cleaned up and tired. You’re occupied by the movie on the bedroom tv. The smell of your sex still fills the room, you smell like him and him you. You smell like each other, he loves it. He prefers for you to smell like him all the time. And god does he love when your scent lingers on him.

When he looks down on you, tucked into his side, he becomes overwhelmed. Completely devoured by the love and adoration he feels for you. The four words crawl back up his throat again, so he clears them out. 

He wants it to be perfect, but he can’t fight this feeling in his chest and the voice in his head that is telling him that the perfect time is now. That today is the day. It makes him want to cry and he feels it too. He’s anxious and he’s nervous, but not scared. Nor does he doubt this feeling, and would rather die before he gets the chance to second guess it. Because he knows, it’s you. It will always be you. 

Now is the time and his body acts on its own. Trusting completely in his heart, he moves.

“Baby,” he whispers, “Close your eyes for me, I have a surprise.”

You giggle and sit up with him and shut your eyes.

“No peaking okay love?”

“Okay.” 

He moves and goes into the closet on the tallest shelf where he knows you can’t reach and grabs the small velvet box that he’s had for three years. 

When he walks back out, your eyes are still closed and the both of you are still completely naked. Heads of hair disheveled. It’s funny, he thinks, having it play out this way. But, he wouldn't have it any other way either. 

“Don’t open them yet.”

“I promise they will stay closed.”

“Angel, sometimes when I look at you I get so overwhelmed. I love you so much that I don’t know what to do with all of it, so much that it terrifies me sometimes. I never would have thought to find the type of love that consumes you, let alone find love at all. But I did, and I found it with you. I knew that from the moment I met you, there wouldn't be a moment without you thereafter. All the love I thought I wasn’t capable of was being saved for you and words will never come close to explaining the gratitude I feel for you for accepting it. For accepting me.”

Your heart is racing a mile a minute and so is his, his eyes become glossy with tears, not afraid for you to see them. When he gets on one knee it feels like everything goes still.

“So, please baby,” A hand rubs your knee, as if a cue to open your eyes that are already wet. You’re already muttering a watery, “Yes, yes, yes!”

The four words finally escape him, free falling. 

“Will you marry me?”

---

EXTRA:::

You have your hand in the air, admiring your ring. It’s beautiful.

“How did you know my size?” You ask him.

He lets out a soft chuckle. “I had to wake up in the middle of the night while you were dead asleep and measure your finger with a string.”

You turn to smother his face in kisses, which he relishes in of course.

He thinks back to this morning. You two woke up as an ordinary couple, but are going to sleep as fiancés.

He’s happy.

[homicidal-slvt]

Puppeteer x Judge Angel’s sister reader. However, Judge Angels was aware of Puppeteer so she has to protect her sister. 🗡️

"His Little Doll"

-

The Puppeteer x Fem|Y/N

-

Warnings: Angst, Manipulation, Obsessive! Puppeteer, Arguing

-

Since the trauma you and your sister endured during childhood, she's always been very protective of you. She shields you from any and everyone she sees as unworthy.

This sometimes leads to arguments, as you're sick of her dictating who you can and can't see.

That's where Puppeteer comes into the picture, he has a deep fascination with you. From the moment he saw you show up that day with Angel, he knew you were the most precious doll he'd ever laid his eyes on.

Angel knew his reputation though, she knew he was bad news. He was known to be one of the more manipulative and cruel killers, so she of course didn't trust him around her sweet sister.

-

"Stop telling me what to do!!!"

"I'm trying to protect you!!!"

"I don't need it!!! We're both adults now!"

You were absolutely fuming as you were yet again dismissed by your sister, she meant well but it was too much. You wanted to make your own decisions about people without her scaring them off.

So, just to spite her- you decided to pay the most forbidden killer a visit.

That night when you showed up at his room, you wouldn't believe the pure thrill he felt. He didn't even hesitate to pull you inside by your wrist, so you spent the whole night talking to him.

-

"I can't believe you went behind my back and started seeing HIM of all people!!! Do you have any idea-"

You cut her off with a glare and searing words, they sank into her heart like a knife.

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT HES REALLY LIKE?!?"

You swiftly turned on your heel and left your sister there, she was fidgeting slightly. For once in her life she wasn't able to protect you, she couldn't stop you from making your own decisions, she was terrified of what the outcome may be.

-

"It hurts that she can't just trust my judgement..."

What started off as you just seeing him out of spite bloomed into a genuine interest in him. He always was there to listen to you, never once complaining and you did the same for him.

You just couldn't see the monster that everyone else claimed he was.

"She cares about you but you should live your own life. I'm sure she'll get used to it."

His words were sweet like honey, making you melt slightly. He had you exactly where he wanted you.

-

"Hey hey- what happened?"

You were stopped by the familiar voice of Puppeteer, he knew exactly what happened. He watched the whole thing unfold, though he put on his innocent act reserved specifically for you.

"Just... Another argument is all."

He opened his arms welcoming you into a tight hug, his skin was cool to the touch but also oddly soft.

"She really is unfair to you. Isn't she?"

He replied softly while stroking your hair, his master plan was working all the pieces falling perfectly into place.

It didn't matter how long it took or how much effort it took. He had decided for certain after that night you came to his door, that you were meant to be his. He was here for you and you were here for him, he wasn't letting anything take that away.

He was willing to urge you into severing ties with your own sister if she continued to be a problem to his dear little doll. He couldn't have you so upset now, could he? Absolutely not on his watch.

This was the beginning of something you were completely unaware of.

You were being comforted by a monster.

-

{I really went dark with this one- oops Lmao}

-

{More Content}

[railingsofsorrow]

Memories

[peter parker x reader]

summary: you find an old photo album. and some other things.

pairing: p.parker x fem!reader; h.osborn x fem!reader 

w.c: 3.7K

warnings/content: Angst™; description of headaches/migraines; mention of memory loss; a lot of crying & sadness & anger :) 

A/N: heavy chapter this one 🤭. good reading, i recommend tissues. ps: the title of this fic is finally making sense. next week i'll post the last one!

navi 

masterpost 

series masterlist 

[1] [1.2] [2] [3] [4]

❝ [...] autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place

and I can picture it

after all these days

and I know it's long gone,

and that magic is not here no more and I might be okay, but I'm not fine at all.❞

Footsteps approaching made you blink away to get out of your daydreaming again.  

“Found it,” Peter says, pulling a chair to sit beside you. He then sees you pressing your thumbs on your forehead, a crease between your eyebrows. His eyes soften slightly. “Headache?”  

You nod slowly, refraining from moving your head too much.  

Every time you had one of those... dreams, a migraine followed right after. It seemed to be getting worst day in and day out, you didn't know how to stop it. Although now, you were able to see small differences and you could almost grasp the voice. The boy's face still blurred, but his voice was starting to come alive in your head — like a word on the tip of the tongue that you can't recall for some reason.  

He's real. 

“Sorry, where were we again?” You straightened your back to promptly begin the assignment.  

Peter Parker and you were assigned to do a project together, about a week ago. You are the kind of person that likes to starts things and end them as soon as you can, leaving nothing uncompleted or done half-way. But Peter had a lot of things to commit to this week. And every other week, apparently, because he always leaves classes abruptly. You keep saying it's none of your business. Because it is none of your business. You barely know him and you two aren't exactly friends — university colleagues, maybe — but seeing him arrive occasionally with a busted lip or a purple eye makes you want to go up to him and ask if everything’s okay. If he needs someone to talk. Just talk. Because that can help a lot.  

There was another thing as well. His name. Of course there are millions of Peters in the world, the person in your dream with the same name is just a merely coincidence. An unfortunate one at that; you can't help yourself but stare at the warm brown eyes of the boy at your side and find something...  

No.  

Nothing. There's nothing familiar in a completely stranger because of a stupid dream. 

You're seeing him everywhere.  

“You're not wearing your scarf today.”  

You look up from your scribbling, casting him a confused glance. Peter met your eyes but quickly forced his attention back to his own notes. He was always like this, could never meet your eyes for longer. You wondered if you made him uncomfortable.  

“Your scarf. The red one,” he elaborated, clearing his throat. “I never see you without it.”  

“Oh.”  

Touching your neck subconsciously, you realized you were in fact, without it today. Peter's right, you never go anywhere without that scarf. You're attached to it. One of those things you can't explain, the feelings just has always been there. You couldn't remember who gave it to you, either. You just know it was a gift from a birthday of yours. Not that long ago, maybe. You couldn't be certain.  

You find that your memory has been giving you trouble.  

You made a mental note to search through those old photo albums your mother insisted you kept with you as you moved out. Nearly all of your life was in there. Maybe there's a hint from where you got your favourite scarf.  

“Yeah, I... I forgot to put it on.” You said, giving him a soft smile.  

That had been a lie. You never forget to put it on, it was practically another limb to you, but these days... something felt different about it. It was like you were holding onto something. You didn't even know what it was, but there was this longing, this pain, eating away at your chest, chewing every part of you.  

It wasn't just the scarf. Of course not. You knew you were projecting on it. The universe knew you were trying to make sense of anything your subconscious was telling you.  

“Are you heading out, already?” You ask upon seeing him organizing his stuff. Peter regards you with a quick look before vigorously stuffing something red inside his backpack that had slipped for a second.  

“Uh, yes. I am, have to— you know. Stuff.”  

You hesitate as he's about to rush out of the library, but you can't help yourself. “Peter,« You call out, attracting unwanted attention. But you don't care because he looks back at you. You ignore the nasty looks caused by your disturbance and steps closer to him, lowering your voice carefully before speaking. “Are you okay?” You question, placing a hand on his arm. 

Peter opens and closes his mouth many times. “Why?” He croaks out a softly.

“Your left eye. You got injured, right?” You winde slightly at the invasive insinuation. Fuck it. “I've seen you bruised before. I just wanted to know if— if you were okay.” You carried on despite the uncertainty.

You expected Peter to explicitly judge you and tell you off for meddling into his life but he didn't do that. What you didn't expect him to do was looking at you the way he was looking. Gaze soft, a smile at the corner of his lips as if he had heard this phrase before and the warm touch of his hand on yours. You only realized you were still touching his arm when you retracted it, a burning sensation within your fingers. Peter's features twitched with guilt.  

“I'm fine. I-I'm sorry.” 

“Why are you...” Your voice died down when he left abruptly. “Apologizing.” You stayed frozen in the middle of the library for a while before realizing your stupidity, then you walked back, grabbed your stuff and left. The tingling sensation on your hand still there, but your headache was gone.  

Photo albums were the reason you turned your room upside down. And where the hell were them anyway? You swore you brought them with you in one of your moving boxes, but the enigma was where you were keeping them.  

“Why are you tearing our room apart.” You looked up from your mess on the floor to your roommate leaning against the door frame with folded arms. Grimacing, you greeted her.  

“Hey, Stella. I'm looking for something, sorry I'll clean everything up after I'm done.”  

She crouched down beside you, pushing away some of your things to sit. “What are you looking for?”

You sigh, “A photo album. More than one, actually. But if I find just one, I'd be happy.” You said, frustrated, throwing a few of your clothes at your bed. You had teared up your whole wardrobe. Nothing there.  

She hums, grabbing a red sleeveless blouse of yours from the bundle of mess you had thrown at your bed. “If I find it, will you let me wear this to my date tonight?”

“You have a date?” Your face morphed in confusion. Stella had spilled her love life to you the first week you moved in and her main rule that she took very seriously — her words — was I don't do dates. They're so boring. And then she proceeded to tell you all about her favourite kinks. No, you hadn't asked. But you were weirded out that night and you laughed a lot.  

She bopped your nose as she got up, “I do.”

“I thought you didn't do dates?” 

She pointed at something besides your desk, “Try there. It's that box you brought that you asked me to never touch. Guess you haven't touched yet.” You let out a gasp and hauled your sitting frame towards the box. Memory box. That's what you called it. How couldn't you remember that? It was the only place in which your old stuff could be, you had reserved a little spot just for that. “Oh, and things can change, babe! I fell in love at first sight, how do you expect me to say no when she invites me to dinner? It's corny and it's cliché and I hate the idea but it's her so I don't hate it that much.” Stella yells out from the bathroom, sharing more details of her newest crush.  

There it was. You think to yourself, a warm feeling in your chest to have found the old thing.

The dingy and washed-out green cover called out to you more than the colorful bracelets or the old letters. The pages were stained, too. But what makes your heart stops is the little boy present in most of your childhood pictures, someone who wasn't there before because instead of him laid an empty space. That cheeky grin, those dimples and that face full of baby fat. You were beaming by his side, his arm around your shoulders and your hands wrapped around his waist, your cheeks were scrunched together from how tight you were holding onto each other. Best friends — is what's written down behind the polaroid, in a messy childish handwriting. Yours, you recognized. The date was blurred but you didn't need it. The memory was as clear as if you were touching it with your fingers. How could you have looked at those pictures before and not remember every piece of him? 

“You can't do it like that,” Peter scolded you, pouting when you tried to stand upside down again. “You'll get hurt.”The eleven year old boy said in annoyance when you tried it again and fell on the grass. Almost scraping yourself.  

You giggled, wriggling your feet. “Why don't you do it? Scared, Pete? Such a baby.” 

Peter rolled his eyes, “I do it waaay better than you and I don't break an arm because of it." 

“That was one time!”

The next page had your parents, too. And his. The four of you were smiling at the camera as a puzzle laid at the center, nearly completed. Your mind pulled you somewhere else; a little further into the timeline of when that picture had been taken.

“Peter,” You knocked again after having no answer. “Peter, it's me.” May watched you with a sad look in her eyes, but you could see the hope dangling from her. ‘You're the only one that can get him out of this room on days like this’ — She'd tell you as soon as you walked into the apartment. That day had been the seventh anniversary of Richard and Mary Parker's death, it made sense that your best friend wanted to isolate himself from the world, but you noticed the light dimming from his eyes for days before. “I brought chocolate and Back To the Future.” No answer. You exhale and share a guilty look with May. “I can come back later, if you—” 

The sound of the door being unlocked made your breathing stop. Although the handle didn't budge, you took that as an invite and entered the room quietly. Everything was reflecting his feelings and it was exactly what you expected to see as you surveyed the area in search for his light brown curls. Ignoring the mess of sweaters and t-shirts and smelly socks, you followed in direction of the mound of blankets, peaking below as you perched on the edge of the bed. “Hi, Pete,” You mumbled a softly as you spotted the puffy-eyed and red nosed boy.  

“You brought chocolate?” He let out in a hoarse voice, stealing a look at your hands. You smiled. 

You frowned when the images started to get stained with droplets of water. Tears. You were crying.  

The next page had four pictures. Two taken by you and two taken by him. You remembered when they happened. It wasn't that far long ago. Which made it hurt even more.  

“Did you just take a picture of me, Parker?” You gave him a playful glare.  

May was traveling with some friends in that weekend and that left their apartment just for the two of you. Cuddles and baking and conversations about the future and teenage doubts. You were about to enter your last high school year. A lot would change, insecurities just gripped at your skin. You couldn't control the future, not matter how much you enjoyed the present. And you'd miss this. You'd miss being around Peter without being concerned about bigger adult problems.

But you didn't have to let that go, right? Not for now. You hoped, not for a far future.  

“I haven't even brushed my hair yet,” you snickered, hiding your sleepy face behind your hand. Peter nudged your hand away, capturing another one. You objected loudly, standing up from your comfortable position on the couch to sneak the Polaroid camera out of his reach. Peter chuckled as you put the lense close to his face and said “Smile.” you clicked, giving him a look as you waited for the photo to clear up. “See? How'd you like that?” 

“You're beautiful either way, baby. I'm not.” He pointed out as you surveyed both pictures. Your eyes immediately softening at the two of you. “See?” he grabbed yours, lifting for you to see it as if he was proving a point. “Beautiful. Showstopper. Perfect.” 

The blush coating your cheeks were the indication he needed to carry on with compliments. Until you protested enough for him to stop.  

“I love you.” Peter mumbled in the silence you had created in his apartment. Your back was pressed against his chest as a movie played on the television, one you barely paid attention to anymore because your eyes were almost dropping completely. “I love you more than anything in my life. I'm sorry that I can't keep you safe like I intended to.” He whispered the last part, not meaning for you to hear it, but you did. Shifting your body to meet his eyes, you saw his guilt upon thinking he had woken you up. 

“You don't need to keep me safe, Peter,” You promises, touching his cheek softly. His freckles had faded a bit but by bring this close you were still able to see some. “You just have to come back to me every day.”  

He frowned, “You're in constant danger because of me.” 

“Not because of you. People don't know who Spiderman is,” You counterattack with mischief in your eyes. “That means I can enjoy both...” You peck his lips and feels him trying to supress a grin “... by myself. I love you, too. And you'll never lose me, okay?" 

His hair darkened throughout the years, admitting a light shade of brown instead of blonde. The dimples and curls were still the same, that hadn't changed.  

That hadn't changed.  

In another polaroid, MJ's awkward smile at your side and Ned's excited persona at Peter's side told you this was taken two years ago. All of you were at the airport, just before boarding the plane for a two-week summer field trip to Europe organized by Midtown.  

It had been five years after the blip.  

“This is a stupid plan.” You told Peter. 

He let out a long sigh, “I know, you've said that five times already.” 

“And I'm going to say it one more time. We just found out that Quentin cannot be trusted, that he's dangerous. And you think going off on him on your own is going to be a good idea?” 

“I'm not on my own.” Peter gritted. He was frustrated. So much had happened and the only thing he needed was for you to be by his side. But you weren't.  

“Right,” you scoffed. “Nick Fury is on the phone. Who else. Captain fucking America, Peter?” 

“Stop.” He said with an edge to his tone. MJ and Ned had left the room as soon as they felt the tension, they didn't feel like staying to see the bomb drop between the two of you.  

“Well, someone has to tell the truth in your face!” 

“What truth?!” He yelled, trying to match your tone. That was a new reaction. From both of you. You never screamed at each other, any disagreements were dealt with calm conversations. Your relationship didn't have much room to grow past friendship before Thanos took him away from you. “I'm trying to fix what I messed up. I'm trying to stop Beck and how do you suggest I do that other than going after him?”  

“Stop trying to be the hero!” Your face was red, throat burning in rage. But there was something else, too. You were terrified. “Stop trying to prove something to someone that isn't here anymore, Peter. You're putting yourself in danger—” 

Peter ran a hand through his face, “Don't.” His stern voice cut you off and the cold gaze he sent your way had you thinking twice about what you had said. “Do not bring Tony into this. This is not what this is about.”  

Your whole demeanor softened and your anger dissipated like a melting snow. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—”  

“What changed?” He shook his head, staring at you as if he could see your bare soul. His eyes had dark bags from sleepless nights and you wished more than anything that he just rested for a minute. “You're being so difficult and I don't know what to do anymore.”  

Your heart clenched — You're being so difficult. 

You knew you weren't helping him. However, you grieved Peter Parker for five years. You laid in your bed, day and night, crying to sleep until your tears dried and your body begged for sunlight. Watching him go through the same situations as he did before the blip had your mind going back to that same place. Those empty days. Yes, you were being selfish. But you lost your best friend and your boyfriend at once. You weren't about to lose him twice.  

You didn't know what you would do if you lost Peter again.  

Upon noticing your silence, he turned his attention back to you again. His irritation melting into concern when he saw you crying silently. He arrived at your side as fast as he could, almost stumbling on his feet. “Hey, hey,” he cupped your cheeks, lifting your gaze to his. “Don't cry, I'm sorry,” he mumbled into your hair as you let out heartbreaking sobs. There was so much pain in your cries that Peter didn't know how to comfort you. Ever since he came back, he failed on making you feel better. What was he doing wrong? “I didn't meant to hurt you, baby.” he whispered, voice cracking because he was also trying to keep his tears at bay.  

A lot had changed and the fault didn't belong to any of you. 

“You didn't.” you buried your face into his neck, shaking slightly. “I just— Peter, I can't, I can't lose you again. If you go and don't come back I don't know what I'll do—” 

“I will come back,” he said seriously, tilting his head to meet your eyes, “I promise you I'll come back, okay?” 

“You promised before.”  

Peter exhaled shakily. He had promised you this before. Right before he went up to space, stupidest idea he ever had. He kissed you on the bus and said “I'll come back. We have a movie night later, yeah? Wait for me.”  

You had waited. Five years. And you had every right to not believe his words anymore.  

“I know,” he brushed a strand away from your damp cheek. “But this is not the same from last time. And I-I know I can't ask you to trust me again. It's not fair. It wasn't fair.” his forehead fell onto yours as he shut his eyes at the same time he touched your face afraid that you'd slip away. “But I can promise you that I'll do everything in my power to always come back. Can you trust that?”  

You nod, exhaling slowly now that your sobs had stopped. “Mm. I can do that.” 

You were so wrong in trusting him. So wrong on believing that he'd kept any of his promises. Peter Parker was a fucking liar. The biggest of them.  

And here you were, one more time, suffering because of yet another broken promise.  

You let the photo album fall into the floor as you scrambled around for your phone. Opening your photo gallery, you scrolled hazardously through the library until you found those old pictures that made no sense. Previously you were holding the air, kissing the air or laughing at absolutely nothing. But now. Now he was there. The same face you saw today, exchanging ideas for a university project in the library. Warm brown hair and honey colored eyes.  

That voice in your head during your dreams — which weren't dreams at all, it was your memories attempting to come back. Something that belonged to you in the first place, that should have never been tampered with— and the reason why it seemed so familiar. So close. He had been there all the time.  

The missing piece. Peter Parker.  

The tiny scar at your eyebrow only made sense now. Your fingers grazed over it as the feeling off betrayal resurfaced with the memory from that fateful evening. When you lost two things. Peter and a part of yourself.  

“Peter,” you said, body closing the space between the two of you in desperation. “Peter, I don't want you to go.”  

“I'm not going anywhere,” he told you, hands wrapping around your back and squeezing you a bit. You started to sob.  

You buried your nose in his neck as if you were scared you would never be able to do that again. 

“Please, Peter. I don't want to forget you. There has to be another way, I don't want to be without you.”

The scarf was wrapped tightly around your hand, the photo album clutched on the other. Your pace was fast and certain. But you couldn't be more uncertain of your path. You didn't now where you were going. You just wanted to get out of that room filled with your past. Still, you carried the two things that would make you crawling back to it.  

He inhaled sharply, “You won't.”  There was certainly in his tone. He would make you remember, he had to. “I'll make you remember me. Hey,” he leaned away to cup your cheeks, smiling sadly with the waterfall in your eyes. “I'll make you remember me, okay? I promise.”

Maybe you should burn both. Pretend you never remembered anything at all and just let it go. Since your history hadn't meant anything to him, why should it meant anything to you? Why should you be the only one destroyed? 

You sniffled, clutching his hand that was touching your cheek. “you promise?”

“I promise.” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “I promise you.”

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚. 

In your angry stupor, you didn't notice a car driving by as your crossed the avenue. It was only when the incessant beeping reached your ears that you blinked and froze, startled.

It had been too late, your body had already collided with something else.  

a/n: the cliffhanger feels a bit like a telenovela but I promise it makes sense on next chapter. (harry comes back next chapter too!!)

[creation-help]

so i have a problem….

for a long time i’ve been able to create characters out of pretty much nothing, from a picture or a simple reading alone. of course, i don’t go any further than setting up their physical appearance and completely forgetting about them in just a few hours, but the rare times i don’t forget about them, i try to make an entire character out them and make them feel real.

so far i’ve been able to do this with one character that i’ve been working on and building her up for years and she’s technically my only oc, but everytime i start to come up with a new character from this new place and these new things that aren’t related to her or her story, i’m afraid that they as a character is not going to be as fleshed out or as interesting as she is. i don’t have any backstory ideas for any other characters and i don’t hers to outshine everyone else’s.

can i fix this? if so, how?

thank you

While I can't exactly pinpoint what might be the core issue I can see what you're struggling with and I do have advice for it. And I'm sorry if this response comes too late but I figure this is something many artists can struggle with.

If I've understood correctly it's not due to a lack of inspiration, yes? Since you said you've been able to make ocs out of very small prompts or ideas (if the issue is lack of inspiration though, my biggest piece of advice is to simply seek out more, and new inspiration! The mind can stagnate and freshening up helps. Get new medias and look into what inspires others, get new life experiences and possibly dip your toes into other hobbies? It doesn't have to be major, anything to shake it up in there!)

Seems to have to do with attachment, generally speaking. While there's nothing wrong with wanting to focus on just one story/character, it'll become sucky if you, well don't want that. From my perspective, I think you just need to give new characters time to grow into themselves. I know that may sound odd but I'll elaborate. Sometimes when you make a new character you'll fall in love with them immediately and run off to do shenanigans with them. Sometimes, you make a character and, they just exist now. You may dislike something about them or be unsatisfied with them, or just not..~Feel~ for them, ykno? Or maybe none of those things apply. Maybe the character is just fine. So my first piece of advice is to let them grow. I recommend specifically taking a moment, or few, to focus on this new character Only. It may be hard but I do really recommend it. It can be just short moments like drawing them once, or a few times more, or listening to music and trying to pick out songs you think would vibe with this character, and really get imagining, ykno? At these beginning stages you can really have many "Ooh what if-" moments in developing a character! It's fun! Just find your preferred way of Getting Into™ a character

If you can't bring yourself to give them the spotlight now, worry not. Let them exist for a bit, but make sure that you have them somewhere you won't forget! Maybe write a synopsis of them somewhere or draw them, whatever helps. And let them simmer. You can totally come back to a character later to add more to them, or even revamp them completely! They are dough at your hands. Some dough needs more kneading and some needs to rest and rise, you feel? I actually had a story that took at least one year of existing for me to really get cozy and up close with it. I wasn't disinterested before, it just needed time to grow and I needed time to get more familiar with it, and it's characters. Consider the fact that you may just be rusty. And that's okay! If you haven't created something entirely new in a while, that happens. Push on, even if it's clumsy at first, bc you will get there! Just let yourself get back into the groove of making new stuff again.

My other advice is to make them interesting to you. "Well duh?", but what I mean is that if you're not vibing with the character you have now, make them something you'd vibe with. Literally you can make them into whatever! They don't necessarily need to be relatable to you for you to want to explore them, but if it helps to add a bit of yourself into the character then do that! Lame backstory? Spice it up! Flat personality? Scrungle it a bit. Boring design? Go wack. You get my point. Make them into something you'd be interested in working with.

Something that helps for me personally, is also, sharing them! If I get to talk about and really get into some character while explaining it to someone else that can easily put me in the mindset of thinking about and getting more fond of the character. You can also totally ask for advice, input, reviews or opinions from other people! Or just share the new character.

Summary:

1. Give em time. And a bit of love and care

2. Make it fun and interesting for yourself!

3. The rubber ducky method (I volunteer if you want to come share your new ocs here!)

And: Sometimes a character won't take off. You can't bring yourself to get invested in them or add them anywhere. That's okay. You can just dump them and start over. It's your story and your character and you decide what goes

[brittanagirlcrush]

47 Brittana for the writing prompt?

Took me awhile to get a handle on this one. The prompt was “ You’re cute when you’re angry”

Ain't It Shocking What Love Can Do

Santana bounced along the hallway and spotted a familiar blonde ponytail just ahead.

“Brittany! Hey, Britt!” she called out, moving faster to catch up to her girlfriend.

Brittany continued walking away. Santana caught up to her and slipped her arm through the taller girl's.

“Hey, I was calling you, what's going on?”

Brittany shrugged Santana's arm off and continued walking. Santana grabbed her elbow and forced Brittany to turn around and face her. Then stopped and stepped back from the look on Brittany's face.

“What do you want, Santana?” Britt's eyes were cold as she snapped at the smaller girl.

“What's wrong, Britt?” Santana's brow furrowed in confusion. She'd never seen Brittany like this.

“Why don't you ask your girlfriend?”

“I … thought I was?”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Britt … I have no idea what you're talking about. Talk to me.”

“I'm just pissed off that you think it's okay to treat me like that.”

Santana was completely blank. She had no idea what she'd done. She did know one thing, though.

“You're not pissed. You're cute when you're angry. This … this is not a Brittany is angry face. This is something I've never seen on you.”

“Well, maybe you've just never seen me really pissed.” Brittany was trying to maintain her coldness but Santana could see the hurt in her eyes; could see the tears Brittany was desperately fighting back. Santana grabbed Brittany by the wrist and pulled her into an empty classroom.

“Britt … talk to me. Tell me what I did so I can apologize or undo it or whatever I have to do.” Santana was getting desperate, her stomach churning and making her feel like she was going to throw up.

“Why don't you go talk to Rachel?” Brittany spat at her, “you seemed to really enjoy that cheating song … and putting her picture in your locker.”

The pieces fell into place and Santana's stomach settled a bit. She stepped forward and took one of Brittany's hands in her own, gratified that Brittany didn't pull them away even though Britt refused to look at her. She used her free hand to cup Brittany's cheek and tilt her face up.

“Hey … look at me. The song was just a song … and, cheating aspect aside, it's you I get so emotional about.” Santana smirked a bit. “And I saw you filming me.”

Brittany's cheeks flushed even as the tears started to fall. Santana stepped forward and cupped Brittany's face with both hands and thumbed away the tears.

“Rachel came up to me after and said a bunch of stuff about how we could have been friends all this time and asked me to put her picture in my locker because you, apparently, can tell a lot about a person by what they have on their locker. You're the one that's been telling me for two years that these people are my friends, my family.” Santana shrugged. “That's all it is, Britt. Rachel being Rachel and me accepting the friendship she was offering.”

Brittany sniffled. “That's all? Really?”

“Oh, Britt, of course really. I don't know if you know this … but I'm totally in love with the most amazing girl in the world. She's sweet, funny, beautiful, hot, and a genius. She's everything. The weird thing? She seems to like me, too.”

Brittany smiled bashfully. “I'm sorry, Santana, I don't know what I was thinking … and she more than likes you.”

Santana took another stepped forward and kissed Brittany softly on the lips. Then giggled.

“What's so funny?”

“You,” Santana grinned, “you weren't pissed. You were jealous. That's why I didn't recognize the look on your face. You've never been jealous before.”

“Shut up, was not,” Brittany was blushing furiously, “I didn't like that feeling.”

“I promise you, Britt, you never have any reason to ever feel it when it comes to me. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Brittany sighed, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend.

As they exited the classroom, hand-in-hand, Santana started laughing.

“What's so funny?”

“So much about this. That you'd be jealous of Berry in the first place is ridiculous. But, seriously, Britt? If I were going to cheat on you – not that I ever would – you really think I wouldn't aim higher than Berry?”

Brittany couldn't contain her own laughter as they continued down the hall to their next class.

[apoptoses]

36 for the fic asks?

36. Do you visualize what you read/write?

Yes, intensely. If I can't visualize the entire scene down to the background sounds and smells I can't write it, because then it just doesn't seem real to me.

This is going to sound insane but this is my process:

With Armand and Daniel in specific I have a little exercise that I do (usually when I'm driving to where my horse lives). I picture them first in a completely blank space, no walls, no floors, nothing around them, just the two of them, and I let them talk. Usually Armand starts off with a question, and then I mentally let them riff on that until the conversation starts to feel real and impactful.

As soon as one of them says something really insightful that I think fits the tone of the whole fic, then the scene itself falls into place.

For example in the Copley fic I knew I wanted Armand to ask Daniel for a secret. Once Daniel came to the topic of confession and that whole story came out of him, the church formed around them in my mind with the two of them standing at the votive candles. I was able to see Armand demanding he light the candle and then pinching out the flame. And from there I was able to work backwards, to have them walking down the street at night until they found the church and built up to that whole talk.

On the rare occasion I do have a scene I know I want to occur in a specific place I do as much research about that place as I can, usually including watching a movie that features it. I wanted Daniel and Armand to visit a night club so I watched Saturday Night Fever and did a lot of googling for images and interviews of people who loved to go out and dance in the 70s. I looked up what drinks were popular, what people were wearing, the music that was on the radio in that year. What aftershave Daniel might have on and whether that smell would be familiar to Armand or smell synthetic to him.

Did I use all of that info? Not necessarily. But did it inform how Armand acted when I visualized him in the location? Absolutely. I need all of those pieces or else the scene is hollow in my mind and I have no connection to it.

So...that was a lot more info than you probably wanted, but that's how it works for me lol

[blackjackmagi83]

Criminal Behavior (13)

-

Masterlist

WC: 2.7K

Pairing: Druglords Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes X Detective Original Female Character

Summary: Rose Phillips, one of the best vice detectives in the game, was given a mission to catch the biggest drug lord in all of New York. James Buchanan Barnes. Framing as a lady of the night at a hidden gentlemen’s club, her mission being to do anything it takes to lure her target into her trap. Even if it means going through one of his accomplices to get there. Will the notorious criminals fall for her trap or will Rose fall for their criminal behavior?

Warnings: Lots of swearing, violence, and mild sexual content.

-

So I'm going to be straight forward here and say this is not how I envisioned this to go at all and I'm panicking to fix it hence why this took so long to post.

My plan is to do what I'm doing with my other long story (Arthur Morgan one) and come back to edit this completely when I have the time or finish posting the complete story which is the more likely scenario. I'm hoping with a little bit more time and less stress to post, I can really put in everything I want and fix some parts to sound better to show exactly what I envisioned for both the characters and storyline so all I ask is to bear with me, I will make this better!🥲

I hope everyone affected by this hurricane is safe and well!

Hope you enjoy the chapter ♡

-

Rose felt funny. Not funny bad or funny ha-ha. No. It was familiar. Too familiar. Her mind blank but racing with scenes of the past that this sensation had nurtured her with a firm hold. The only support she had in those moments.

Relief was instant, the needle still lingering in her antecubital vein when it hit. Her mind was foggy like the air after a warm rain storm barreled through, leaving behind a mist that rendered your vision. The same poison that took her parents, formed them into the monsters they became, was pumping through every vein in her system. Sending shockwaves of ecstasy from her toes to her skull but most importantly, it granted freedom. Freedom from all the pain that was urged to hide in a lonely place, fighting with its might to remain cozy in the home it made in her mind. When she was indulging in this pleasure it was forced into the hiding spot, angry to be held down by such restraints, but it had no choice but to grow quiet. 

Losing control over the sanity that remained, she slipped into a fit of laughter, drowned by the numbness that coated her ears leaving something better than silence. It was so peaceful when complete silence was achieved. No thoughts were processed, no stress or worrying troubles could be pictured, just nothing. It was so beautiful. 

Laughter turned into tears, the silence had tendencies to bring out the darkness. Boney hands wrapping around the intact pieces left with a bitter embrace, calling with a siren’s lure, seeing how far it could pull its victim into the depths of its cave before eating away their souls.

The call had already started, sooner than usual. The high was dropping too fast. She wasn’t ready for it to end. No. Not now please, she pleaded with the psychological creatures.

Her fingers were tingly making it harder to hold a steady grip on the small rectangular box, the aluminum packet falling clumsily onto the alleyway’s gravel path. The needle was still clean, its cap locked tightly on the top of it. A breath of relief escaped her, using her teeth to pull the cap off in a swift motion, wasting as little time as possible to gain that feeling once again. But something was different this time. Instead of calmness, it sent pain straight through her chest, heart beating out of its crevice with skips bearing agonizing stabs. Breathing had become shallow, gulps of oxygen entering but air leaked out as if her lungs were full of pin holes. Fear cascaded down her spine with the chill of the creatures creeping closer. They were waiting in the shadows, teasing her with their nails along her skin. Her body couldn’t handle the amount she had taken and they joyed at her mistake in cheers. Boned riddled fingers raised in triumph, pitless eyes watching her body slowly failing, drowsiness overtaking her with each passing second. Arms were the first to go limp, the empty syringe falling from her palm and landing besides the other with a soundless clatter. Drool pooled at the corner of her mouth as numbness reached her face, dripping in thick droplets as her chin drooped against her chest. Breathing had grown further difficult from the position, panic dwelling inside that was masked by the calm slump figure.

The creatures had moved closer, their song deafening at this range. Horrid looking things they were up close. It frightened her to her core, wanting to scream and run from their clutches. But all that came out was gurgling and grunts.

Her eyes were growing heavy, closing without realizing, allowing the creatures the access they desired. Their fingers felt like fleas along her corpse, picking at the skin with microscopic fangs that pierced through layers of flesh and muscle until they reached their destination. Sucking away at memories, emotions, and lastly her conscious, draining anything of high importance a human can hold. 

It was both agonizing and relieving. An odd and indescribable feeling, only being able to explain if put through the experience. 

When you think of death you first think of light and warmth wrapping around like a thick blanket like the ones kept in wooden cabins. Maybe see a loved one reaching out to greet you to the new world above. Glowing in white and gold like a good yourself, heaven an image you had created from happy memories and passion.

It was all wrong.

The grim reaper was delicate compared to its apprentices, a cloaked hand so soft it was barely there, placed on her shoulder. It was pulling her soul from the weakening corpse that was pressed against the brick building, air rasping in chilling attempts of breathing. The hand moved with a gracefulness that surprised her, feathery tingles grazing her chin. Pressure was placed, turning her face away towards its own, staring deeply into her with a shadowed face. It was silent but spoke a thousand words of encouragement. It was comforting in a way she's never known. Only the comfort the reaper could give before taking them away from their lost lives.

An odd sensation filled her, pulling her away from it, turning to face her corpse once more. Standing over her was a man that had taken over the title of her father, hands pumping on her chest in desperation. Words screamed out at her, passing as a light whisper in the breeze, growing louder as her soul bearing form was pulled back to the corpse. 

“Oh god Rose please hold on. That’s it, keep breathing for me.” 

Had she been breathing? Everything was still numb, barely noticing her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths again. Her eyes flickered open at the man, barely recognizable from the fuzzy coat that laid over her vision. It was such a blur, the world spinning around her as her sight cleared. The only thing that stood still was the alleyway lights flickering above her before the darkness overtook her in an embrace too enticing to ignore.

“Wake up!”

Voices taunted in her ears, not the song of the creatures or the whispers of the reaper, but someone else. She knew the voice but struggled to grasp who it was exactly. Her mind drifted into the darkening pool below, letting the memories that came forward entangle her to the endless bottom again.

"You look exquisite doll."

Memories of the evening flooded around her, painting her body in the red silk gown and white gloves James had left waiting in patience for her on his bed. A diamond necklace and earrings in neatly dressed boxes were seated beside it, voices chanting for her to put them on. 

James was breathless at her, the slim fitted black tux squeezing at his body as his muscles tensed at her first appearance. He almost didn't want to leave the apartment, allowing others to view such a piece of artwork. But tonight there was none of that. Just dancing and drinks. 

He had soon come to regret that statement as eyes from almost every man and woman in the room had laid onto her. Darting between the slit of thigh that flashed with every step to her collarbone and shoulders that lay naked, the straps wrapped loosely along her biceps in elegant flow. 

Despite the gown and the jewels that screamed high rank among the other guests, Rose felt utterly out of place and that rattled her in a temp of annoyance. 

She whispered through a polite smile, gloved hand gripping at his upper arm with a nervous tense, "I thought you said we would just go dancing? This seems a little bit more than that, don't you think?"

Location still unknown, the occasion they were so sophisticatedly dressed for was at a manor bigger than a football field, close to the size of a small castle. People poured in and out by the dozens, drinks in one hand while the other held to their partners, laughter bouncing off the walls left to right. This was an elaborate party for the highest of people, not the bar with a crappy jukebox like she had expected. It sent a wave of uncertainty through her. Her location was unknown, no one knew of her whereabouts and she was surrounded by people she had never seen before. It all screamed 'danger', 'red flags', 'turn back now'. How foolish was she to suspect anything less than suspicious from James? Just what did he have in store for tonight?

His lips perked with a charming smirk, a comforting hand placing itself over hers, “Why not dance with a little style?”

She didn’t respond, her focus taking in the ballroom as they proceeded further back, with curious and weary eyes. Everything was painted a thick cream with gold trim accenting the more detailed etched in the wood. Multiple crystal chandeliers adorning the ceilings while crystal candle holders were lit along the walls resulting in an immensely bright room that nearly blinded her if she looked up to a certain degree. The floor was a web of a repeating pattern, leaving a sense of hypnosis, of shapes giving her a headache if she stared too long at it.

James hadn't taken his eyes from her since they arrived other than the occasion passing greeting to another guest. He took advantage of her daze, noting how the light bounced off her cheeks, her pale skin gleaming with. Her eyes were smoked with a color that made the clouds in her eyes brighten with washes of blue and green. James licked his own lips when his eyes drifted to hers, imagining the rosy lipstick marks all over him in a spontaneous moment of passion. 

He swallowed his desire, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat at the exaggerated gulp, before placing a kiss along the side of her head and moving along to grab drinks. His hand gripped the packet in his coat pocket with silent eagerness. 

Drinks and dancing, no more he repeated to himself but the packet reminded him it was going to be so much more.

Etching as many details into her brain as she could all while trying not to step on the gown, the red fabric trailing royaly behind her, Rose found herself standing in front of the blazing fireplace, watching the crackle and glow warm her until her skin grew hot. A drink had been brought to her hand in her time of distraction, a flute of champagne no doubt, bubbling gold liquid filled it almost to the brim. She was growing too distracted, hadn't realizing James had left her side in the first place.

"Trying to get me drunk already?" Her voice teased, covering the suspicion that laced the background catching a special glint in his eye once she faced him.

He shrugged, the glint disappearing into the fire before them, "Just holding up my end of the bargain darling." 

The liquid tickled her throat as she gulped it down, body craving the alcohol that lingered between the carbonation. It was comforting to her distrust of the situation, drinks and dancing, exactly what they had been doing. Nothing crazy or out of the ordinary besides the extravagant event they’re doing it in but was it all so surprising? James was a man of high standards after all. 

Her body was encased in a protective hold against James' chest, bodies swaying in gentle rhythm, “Just let go, I got you.”

Rose pushed the questioning thoughts away, training her focus on the man who held her so delicately in his arms. 

James had rested his head against hers, eyes melting into hers, "Did I mention how gorgeous you look tonight?"

Rose blinked harshly for a moment in an attempt to clear the fuzziness that clouded her vision of him, "You may have mentioned it a couple times."

Her words came out with a slight lisp, the tip of her tongue tingling. It felt as if she swallowed a glass of wasps, stinging at every crevice with vengeance. swelling into a fleshy lump in her mouth.

James ignored her furrowed features, that unsettling glint returning with a satisfied underlay, “Thank you for giving me another chance, Rose.”  

Something had shifted between them in that moment, drawn so close it was suffocating but she couldn’t look away. His lips were twisted in a smile that sent a sickening feeling to her stomach, the delicate touch turning into an iron grip, crushing her fingers together in a bunch of white cloth. But her smile never faltered, a hazy giggle escaping her lips instead of a whimper.

Something was terribly wrong.

A darkened chuckle rasped through her ear forming a cold sweat down her spine, “I’m not so sure if I believe in second chances though.”

Rose's eyes clouded as the room around them spun in a slow, nauseating spin. Faces morphed into blurred colors while James's remained intact, the grin shifting into a mask of hatred.

The room had grown loud and booming with crackles of laughter and corks popping. Her ears were pleading for mercy from the noise. 

A low soothing voice replaced the laughter, “Sweetheart.” 

James face contorted into Steve’s, body changing into his lean, taller stature, the suffocating embrace melting into one of love and softness. 

“Steve?”  

The spinning had sped up, the noise pitching into a high squeak as if time was fast forwarding but his calm composure remained. 

“It’s time to wake up.” 

Glass shattering brought forth by the darkness, erupted beneath her as she slipped from his arms. She was falling endlessly, arms flailing as she was sucked into the pit, the bottom remaining as a dark field. No more memories flashed before her. No noise. No thoughts. 

Was this the end?

It all came at once, voices from all the memories shown had played as if surrounded by speakers on the highest volume. 

“Oh god Rose please hold on!”

"Wake up!"

"It's time to wake up sweetheart." 

A new voice appeared and it had been her own. Her screams were drowned by the noise but played loudly in her head.

"Stop it! Stop it please, I can't anymore!"

The voices halted bringing the silence back in calm waves. A feathery finger danced on her head onto her closed lids. 

Her voice played without movement from her lips, echoing around her, "Then wake up." 

A croaked gasp flew from her lips, eyes bursting with a burn sensation as white lights glared down into them. They closed abruptly, pinching as they fought to adjust to the brightness. Her cheek stung with needle like tingles that danced along the surface of her skin. A slap no doubt, and a hard one at that. The skin was welting within seconds. Another temporary addition to her collection.

"There she is! You have a good nap doll? You slept longer than I anticipated but that's ok, we'll make up for the lost time, won't we?"

Her eyes focused enough for her to make out James's face, a sinister grin lifted to his cheeks. It reminded her of the joker from the batman comics she used to skim across when she was younger. But this grin defeated the white faced clown easily because this one was real and it stared down at her with pearly white teeth waiting to rip chunks of flesh from her throat while the gleaming black metal waited patiently for its turn.

James watched as her hands prickled with the coarse material of rope, restricted against the back of the wooden chair she resided in. The silk gown that accented her to perfection now dripped with frozen droplets of water, the red of the dress deepened with dampness, full of wrinkles and dirt along the trim. The pins that held her hair in curls above her shoulders had fallen sporadically around the room leaving her hair frizzed and sloppy down her back. It stirred him in so many ways.   

Rose’s words came out slurred and mumbled as her tongue figured out to work again, flapping against the inside of her mouth, "If you wanted to use rope, all you had to do was ask James."

"Rope is just the beginning doll.” His fingers crawled up her arm like a spider, raising the hairs straight to the ceiling. His mind was working in loud hums as it grabbed at ideas with each glance at a body part, “Oh there's a lot more I want to do, so much more. But unfortunately our  dear Stevie wouldn't let me. The little sob still loves you apparently. Comical, I know."

"And you don't I suppose?", Mock hurt laced her tone, imagining her hand over her heart as if he had broken what hadn’t been there, “I knew those words were empty when you spoke of them.” 

A chuckle sighed from his lips, his head tilting in thought, "No, no I do. Did. Do? It doesn't really matter now does it?"

“Did it ever matter?”, Her eyes met his, he was unreadable at this point.

He wiped a hand over his mouth, ignoring the question, before resting them along the arms of the chair, his breath tickling the hair that fell along her nose. His face contorted in genuine disappointment, "Why'd you do it Rose?"

Cats out of the bag it seemed. It didn't come too much of a surprise with how sloppy she was in her cover and lack of interference when things got too personal. She'd be surprised if anyone wasn't disappointed in her, no one could beat the disappointment she felt in herself.

"Do wh-"

Spit flew onto her face as he roared like an angered lion, wood splintering into sharp fragments around her feet, "DON'T ACT FUCKING STUPID!"

Rose could openly admit she had almost pissed herself, heart plundering to her asshole with fright at the closeness of his outrage. The man she faced wasn't an ordinary drug lord like the ones she's dealt with on numerous occasions. This was an elite super soldier who she's undermined for months, too ignorant to see that the time bomb was about to detonate and the solider would be released to its full potential. Right at her .

A dark laugh escaped him, head falling towards his chest as he composed himself, "Sorry about that, as you know, I really fucking hate liars. Shall we try again and this time, let's be truthful while I'm still in control alright?” A spidery leg traced her jaw, “I’d hate to scar up that pretty face any more than I need to." 

She contained the fear in the corner of her mind, keeping a straight face and calm composure, "Oh James, why would I lie to you? I've got nothing to hide, I've shown you all of myself how many times now? So far, the only one who's done something was you. Drugging and threatening an innocent woman who has done nothing but warmed your bed for you in your times of need. Maybe cooked a few pancakes too for the hell of it."

His face contorted in rage, his fists repeatedly locking up causing the mechanics in the vibranium arm to whirl and shift brightly. His tongue was threatening to bleed from the pressure of his teeth, he could already taste hints of iron coating his taste buds. 

Silently, he loomed over her, eyes full of contemplation at just killing her right there. The thoughts of watching her eyeballs pop from their sockets held a power as strong as her moaning his name while he fucked her raw. A sweetly twisted fantasy that he may have the chance to fulfill if things didn't go accordingly. She was a traitor after all, might as well get his kick out of it before disposing of the evidence.

“Let’s try this again.”, He held back his temptations with a crack of a mental whip, residing in the comfort of splitting the arms of the wooden chair off. The remaining flecks of wood fell at their feet in a snow of sawdust, “How much have you told Stark?”

“Nothing really. There wasn’t much to tell.”

A metal palm collided with her cheek met with a crack, “You really want me to kill you Rose? Because I’m about a fucking second from tearing your tongue out through your throat and watching you stain the concrete!” 

A gut twisting laugh filled the air and a spit of blood thrown at his foot, a white tooth coated in the liquid. He had broken one of her molars but she kept laughing as if he tickled her. Manically laughing with her head thrown back until she ran out of breath and tears filled her eyes. Even he could see she was losing it, whether it was from pain and fear or simply from her true self arising to the surface, it was a sight that startled him.

Her head lolled towards him, a bloody grin rising, drips of drool and blood flowing down her neck into the crevice of her chest, “You and I both know you don’t have it in you to kill me.” She paused to spit another blob of blood from her mouth, “I mean too much to you.” 

“You mean n-”

“How’ve your nightmares been James? The faces of your past haunting you again? Waking you up in those cold sweats that made you so sick you’d vomit?” She watched in triumph at his sudden quietness, “I think you’re the one that needs to be honest here James-"

Coldness coiled around his tone. A warning, "Shut up."

But Rose liked to push, adrenaline rushing to her skull at his growing temper. It filled the twisted side of her with desire, aching to watch him crumble in a fit that would surely kill her. She’d die a winner and James would never forget her words, knowing every single one of them were right on the dot, "-Admit that I’m the only one who can make you feel whole again. Make that boogeyman shudder away back to its hole and give you the peace you’ve sought for all these years-"

His breathing had picked up, panting heavily with eyes shut so hard spots appeared. Trying to keep the soldier from climbing into command.

"-Make you feel like the man you once were. James Buchanan Barnes , the man before the serum and the robotic arm. Just a young playboy from brooklyn-" 

She was fully enjoying his torment, the agonizing truth of her words scorned him.

"-Admit that you need me .”

He lost control. Fist after fist plunging into her face, fragments of bone, tissue and brain matter caking his hands in a mixture of blood and chunks.

"I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

A hand held back his risen fist, slowly bringing it down back to his side, showing it had been all a daydream. No blood splatter on the walls or his hands, Rose sat in front of him with only a bruise to her cheek and a lost tooth. Her toothy grin hidden behind her frowned lips, eyes downcast on the concrete floor beneath them. 

"Don't give her any more satisfaction, Buck. The mess isn't worth it."

Steve saves the day again, having a sense for these moments it seemed. Rose felt the burn of his eyes on her, all confidence draining from her body in an invisible puddle. She had struggled to face him since he confronted her, despite his forgiveness to her, the guilt had taken over her seeing him look down at her with such betrayal. 

Coward.

He knew, he had to now. Her plan probably spilled out of James' mouth before Steve could fully step through his office, thrilled to watch the downfall of her, even if it meant the downfall of them as well. It was to be expected, just not presented in this way. Sam Wilson was the most likely culprit for this information leak. How, she had no idea. She let a lot slip through her fingers like a rookie and it would result in a painful and useless failure.

The burning gaze shifted back to James, Steve's hand moving to the vibranium shoulder, his grip signaling as a warning to behave, "Leave her."

How dare he?

"Leave her? LEAVE HER?! After what she did to you? To us?! She's just like her grandfather, a fat leech that detaches once she's gotten what she wants. We can’t let her get away with this, just like we did with him. There is a debt we are owed and I expect it to be paid in full. Whether you help me achieve that is a different story. That’s up to you to choose."

Rose's body tensed at the remark. She knew little of her beloved grandfather but he was, in her eyes, her father and she despised when someone talked down of him.

"My grandfather was a good man." She spit, venom coating every word. 

Both of the men's attention returned to her. Steve's eyes were pleading knowing the road this conversation was going to go while James's rage boiled further. 

God he hated every brittle bone in that man's body. The serum and prosthetic saved him yes, but that was used to an advantage he wanted no part of. With the addition of his sniper skills, he was a tank compared to the average soldier just as Steve was with his shield. Commander Phillips assigned him missions that only a handful knew of, files redacted to the point it was a sheet of black paper. He could still hear their screams and begs of mercy. It was his fault. If he hadn't saved him he'd be at peace in the ground with his comrades, dying a hero's death. But no, he was the perfect prodigy for a second super soldier. The selfish bastard needed more and they both paid for it in the end.

"Don't speak unless you know what you're talking about." 

"He gave everything to you. You wouldn't be here without him."

James broke from Steve’s grip, sending a glare when he attempted to grab him again. The soldier wouldn’t touch her. Not yet, "Oh Rose, when will you open up those beautiful eyes and wake up?" He began to circle her like a shark in the water, "You know why I can't sleep, why those faces haunt me? Because that sweet wrinkled old man ordered me to kill them in cold blood. Didn't matter if they were a child or a woman. He gave me an order and I fulfilled it as my duty under his command. Just little toy soldiers to play with at the tips of his fingers. He’s responsible for the monsters you see." Fingernails skimmed her tied hands as he stood behind her, lips so close to her she could feel the moisture of his breath along the fine hairs of her ear, "He wasn't a good man and neither are any of the others. They're all corrupt, just like we are and you can't do a thing about it."

"I don't understand."

He tsked, running a hand over her bruised cheek earning a low hiss in response, "Of course you don't you poor little thing."

It was her turn to smirk, fingers flexing on the curveball she prepared to throw their way, "No I understood what you said, but what I can't quite grasp is that my grandfather was dead when Peggy Carter died."

Part 14

[pluralismajestatis]

I'm not sure I have the right words for this, but I'll try, since it's been on my mind for a few days. My relationship to, and existing between, illness and health - embodying the slow-processing state of wasting away, approaching death.

It's not my primary purpose here, to be that balance or calm, but it's something I'm falling into... comfortably.

This is not about the body. Which to me, is something I'm struggling to understand even now; that the concept of approaching my death, living my last few... days, weeks, months, is no longer relevant, and I haven't had the time, or energy, to touch upon it yet. Meanwhile, the system finds comfort in my acceptance of it, my acceptance and understanding of the limitations of the body, its weakness and exhaustion. I am not worried. I have been dying for a long time. Decades. I don't know when it started, exactly. It's hard to say when the pain coming from the outside began to poison me from the inside.

We all know this is part of why I'm here. My history of growing up is the same as the system's history of growing up when it comes to poisons and being poisoned. We were both taught to fear, and fear became so deeply ingrained in us that it grew into something that was slowly killing the body it resided in. Mine, and ours. I'm an allegory, after all. I've always been one. A nod of acknowledgement to people eaten alive by their wasted potential, futures robbed of them by abuse, fear, and prejudice. The people meant to care for them and love them, support and encourage them. Protect them. Chronic stress is a silent killer. Pain, isolation, loneliness compound it. It eats at the body from the inside: the brain, the muscles, the veins, the nerves.

We used to fear death. Gradually, it's become less. In some way, I might just be the culmination of that growth - the peace we've made with our fragility. We've come to terms with things we keep to ourselves, that we don't talk about. Death, and the process of dying, seems to be a personal matter to us. It's talked about somewhat often here, on the inside. And now, me; I've already accepted that I will die. It doesn't frighten me. I submit to it, but I don't hurry it along. Like I said, I've not really internalised it yet that I might be well now; my soul is still in the process of dying, preparing for death. I am tired and I'd like to just be comfortable - rest, finally. I take this all minute at a time, focus on what is relevant now, because to me, there is no tomorrow, or next year, or any future to speak of that I'd still be a part of. I've played my part and I am ashes - it's someone else's turn, now.

They've described me as "only partially here." My mind is still elsewhere. My consciousness here is a fever dream. I was already losing grip of "real" on the other side I've left behind. But I bring calm to them, a sense of stillness we can all share together. No tomorrow. No future. Just now, and what matters now. Making ourselves comfortable; sating our thirst, hunger, regulating our temperature. Participating only as we wish to - not as is expected of us.

What I've already said is that I'd like to stay, but even for now, in the moment, I feel better knowing I've brought something positive with me to one family. I've been embraced here. The first nights I was with them, they stayed with me until sleep. They made me comfortable, showed kindness, and spoke in soft voices, moved slowly and deliberately so as to not scare me. I asked, am I welcome here? They told me, I'm wanted.

I can heal, but I hope healing won't make me afraid. All bodies fail, after all; it's a matter of time. I've lived with worse pain, worse nausea, worse weakness and deterioration than any of us feel here. Every piece of us here feels alive, where what I was before was dying, nearly dead. I feel warm here and no longer freezing in my bones. We have so much left to us still, so much that hasn't burned away. I wonder if, as I heal, as I stubbornly continue to survive, maybe the healing of the soul could transform into healing of the vessel as well.

[neobaobei]

With you

Pairing: Doyoung x F. Reader, Yuta x F. Reader (ft. Ex-boyfriend! Jaehyun).

Other's: Brother! Taeyong

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Arranged marriage AU, Domestic AU, Memory loss AU

Warnings: infidelity, sexual harassment (plss leave, if ur uncomfortable), major character death, making outs, slight mention of suggestive themes (like it's only one joke tho), short time memory loss, pregnancy, lots of crying (like a lot), the characters have a lots of mental breakdown. (lmk if I left something...)

Word Count: 6k+

Summary: The moment you read a letter, saying that your fiance ran away, your heart shattered in millions. What if a specific someone from your past (and future) wants to mend that pieces? Or what if it's not even broke in the first place?

Song Rec: NCT 2021 - Beautiful.

A/N: I'm no doctor, so there might be any scientific mistakes in this fic. I've added the information I know.. Also, remember this fic contains sensitive content, if you don't like it, please don't read it. With that saying, give my fic lots of love!!!

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters nor the pictures but only the plot. This is a piece of fictional work, so this doesn't describe the idols real character. Also, English is not my first language, so excuse my grammatically errors.

Weddings.

Something that is supposed to be a happy day. The day when you claim your partner as husband or wife. You are happy because today is your wedding. You are even more excited just at the thought of your fiance, Jaehyun, standing in the aisle, for you.

Correction, You were.

You were practically radiating a sunshine aura till now. Till the moment you knew that Jung Jaehyun, the man who you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with, ran away with some girl.

You didn’t believe it, Your Jaehyun would never do that. Until you saw a letter, a letter with Jaehyun’s handwriting, stating that he couldn’t bear the pressure of being married to someone who is pregnant.

Afterall, he was the one impregnated you…

Hiding you face in your palms, you sit on one of the chairs, utterly devastated. Feeling immensely embarrassed when a guest would leave the hall with a pity glance. Tears rolling down your cheeks, you still silently hope that this is just a nightmare and you would wake with Jaehyun by your side.

But that doesn’t look like it would happen. Jung Jaehyun left…

A hand found your shoulder and a voice which you were so familiar with, called your name. “Y/N?” You look up to see your brother, Taeyong, who almost looked like he would breakdown at the sight of his sister’s tear stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.

“Mm?” you ask, energy completely drained from crying all night. If only Jaehyun was there, your wedding would’ve started about in a couple of hours. “Baby, please eat something..” your brother begs, his voice breaking at the end, still not over the fact that his friend betrayed his sister and his family.

“Tae, I l-lost my appetite..” you reply weakly. “Sweetie, at least for the sake of your child..” He pulls this card knowing that you would do anything for the safety of your baby.

Oh, I’m pregnant…

You almost forgot about it. Suddenly a wave of anger came over you. You abruptly stand up, the chair falling back at the force, “You think I care about this baby anymore?! The father himself doesn’t need it, then why the fuck would I? I’m not going to eat! Let the baby die, let me die!!!” you screamed letting out all your frustration, tears falling out like a waterfall. Your brother’s eyes softened at his little sister’s confession. Tears forming in his eyes, he embraced you, whispering sweet words.

“I can’t, tae… it hurts so much..” you whisper comes out hoarse. Everyone in the hall, which included your family, Doyoung’s family (a friend of your father) and Jaehyun’s family, looked at the scene with wide eyes. You saw how ashamed the Jung’s felt, they literally fell on your father's legs the moment they knew their son cheated on someone like you.

You broke the hug and looked at your father, he looked… he looked so broken. Broken than how you felt, the last time you saw him like this was when your mom passed away. He was seated in the corner of the hall. It was always you for him, he does everything only after telling you. Even when you introduced Jaehyun to him, your father said he wasn’t feeling good about that boy, but even then he accepted him because his only daughter, you, liked him.

After all, it’s your mistake to fall for someone who didn’t catch you. You walk towards him shakily, and knelt in front of him. You placed a hand on his knee and softly whisper, “Dad..” he looked at you.

The moment he saw his daughter looking so helpless and hurt, he broke down into tears, hugging you. “I’m- I’m sorry, sweetheart…. I’m so sorry..” he apologised. He apologised for something he never did. “Dad, n-no.. It was me… I-I chose this, you never d-did anything wrong dad….” You sobbed hard in his chest, feeling like a little girl again. The only difference was, you didn’t lose your pen or pencil, but your heart.

Sniffing, you looked into his red eyes, you wanted to do something for this man. Your father, who was always with you, who never married again because he did not want to take risks with his children, who supported you even when you told him that you were pregnant at twenty one, who was the one that took care of you when you got hit by a car. He was everything you needed as a father, but you were nothing but a selfish daughter who just thought about herself.

“D-Dad.. Tell me, you said.. You said th-that you have seen someone for me right?.. Who is that dad? T-Tell me… I w-will marry him…” you remember the one time when you fought with him because he was trying to set you up with someone, even after you told him that you were pregnant with Jaehyun’s child.

“Princess, you don’t have t-”

“No dad. I want to, I-I want someone for me… s-someone for my child… Tell me dad, I-I will marry him…” Lie, you wanted to marry only because, if the media knows that the infamous Lee corporation’s owner’s soon to be son-in-law ran away, he would have to deal with a lot of embarrassment and you don't want that to happen. You wanted to be a useful person for once.

Also, this man was okay with you being pregnant too, so nothing could go wrong… you hope.

_

“I-I do…” you whisper. You are standing here in the same aisle, same wedding dress, same rings and same day but a different groom. “Now, I announce you both as husband and wife, you may kiss the bride.” the priest announces, you turn to your newly wedded husband, Kim Doyoung, someone who you would call a nearly-stranger. Despite the situation, you show him a fake smile, closing your eyes waiting for him to kiss you.

If only it was Jaehyun, you would've been Mrs.Jung now.

The kiss came, but you didn’t expect that to be on your forehead, his hand on your cheeks. He leant down and whispered only for you to hear, “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you and our baby..” with a small smile.

Our baby..? A sudden flutter came to your heart. Not even Jaehyun had said something like that. Unknown smile, a genuine one this time, bloomed on your face. With a crimson cheek, you just nodded at him.

You both turned to the audience, which were only a few. Someone who you didn’t expect to be here for this long, Jaehyun’s parents, came to you. “Y/N… We are really sorry for what our son did to you, Trust me if he comes back, I’ll kill him with my own hands, dear…” His mother told with a shaky breath, her husband trying to calm her down.

“It’s okay, mom… It’s not your fault…” you say, softly. The moment the word ‘mom’ left your mouth, his mother hugged you tight, letting out a tear, thinking that they have missed a chance of having a parental relationship with a selfless girl like you. You have always been a daughter they never had.

Doyoung saw you talking to your ex-fiance's parents. He had no idea who they were but when he saw them apologising to you and hugging you, a thought struck his mind. You were nothing but a girl who everyone wanted to have.

And he had got you.

Someone in that hall wasn't exactly happy about what was happening.

You sit on the bed, simply staring at the wall until your husband. Anyone who saw you right now would think you are emotionless.

You are currently in Doyoung's house, though your dad asked you to stay at your house until you feel well. But you don't wanna worry him.

His family was small, it was just him and his mother. A small house with two bedrooms, a cozy hall and a wide balcony, with a kitchen and a study room.

The clicking of the door brought you from trance, you turned towards the direction of door and saw the man you married coming towards you.

He definitely wants to do it…

Before he can ask something himself, you blurt out. "I- I will sleep with you..." at least one of you can be happy, right?

A pained expression takes over his features, you are confused. "You think.. You think I am that heartless to use a heart broken girl for my pleasure..?" He asks, and you have nothing to say. You just stood there in shock.

Did you really think that he would have sex with you just because you are married to him now? Was this how you thought about him? This, sure, did hurt Doyoung.

He walks closer, close enough until you can feel his cologne, he slowly brings his hands to your cheeks and holds it like a flower. He whispers: "Trust me… Everything will be okay… You will be fine with me…" before landing a kiss on your forehead.

He smiles one last time before walking towards the bathroom to get himself changed.

When was the last time someone spoke to you like that? With a pure shock, you just sit back on the bed with a sigh. Why do you have a same fluttering feeling in your chest?

_

You peek uncomfortably at the man sleeping on the couch. He looks like he's about to fall any second.

Why would he insist on sleeping on the small couch in his own house? You can't see him like this..

"Doyoung…?" You call him, softly, but he doesn't budge. So you try again but a little louder. "Doyoung?" He still doesn't wake up.

With a sigh, you gave up, thinking that he might have already slept.

But Doyoung was awake, awake enough to see the guilty look on your face. Yeah, he does feel like being squished inside a small box, but he can adjust.

Afterall, this is the least he can do for you…

_

Morning came, not really a comfortable one, but the moment he heard your groans from the washroom, he felt like his sleepiness had all gone away.

Immediately catching up with the situation, he ran towards the bathroom, only to find you crouching near the closet.

He comes closer and bends to your level, taking a hold of your hair as he rubs your back soothingly.

Another wave of nausea hit you, making you puke for the second time that day. Your throat is sore and dry, wanting for nothing but a glass of water.

Doyoung gets the signal immediately when a thumbs up gesture near your mouth. You stand weakly with the help of your husband. He grabs you by your arm and takes you near the wash basin to clean yourself.

You wash your face and mouth, heaving out gasps, and turn around to see a Doyoung with his messy nap hair and puffy face, standing on the doorway with a towel and a glass of water.

You walk to him, grabbing the towel, muttering a small thanks, wiping your face. You feel so guilty right now, if it hadn't been you he would've been comfortably sleeping.

You take the glass of water from him, taking a small sip. You lick your lips anxiously, looking down at the floor and say, "I… I'm sorry..." in a very small voice, almost like you're about to cry.

Heck! Why are you always a burden to someone? Why can't you be useful for once?!?

"Why are you apologising? This is normal for a pregnant woman, right..?" He asks with a deep raspy voice, sounding like he had been in slumber. A hint of concern in voice.

"I know it's normal for me to be sick… But you- you… I don't know… Why do you care for m-me? Do you know me before..?" You ask the question that had been in your mind since yesterday. Why would he care for a woman he met just now?

He is stunned with your sudden question, eyes twitching in nervousness. "I-I… You don't need a reason to c-care someone..." He said before leaving you in a bundle of confusion.

No, that's not the reason…. my love..

It's been a couple of weeks, weeks of not seeing your dad and brother, weeks of not going anywhere other than the house, weeks of being with your husband.

Surprisingly, he spent the time he had at his house with you. He comes back from your dad's company and the first thing he does is kiss your forehead, before saying a hi to your baby. You almost felt like you both were okay.

Also, you could see a series of different situations with Doyoung in your dreams. It was almost like you both knew each other for so many years...

But a specific black eye from someone who you would call mother-in-law makes you uneasy. She often commands you to do things, as if you were a servant, and once Doyoung comes home, she acts as if she has done all the work.

And this is one such moment. You sit on the floor, her leg on your thighs painfully heavy while she sits on the couch, as you massage her feet. You don't know how to deal with her, you grew up basically giving yourself to others but this, this is so hard.

She makes you work so much for a pregnant woman and scolds you for almost no reason. You could say this to your husband, but you know why she is like this…

I mean, who would like to see their son married to a second hand girl…

The door clicking sound surprises both of you, as you turn your head to see who has come, only to be surprised as you realize Doyoung has come home soon today.

He was surprised, nevermind that is an understatement. He is bewildered, why would his pregnant wife be sitting on the floor with his mom, a perfectly fine mom, keeping her legs on her?

Seeing the sight of her son, Doyoung's mother quickly removed her leg and stood up. "Young… You-You… are home soon…?" She says before helping you to stand up, like the good person here.

Doyoung isn't dumb, or at least in this. He has been seeing your relationship with his mom and he also saw how his mom treated you. Today, on seeing that his mom is actually making you work unwantedly, made him wonder what all has been going on when he was in his office.

"Mom, what were you doing…?" He asks, a tinge of anger in it. "Doyou-"

"I did not ask you!" You started only to be cut off by an angry Doyoung. You could tell that he was really angry.

He did not mean it to be this rude, but knowing you would favour his mom, it's the best if you stay quiet.

"Tell me, mom! What were you doing? What did you ask my wife to do?!" He nearly screams, coming near to you both, grabbing your hands before putting you behind him. "Why don't you go to our room…." That wasn't a question for you, you nodded your head not wanting to anger him more, before running to your shared bedroom.

_

It's been a while 15 minutes but there was no sign of Doyoung nor his mother. But the muffled screams you heard was enough to say that they both fought, fought because of you.

Suddenly someone entered your room, you turn around to see a fuming Doyoung coming towards you. Standing near you, he raised his hand. High enough to make you flinch.

Seeing him raise his hand, you thought he was going to hit and you immediately shielded yourself with your arms, quickly spouting apologies for nothing.

While, Doyoung just stood there shocked. He just wanted to touch your head. He just wanted to caress your hair and ask you why you did not say anything about his mom. But he never expected you to react this way.

Did you think I was gonna hurt you, love…?Were you scared because he yelled at you in the living room?

You peak through the gaps of your arms, slowly lowering it down when you see that he was just as surprised as you. "I-I… I'm sor-" you be quick to apologise but you were surprised when your husband wrapped his hands around your waist and buried his head in your neck

He hugged you tightly, yet so softly, as if you were a precious piece of diamond that he had to safeguard. You didn't know how to react exactly, so you just hug him back.

You suddenly jolted when you felt a drop of liquid in your neck and some sniffs. Was he… was he crying…?

"I'm.. I'm sorry.. I'm sorry that I-I scared you… I would never h-hit you, Y/N… Please don't be scared of m-me…" he sniffled harder as you just rub circles in his back.

"D-Doyoung no… I'm n-not scared of you… In fact, I'm more comfortable with you than anyone else… I.. I was just surprised…" you say trying to not hurt him more.

'I'm more comfortable with you than anyone else' were you really? Yes, you were and you don't exactly know what is the string between you both. Truthfully, even Jaehyun couldn't make you this comfortable.

"T-Then why didn't you say… say anything about my mom..?" He questions, your top's collar slightly wet.

"I...I didn't want to… cause any problem..." You say simply.

"You think it is okay for my mom to make you work…?" He breaks the hug, looking into your eyes, his own are red.

"B-But… she is a… old person right… We should h-help her..." Your answer made him frustrated. He gripped your shoulders softly, before leaning his forehead to yours.

"No… No, it's not… and you will tell me if anything like this happens again, okay?" He says a little stern, to make sure that you will say it the next time. You nod.

"Good… Can I.. Can I kiss you?" He blurted out, and you took a few seconds to process what he had said. "Huh?"

"I.. I wanna kiss you.." he said. Without your own permission, your head nods itself, pulling him to close the gap.

He placed his lips softly over yours, too pillowy and soft. Your pink plump lips letting his thin ones suck on it. Yours felt like a sweet savory making it irresistible for him to stop.

Suddenly, a sharp pain hit your head. You break the kiss with a groan, scaring Doyoung.

Did I suck too hard?

You hold your head, whining about the pain.

"Aah! Ugh… Doyou-" before you could finish, you fainted. Doyoung's eyes widen, he immediately carries you put of the room, tears pooling around his eyes.

"Mom! Mom! Y/N! Y/N, fainted!" He screamed.

It's been fifteen minutes since the doctor's have been inside that room with you. And Doyoung can't stop crying, tears dripping continuously as his mother can't help feeling guilty too.

The sound of the door opening brought both the son and mother from their grief. "Doctor, doctor- My wife.. My wife, she is- she is okay right? The baby?" Doyoung panicked the moment the doctor came.

"Are you the patient's husband?" The doctor asked calmly, receiving a rapid nod from Doyoung.

"Okay, then. Please follow me…" He said as he led the way, the nervousness bubbling in Doyoung's throat. Tears threatening to fall.

Finally, they both sit and the longer it takes for the doctor to speak, the more Doyoung feels like crying.

"Okay so… Do you, perhaps, know.. know about her memory loss?" Not 'that'.

"I-I… Yes.. Yes, d-doctor.." Doyoung stuttered.

"Well, this is good news then. Your wife has been recovering a few memories now.. She got the pieces of her memories back a little by little. And, I suppose that she will gain all of her memories very soon!" The doctor says, with a smile.

What? Are you going to gain your memories back? Doyoung felt like crying and he did, tears continuously poured out of his eyes. He muttered thanks continuously and sobbed again.

"Thank you so much, doctor. You h-have no idea how much this means to me.. Thank you so so much." He said, voice breaking here and there.

"Also remember, don't stress her. She will gain her memories on her own, you can try telling her about your past but make sure she is comfortable enough to take the information… okay?" The doctor confirms with him, after getting a nod.

His day couldn't get any happier. You finally regaining your memories, means you will be his again…

Doyoung opened the door, to find you sleeping on the bed peacefully. He came closer and sat near the bed. Your face illuminates under the light, so graceful without a frown or creases. Grabbing your hands softly, he intertwined your fingers which perfectly fit each other like puzzle pieces.

He informed your father and your brother, both of whom visited you before he came and left. They said they would visit you back tomorrow once you gain your consciousness.

Bringing your hand near his nose, he inhaled deeply before placing a kiss over your knuckles. The feeling of your skin against his, brought back all the memories. Before he could realise, he was already crying.

"Baby, I-I'm sorry.. If only.. If only I hadn't ditched our date to g-go and party with my… friends, this wouldn't have happened… I'm so fucking sorry, Y/N-ie… Please come back to me… Please…" He sobs.

After a good fifteen minutes of crying, he had to go when his mother called him. He gave you one last peck on your forehead before going out.

Flashback: 2 years ago

"Doieee.. You can't come?" You ask him in a small voice and Doyoung could feel you pouting. He felt so bad, so very bad. But he was forced to go to the party because his close friend, Johnny dragged him because it was his birthday!

"Cupie, I'm sorry… I will spend the whole day with you tomorrow, okay?" He said. "Okay, fine…. But only if you give me lots of cuddles!" You ask him with a giggle and who is Doyoung to refuse such a tempting offer.

"Sure baby! Get home safe, okay? Bye, Love you!" He ended the call after you replied with a "Okay, you too! Love you more, doie". Who knew that was the last i love you from you...

You sigh, knowing that you will have to walk alone from the library because Doyoung is not here to accompany you. Swinging your bag on your left shoulder, you exit the library but to your surprise you saw a specific someone waiting for you there.

"Oh, hey Jaehy-" before you could finish the boy fell on your shoulder. He reeked a strong alcohol "Oh-uh.. Are you drunk, man?" You ask, his tall figure literally towering you.

"N-Noo! I'm… not! Alsooo you l-look sooo sexy" He says, roaming his hands on your waist. To say that you were uncomfortable was an understatement.

"Jae, why don't we take you home, hm? Wait a sec, lemme call-" before you could continue more or pull your phone, he pinned you, hard, on the nearby wall. "J-Jae, what the heck are you doing?!?" You exclaim harshly, when he hooks his arms around your waist.

"Baby, I t-told you that you were sexy right? Why don't we have some fun, hm?" He asks, licking his lips. "Wh-What… Jae s-stop.." you cry out, you don't believe this to be true. He is your friend, right? This must be some kind of prank.

But all your hopes were crushed the moment he kissed you harshly. With a gasp, you try to fight. You pushed him as much as you can but all were of no use. Eyes flooding tears like a waterfall.

When his hands grabbed your breast, you almost felt like passing out. You couldn't breath properly. "J-Jae… please s-stop.." you beg him once again.

"Shut the hell up! C-Corporate babygirl.." he say tauntingly, in a very deep voice, making you scared. His hands are removing your shirt. You can't do anything, his other hand pinning both of yours on the wall But you can't give in to someone just like that.

You gather up all your courage and force before pushing him to the ground. You get a hold of your shirt and start running towards the direction of your house.

Suddenly you heard a loud horn, turning, you looked at that car coming towards, and before you knew, it all turned black.

~

The moment Doyoung got a phone call saying that you were hit by a car, he couldn't stop the tears. He has been crying since the moment he saw so vulnerable in the operation theatre. Your brother sobbing near Doyoung when he heard that they found you with your shirt torn. All the different possibilities and scenarios running up their mind.

Doyoung didn't want to cry, he didn't have the right to cry. He was the reason why you are lying in that bed right now. It was because he wanted to go to some stupid party. Mustering up his courage, he went to talk to your father. "I- " he was cut off by the doctor coming out of the room.

"Relatives of the patient?" Just as Doyoung was about to go, he remembered that your father had to go.

He looked down, when your father moved forward, "Yes, doctor? How.. How is m-my daughter?" He asked, panic evident in his voice.

"Sir, your daughter is fine now…" a big sigh left. Doyoung felt like he came back from death once again, tears streaming down his face, continuously thanking the gods above. "But… her memory.. She doesn't remember a few things. And from what we have questioned her, she doesn't remember the last two years of memory… I understand how hard this is, but be thankful she is fine.. You can go, see her when she is, changed to general ward. Thank you.." the doctor says before taking the leave.

All the hope Doyoung had, fell down on the ground. A wave of shock hit him when he heard the doctor say that her memory was lost and it's been only an year since you both started dating. That means you had forgotten him too.

Doyoung fell on his knees sobbing loudly, how is he going to do this? He felt his heart shattering into thousands of pieces at the thought of you being clueless seeing who he is.

Taeyong put his hand on his shoulder comforting, his own eyes still red from the crying. "Don't worry, Doyoung.. Even if she had forgotten you, she will remember you the moment she sees you. That's how much she loves-"

"Hyung s-stop.. That love is the reason for this, if this ain't my love or some shit… she- she would have been good n-now.." Doyoung said, crying on your brother's chest, sobbing hard, already having a hard time breathing.

It is heartbreaking knowing that the person you like doesn't even remember you.

Sniffing for the last time, Doyoung stands up from the floor, wiping his eyes before walking up to your dad. It's for your best...

"Mr.Lee… I know Y/N… d-doesn't remember me.." his heart clenches, his red and swollen eyes starting to sprout tears once again. Your dad feels himself crying again at the thought of another man crying for you come alive, he was really happy that you found someone like Doyoung. "So… So It's-It's better if we… we don't r-remember things about me… After all, it was all… b-because of me.." By the time he finished, his cheeks were wet.

Both Taeyong and his dad were astonished. "Doyoung, what-" before Taeyong could ask, Doyoung ran back without thinking twice. That day, your dad felt like he lost a big part of not only his daughter's life but also his own.

~

From that very day, you never saw Doyoung. Jaehyun knew he was the one who was at fault, but seeing that you lost your memories, he introduced himself to you and before you both knew, you were in a relationship with him.

Doyoung on the other hand was devastated, seeing you being with Jaehyun hurt him like anything. But when he saw you smiling, he knew you were happy. So, maybe his sacrifice is all worth your happiness.

Present day

You are awake. The moment you opened your eyes, all the headache came back at once. Pieces of memories pulsing in your mind.

Jaehyun touched you. Doyoung was your boyfriend. It wasn't Jaehyun.

Before you could realise, you're already bawling your eyes out. You are not sure why you are crying. Was it because you missed your Doyoung or you didn't get to speak to Doyoung or all the emotions making it so painful for you. Or, even worse, all of it.

You can't believe this. Everything feels like a bad nightmare that you don't wanna encounter once again. You can't believe Doyoung just left you like that. You can't believe that the person who you thought was gonna marry you, once tried to rape you and that's reason for all this commotion. You can't believe that the Jaehyun , who spoke as if honey was practically dripping out, did something cheap like this.

All these making a mess in your mind, making nothing out of it except for tears to come out.

The sudden click of the door startling your sobs, you look up to see the man who you were crying about. "D-Doyoung..." Only that came out other than the sobs. You saw the man that you loved with your whole heart almost crumbling in joy just hearing you say his name. He stood there shocked. Was it finally the time..?

"Doyoung… C-Come.. Come here..." You left out shakily, the said man hurrying, standing near you the next moment.

You look at him who stood there with his head hung low, tears slowly falling. His waist to the level of your face, you bring your arms slowly, hugging his slender waist. Tears falling from both of your eyes like a never-ending falls. The grip of his waist tighten more and more when you heard his sobs.

"I-I'm s-sorry.." he choked out. Removing your arms from his waist, he sits on the bed near you. Your heart breaks at the sight of him looking so wrecked.

"C-Cupcake..." He whispered the name, the name he used to call you with. You broke down the second time in his arms, painful sobs leaving you.

"Doyoung… Why did you l-leave me, honey..." You cried out, placing your hands on his right cheek.

"I'm-I-m sorry…. Baby, I'm so s-sorry… I was… I was scared that.. that something like th-this might happen once again… trust me, I don't want t-that.." he said, the salty tears flooding his cheeks. Your heart stops for a moment.

Did he leave you because he didn't want to hurt you?

"Oh god..." You shakily sigh, before pulling him into a hug. "Doyoung, that… that wasn't you… It was.. Jaehyun… That night… he tried to…" you felt him tense in your embrace. ".. he tried to touch me.. but I pushed him.. I was so scared that he would… do something wrong… I ran away.. but got hit by the car…" You said everything you had within yourself, feeling the weight from your shoulders lift away.

This made Doyoung more guilty, but when you said that Jaehyun tried to behave wrongly with you, his anger overlapped with all other emotions. How can that bastard touch his cupcake?

But that will be another day.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry.. please, please forgive me… Say that you won't leave me.. I didn't know about this.. I am sorry for not fighting for you... Tell me, you will always be with me as my Mrs.Kim..." he sobbed in your chest.

"Do you think I would leave you… No Doyoung… I would never.. I love you so much, my Mr.Kim… But you'll have to give me a lots of cuddles.." you chuckled at the end, breaking the hug to pull him into a kiss. A kiss full of love and longing. The taste of your lips against each other, feeling like heaven, even after years...

A lie. A stupid lie! Why would you lie to him saying that you would not leave him?! You promised, right? Then, why the hell did you leave him?!

Tears flowed out continuously as he cradled his daughter in his arms, standing beside your grave. Why did you leave him so fast? You didn't even get to spend a happy year with him.

Doctors said that there was a difficulty in the pregnancy. They said that it was a 50-50 situation for you to survive. And the unfortunate 50 won the day. The months you were with him were like heaven, even his mother accepted you. You all lived together happily, but then why did this happen?

Doyoung didn't know what to do, the last thing he remembers is you holding his hand tight inside the operation theatre, screaming to not let go. When you saw the doctors shaking their head in disappointment and an unpredictable look on their faces, you knew you wouldn't last longer.

The last thing you whispered before tasting his lips for the last time was, "Doyoung… I love you so much… Take care of our child, baby… I will always… be your Mrs.Kim…"

He can still remember your face clearly. Tears streaming down your face, hair sticking to your forehead, face scrunched up in pain. Even in that state, you looked so ethereal to him. Even when you told him that you loved him in that place, he saw the pure love in your eyes. He felt like he was the same teenage boy years ago when you told him that you love him.

More tears come down when he realises that you will always be his Mrs.Kim. He looked at the flowers on your grave, a tear falling. He should get used to this by now, but he can't. He is not so used to being without you....

THE END.

THANK YOU FOR WATCHING...

Your husband turns to you after the bold letters appear on the screen, his eyes holding tears that are threatening to spill. You just chuckled at his reaction, when you felt him tighten the hold of your hands under the blanket.

He tucked the strand of your hair, holding you closer than you already are. "You did it amazing as always honey..." He whispered in your ears.

"Oh, Yuta. They made my character a crybaby! I was crying the whole time!" You practically whined, making Yuta laugh, his tears fell in the corner of his eyes.

"You know... You looked so sexy being pregnant just in fake, imagine how more sexy you'll look in real, hm? " He asked with a smirk, gaining a blank face from you.

Looking at your deadpan expression, he snuggled in your neck. "Anyways… you're not Mrs.Jung or Mrs.Kim… You're always Mrs.Nakamoto.." he said before sucking a spot on your neck, making you giggle.

"Oh Yuta, you have no idea how much I love you.." you murmured before grabbing him by his neck for a kiss.

A/N: Give this fic and Mark's solo a lot of love!!! Mark did a very good job, We love you mark <33 I literally went through a emotional roller coaster listening to CHILD. Support him a lot!!!

#MOLO #MarkLeeSolo #Mark_Child

navigation

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden ----Anonymity Ch. 11 (NSFW) (END)

Ch.1 Ch2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9 Ch.10

If you are curious to know what my version of Alexia looks like, check here

All maids are dismissed from dinner at night.

The doors are kept sealed shut. It is clear whatever the Dimitrescus are discussing is not for ears outside of their family's to overhear.

You are thankful for the windows you have to focus on repairing while they talk. It keeps you from overthinking and that keeps you sane.

Once everything is fixed, the only physical sign of the nightmarish day you had is Cassandra's sickle, still embedded within what is no doubt a priceless painting.

You approach slowly, as though the weapon has a will of its own and can turn right around to finish the job of gutting you. Your fingers close around the leather handle. The first pull does nothing. The blade is so firmly lodged it won't budge an inch.

But you are nothing if not determined.

That is what you busy yourself with until you see a familiar fly come to land on your shoulder. It doesn't cut at your flesh, but it does bite and tug on your shirt. You understand the silent command to follow.

The insect leads you to the dining room. The table is cleaned, but the daughters are all still there, talking in hushed tones among themselves, poker faces adorning their expressions.

Three sets of yellowish eyes immediately fall to the sickle in your hand. Bela raises an amused eyebrow. The redhead whistles. "That looks sexy on you~"

"Can't imagine it would look as good in me." You give Cassandra a pointed look as you pull the chair beside her, but she only shrugs and leans back, motioning for you to hand it over.

"No... did you throw it at her?" Daniela guffaws. "And you missed?"

A sour grimace comes from the brunette. "I wasn't trying that hard..."

"What if I hadn't dodged?" you ask.

"...well. It's good that you did." Cassandra looks down at her manicured nails, as apologetic as she'll let herself be in front of her sisters.

"Do I want to know what was hit instead of Alexia?" Bela carefully asks.

"You really don't." Cassandra shakes her head and they leave it at that for both their sake.

"So." Bela speaks up after a brief moment of silence. "After our discussion with mother, we are to inform you that you're free to come and go from the castle as you please. Cassandra's key is as much hers as it is yours, now. But. Should any other maid escape using it or learn of our weakness, we'll have to do something nobody here wants."

"We'll have to brutally murder you to make an example. And whoever knows." Daniela cuts in and Cassandra gives her a glare. You aren’t looking forward to learning what their interpretation of the word ‘brutal’ is like.

"Yeah I... I could have guessed that." you reply.

"But I'm sure you're smart enough to not let that happen." Bela states. "This settles everything, I think."

"Not everything." Cassandra retorts, a shadow around her eyes.

"Cassandra, drop it. You heard what mother said." The blonde's tone grows harsh.

"What did she say, other than what we already knew?" comes the sharp bite back. "Why is she so vague every time one of us asks how we came to be?"

"I'm sure she has a good reason. What does it even matter about before?"

"Because I'm sick of having nightmares about people I don't remember!" Cassandra slams her hands onto the table. Both you and Daniela flinch back a bit.

You could have already guessed Alcina is not their biological mother. But a lot of puzzle pieces fall into place before your eyes now. And this new picture you're starting to see of the Dimitrescu family isn't a pretty one at all.

The tension between the two siblings is enough to electrify the air around the table.

"Did you ever consider it's probably for the best that you never do remember them?" Bela asks, her irritation ice-cold as opposed to Cassandra's sizzling fire. "Maybe there's a reason nightmares are all that's left."

You can see your lover's jaw clench. Cassandra's fingers curl into white-knuckled fists as she sits back down. "Don't you get these flashes? These almost-memories?"

"No." Bela says as she stands to leave. "I don't get them. And even if I did, I don't much care for leftovers."

"Daniela?" Cassandra asks, turning to her younger sister.

"I uh... I gotta go do a... thing. Bye now!" The redhead disperses into a swarm right there, before any more can be said.

Cassandra huffs in an exasperated, 'of course' manner. Only the two of you are left in the gigantic room, but you're not sure if you should speak up. You're not exactly confident in your ability to comfort others, nor can you tell where she and you currently stand. It doesn't look like either of you has the energy for any type of loaded talk.

You need each other, that much is as certain as the sun’s rise and fall.

And that's enough, for now.

-

-

Within the next few days, Cassandra and you take your time gravitating back together.

You let the thought of her ripping you in half slowly bleed away and she probably does the same with the notion of you using her weakness against her.

It starts with little touches, on your shoulder or your hand, as you make plans to spend a night or two in your house at the village once the temperature allows it.

Then one evening she comes to your room complaining about Daniela just like the old times and it feels only natural to rub her back like you used to.

Cassandra leans into you like a purring cat.

"Oh, you're so warm..." she sighs, resting her head atop your shoulder.

Absent-mindedly, you bring your travelling fingers up to her nape, pressing at a tiny knot of tension there with your thumb. A little moan slips past her lips –you're aware of just how close to touching your neck they are– and it hits you straight in the gut. You've missed drawing these sounds out of her.

Cassandra shifts against you and every minuscule brush of her lithe form on yours brings sparks to life. Her finger reaches under your chin to tip it her way.

"If you want us to stop here I need to leave now." she speaks with that impatience in the edges of her voice you recognize well.

"What happens if you stay?" you ask. It's not just your body warming at the thought of keeping her close.

"Don't tempt me, Alexia." Her lower lip just barely traces yours as she says it. "I'm not good at resisting and you know it."

You know it. Maybe that's why you tempt her with another almost-kiss in the first place. You could never deny how badly you wanted her and that certainly hasn't changed.

Cassandra crashes your mouths together hungrily, like she's been left without it for too long and now she can't go another second without having you. Her leg crosses over yours to lift herself into straddling you, two strong thighs bracketing your hips tight.

She's trying, you can tell, to not tear both your clothes off and have what she craves hard and fast and right there.

You keep a smirk to yourself when you slip your tongue into her mouth and unhook the buttons of her outfit extra slow. Her nails press into your shoulders. You refuse to speed up.

"Can you go any faster?" she breathily pants once you trail your lips to her neck.

"I can." you say. And lightly bite her.

She's one step away from ripping your shirt off, you can tell from how her fingers curl on the fabric. So you make the smarter choice and distract her with another little bite where you know she likes it best, just underneath her ear, then guide her clothes off of her.

Cassandra pushes you back into the mattress and kisses you again while her cool hands make short work of your clothes. You let her grind her hips into you for some measure of relief as you continue to suck and nibble on her flushed, sensitive skin. Her hands find purchase on your sheets when she no longer trusts her control to have them on you.

"Will you touch me already?" she growls into your ear. You can feel how badly she needs it from the way she shakes on every caress near her center, but this is your payback for that sickle throw.

"I am." you give her a smirk, then lightly push a fingertip into tight, wet heat to cut off her response.

"Ah. I— fuck Alexia!" You've never heard her curse before. And you can't figure out why it's so sinfully hot. “Oh, yes, darling, there!”

As much as she deserves to be tormented for the fright she gave you, you can hardly contain your own lust when she's moving on top of you like this, calling you ‘darling’ and hers.

Both of you come undone not long after, gripping at each other, her soft cries of pleasure filling the room until she lowers her head over your heart, completely spent.

Your fingers gently comb through her wavy hair. For quite some time, Cassandra looks so relaxed you think she has fallen asleep on you.

Until she lifts her head up and nuzzles your jawline, in a way she probably knows kills you every time she does it. Her teeth trap your earlobe. That spells trouble even before she speaks up:

"You didn't think one round would do it, did you? After all, I have yet to pay you back for sneaking into my room and stealing my key, darling…"

Well.

It turns out you won a battle and started a war that lasts throughout the night. And it's only the first, you're sure, of many to come.

For once in your life, you can't wait for what's next.

[stylistiquements]

The Sorcerer pt. 1

Corpse Husband x gn!reader

Reincarnation AU | Summary :

The same candle lights up on Corpse’s desk every time you are reborn and turn 23. He has been looking for you during centuries but this time you might be closer than anticipated.  {Playlist}

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

You’re about to blow your 23rd candles and Corpse is about to experience the consequences of it. Somehow, something about your rebirth is different this time.

☾ Words : 6009.

☾ Warnings : angst, mention of death (only suggested and not specific), grieving, swearing 

Masterlist | Next 

What does it mean to be a sorcerer in 2021? Corpse wonders as he chooses an outfit for his black bean character, lightly tapping his fingers in a crafted rhythm against his dark wooden desk. Nothing, really. The modern days turned his kind into a groundless concept, legendary creatures at best and it’s truly a shame when you think about it.

“Alright, are you ready?” Corpse asks as he moves his mouse above the “start” button and projects everyone into a new round.

“I won’t forgive you like I did last round,” Karl warns Corpse, dash of amusement in his tone.

“Sure,” he scoffs and the devious ghost of a smile shines on his lips when the bloody word “imposter” appears above his virtual pink cat hat.

Sorcerers used to be the rulers of this world and the most famous of well-hidden secrets; no one talked about it yet everyone knew. You just had to be here, respect and adoration followed their every move. People from all horizons went out of their way to meet them in hope of witnessing a miracle.

Oh, how the tables have turned now. They didn’t have to hide their face back then and it all went the harmonious way until a certain day when their fate met a tragic outcome. The day when life took a turn for the hidden.

Corpse is somehow retired now. Maybe that’s why he started doing youtube in the first place; because the craving of being needed had to be fulfilled one way or another. Or maybe because the thrill of life has been gone for so long he had to try everything to fill the void in hope of feeling a drip of something again. The weariness of a mere life stiffened in his rib cage from time to time, preventing a proper breathing.

He could have still been able to practice his magic facelessly -he wouldn’t be the first one to do so after all- but it seems crazy, surreal even, for him to picture being so public about such a heavy little secret nowadays. He found comfort in the concealed, in the invisible so long ago.

See, that’s the most important reason why Corpse is who he is today but stopping the explanations there would be neglecting the truth. Corpse would, but I'm more honest than he is.

Somehow, he believes a little too seriously that a kid’s app was designed to ruin his life. He feels this rotting taste that burns his tongue every time he thinks about it, he always talks about it with great passion; as if one minute videos could compete against the thundering energy that travels from his veins to the tip of his fingers. Witchcraft tiktok got the last bit of his ancestral pride and that’s a damn shame.

His character ambles around the hostile corridors dipped in yellow light, looking for a prey to slice in half. He doesn’t have a plan yet but he sure knows how to improvise by now. Corpse deems that he’s rather good at it. He meets Tina in O2. She’s wandering around, running like a headless chicken. What if he took that expression a little too seriously? Alas, he can’t wrap his mind around the idea of the unforgivable and she escapes his reach. Corpse’s nose wrinkles, better luck next time.

His fictional blood thirst gets stronger when he hops inside a vent and observes Rae’s red character doing her tasks. Corpse knows what comes next, it’s inevitable. A hint of excitement and nervousness hatch on his chest.

At the same time on the other side of the country, the ones you love are carrying a big cake to your table. It seems so silly and it leaves you slightly embarrassed that people are celebrating the fact that you were born but, somehow, you can’t forbid that smile to reach your ears.

When you look at the cake, a snort escapes your control. Your friends drew a glazed picture of you but you find yourself hoping that there isn’t much resemblance between that Picasso-ish designed cake and your actual face. I mean, except for that particularity your face displays; eyes that don’t match in colors, one green and one hazel, it really just looks like a kid's doodle.

23, what a weird number. It doesn’t sit quite right with you for some reason. 22 is fine, same goes for 24 but 23 … Somehow, it feels like something is either missing or too much. You’re not too sure which one it could be.

The warmth that emanates from the candles is sweet and tickles your chin softly and everyone is singing along the most disastrous birthday wishes. You’re preparing for your wish. What could you need more? You’re a faceless horror narrator on youtube and life is just about good. I mean, there really isn’t much to complain about and that should be enough.

Your mind drifts off for a second, contemplating what the dream life could be about while one of your friends is already complaining about wax getting all over your glazed face. You could wish for material things but they come and go and their meaning is only ephemeral, maybe 23 is about getting more than that.

Ah, found it. You close your eyes. May I find the place where I truly belong. 23 candles are blown in one breath, not a bad performance.

That’s when the candle on Corpse’s desk starts shining a delicate and orange shade.

Corpse doesn’t notice it at first, too impregnated by his hunt, but when the unusual warmth finally informs him of the merry event, he wrestles to keep his mind into the game. His virtual character stands motionless for a second as he mutes his mic and takes his headphones off.

Fuck, not now please.

Somewhere, a new version of the love of his life turned 23. His mind drifts off, wandering near this idea as his eyes meet the flame.

It’s been hundreds of years and that fucking candle kept you hostage of his mind. Because Corpse couldn’t forget about you, he built those walls to provide you from slipping away, from invading too much of his busy mind. It was a compromise he made with himself so he couldn’t reach you entirely and, therefore, miss you completely. Yet, your rebirth leaks through the pores of his brain and past the fences no matter how hard he tries.

Corpse battles to breathe, he tries to get his mind back on the game but somehow his throat is already filling with a dangerously acidic concoction. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice immediately the way his fingers start shaking at a painstaking rhythm.

He moves his character around. Left and right. It’s mechanical and meaningless, nothing but a lost cause. Corpse clenches his grip around the mouse, hoping that the unsteadiness would pity him. How much longer can he carry that feeling? It sits on his shoulders and his chest. It tests out his patience, his own resistance to pain.

“Corpse!” Rae shouts wholeheartedly, rooting him out of his spiral. “Where are you?!”

Fuck; he has no ounce of idea of what is happening in real life, too busy going down this familiar and intimate loop once more. He swallows it all, praying that you would spare him some earned mercy. You’re always so cruel, unabashedly sneaking in and taking over his space despite all his efforts.

“I-huh- I’m in medbay, I have scan," he bluffs, hoping that no one would notice the way his voice cracks at the end.

Because if anyone did, he would have to admit that he’s not okay, that he never was and doubts that he ever will be. Just as if conceding the facts would’ve allowed him to feel how flourishing his despair was. There’s this knot inside his throat. It’s painful and he’s so tired. How many times was he left crawling on his bathroom’s floor when his heart fractured a little deeper? He misses you every fucking day but each rebirth brings back more and more longing.

He would love to abandon himself to the aching pleasure of this unsolicited reminiscence but he knows that if he did, you would possess him wholly and never give him back. You plague his mind like a mist that grows thicker and thicker on his lungs. It diffuses everywhere and intoxicates what’s left of him.

“Sure sleepy but that’s bullshit,” Tina whines. “We know it’s Corpse. He’s been sus’ the entire round!”

“He said he had scan, right?” Sean interferes, believing that Corpse is the jester. “Why don’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?”

They’re all waiting for Corpse to step in, to defend himself but he’s no longer here, too busy trying to swallow the emotions that are leaking all over the place. It gnaws him alive, piece by piece and it hurts so fucking much. Will it ever stop?

Silence is convenient, “I voted” badges get pinned on everyone’s chest. His black character falls into the lava, what an ironic metaphor.

“Sorry guys, something came up and I gotta go.” He finally says, hurry in his voice. He doesn’t try to hide it. In fact, he can’t.

“Are you s…” Rae’s voice gets cut abruptly when Corpse quits the call without further notice.

Corpse knows what’s next, when his head gets overcrowded by feelings and his heart too empty. It’s ugly, it’s messy and oh how he wishes it would be different this time.

The room is spinning from the crumbs of your sweet face and the trickle of your voice that drips through his ears as if you were still here. He clings onto that distorted and stained picture as if it was the ultimate proof that you were real. Were you even real once ? Remembering feels like repeating a word over and over again: with time, it loses its meaning. It wasn’t you he remembered, Corpse figured it out a long time ago. You weren’t there anymore.

The thought of it drives him crazy. He wishes he could get rid of that fucking candle, constant reminder of your rebirth away from him, constant reminder of the defeat he has to endure every time you turn 23 and you’re still not by his side. He has been looking for you everywhere for hundreds of years, from the biggest capitals to the most secluded parts of this world, without a single hint of your existence. You’re his greatest failure and he can’t, he won’t stand that.

Corpse grabs the candle and it collides with the floor with a thud that tangles with his raw voice. His chest moves heavily. It's scattered and in discord and there is this distorted gaze on his face when he remembers that the candle cannot be shattered. It’s this unsolicited spark of self-awareness that brings him closer to reality. Fuck. What the fuck is he doing? Corpse finally lost his damn mind. His hands wander uncontrollably in his hair and he looks around frantically for a second, trying to remember how to survive.

Corpse’s head is pressuring him, rushing him to turn off his computer and spill the words that are stuck on the back of his tongue on a piece of paper. That grip is unforgivable and unclear but he starts writing as if it was the only thing left to do, maybe it is. It feels like survival instinct at this point, it feels like the last attempt to collect the pieces of himself you left behind.

Dear you,

Happy birthday, wherever you are in this world. Another letter is about to join the pile. How many are there already? I wouldn’t know. I stopped counting since it made me sick.

As every time, I hope it’s the best birthday you have ever had. I remember the twenty-third birthday we spent together as if it were yesterday. I can no longer recall the way your eyes wrinkled under your bright smile or the sound of your echoing laughter but I do remember that warm feeling inside my chest, the pain in my cheeks from laughing with all my heart. How pleasant was it to be able to live it all with you? To be able to embrace you, to breathe you, to see you. Forgive me, my love, for I am no longer capable of picturing anything of you. I wish I could. I wish I could be haunted by a proper ghost, at least, and not just a glimpse of the range of emotions that animated me when you were by my side. All I can remember now is that you felt like a firework and that my eyes never met a prettier human. It’s so truly unfair to think about the fact that no one matters as much as you still do.

I am drifting off, am I? I always tend to do that in those letters. I hope you’re doing well, I really do. Did you spend your birthday with the ones who love you? I hope you’re happy and healthy. It’s the only important thing, or at least that’s what I have learned so far.

I hate those letters, they make me realize how lonely I am. Somehow, it feels like I’m expecting an answer that is never going to arrive.

Fuck. My skin aches from the lack of your touch. I miss you so fucking much. Just tell me what to do. I tried everything and you’re still stuck inside my brain. I’m a sorcerer for fuck’s sake, one of the most powerful beings to have ever existed and yet the concept of one single human defeats me day after day, rebirth after rebirth. I’m a fucking shame for my kind. I hate you. I love you so very much. Happy birthday.

Yours truly, Corpse Husband

The paper is stained by the storm that has been building up in Corpse's mind for hours. The letters are deformed now. Look at the mess you just made. He throws the letters away, where he can no longer see it and brings his knees to his chest, resting his head between his legs. He feels like screaming one more time but he’s choking. Sweet and sore agony grips his throat as his veins are burning with thick poison.

Don’t be fooled, Corpse would have been able to cast a spell or two to forget about your existence and spare himself a bit. Yet, it would only erase the last proof he had of you, not his feelings. He would have to bear the burden of a quest he could no longer figure out. He would be left longing for something that no longer existed. As if it wasn’t the case already. He wishes he could sleep, life would be so fucking easier if he could just fall asleep.

A few days have passed since your birthday. The thread between days and nights is thin and confusing and the candle on Corpse’s desk is still radiating with as much energy as the first day.

Corpse’s head is heavy, aching, he wonders if he could still carry it on his shoulders if he wasn’t lying on his bed. That sore body feels like it has been drained from an eagerness that has been growing for too long. Corpse groans, trying to figure out what’s sheets and blankets and what’s limbs, living up to the name he chose for himself.

Every ray of the sun is burning his skin. It leaves his body smelling like heat, he doesn't like that smell. Now, he could just get up and draw the curtains but that laziness is as weary as infiltrated. If only it could rain, maybe it would soothe his nerves and his growing migraine.

After a few minutes of silent fulminations, Corpse finally unlocks his phone and opens his texts one by one just to ignore them. He’s curled up on himself, as if a compressed version of his darkness could help in order to block the light. Sorcerers are supposed to be tied with nature, with every ray of the moon and the sun. His bond with the sun is molded, if not completely doomed to grow untie. Corpse is a sorcerer like no others and that goes without saying.

One text captures his breath and his attention, bringing back some interest into the numbness. It’s coming from you, y/n. Or at least, the “you” from this present life. The “you” who isn’t aware of the past and the “you” Corpse doesn’t know is the one he has been looking for during eternity.

In this life, the two of you aren’t close enough to be friends -and he would never let you take that role- but, by the time of your first Twitter interaction -which consisted of you tweeting emo Sykkuno with tattoo pictures and Corpse replying with a meme that said "If life is a simulation please turn it off", Corpse knew you should be near him at all time. Not too close for you to actually be able to touch him but definitely not too far. It’s peculiar but something that has to be felt, not explained; a primitive hunch so loud it couldn’t be unheard.

His mind is awake again. The plan for today, which consisted of him rotting in his bed, seems compromised right now. Corpse turns to lay on the left side of the bed, where the sheets are cooler. His brows furrow and he sighs heavily as he rubs his eyes with his thumbs.

Corpse really doesn’t know why he’d feel that way in the first place for someone like you. You always seem so organic, radiating, so free in the way you choose to exist. He envies you for being so authentic when all he can afford to do is remain hidden, where no light can really reach him if not to draw a faint shape of his being. No harsh feelings though, it’s just the way he feels about anyone who doesn’t sound fake. There is still a bit of remaining endearment in the way Corpse’s words are thrown at you, you just have to know what to look for.

Now, Corpse trades his horror narrator's advices against some social media help. Those things are bigger than him, he’s too old for that anyway. You think the way he still uses symbols as emojis is charming -no one does that anymore- but Corpse just can’t keep up with today’s slang and way of showing emotions via texts. Kids these days are just too creative with the way they express themselves.

[Hello, Mr Sorcerer, hope you’re doing good. I need your help on something.]

Huh.

He meets your words and his mind gets coated in sweat, frozen blood preventing the next heartbeat from happening. Who told you?

Corpse can’t wrap his mind around the fact that his most precious secret is being exposed with that much negligence. He can count on his fingers the number of people who are aware of his true nature, half of them are actually other magical beings of some sort. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

His head is hammered by thoughts. He thinks he’s screwed, that everyone will know. He can already foresee what is about to come. That’s why there is a bit of fear in the way his eyebrows are arching. His alerted mind screams for him to just throw his phone across the room but his fingers, covered in panic, are faster. The first text he sends is not directed to you, but to Sykkuno, his familiar.

Familiars are to sorcerers what assistants are to magicians. In short -but not limited to- a massive help.

Corpse’s link with Sykkuno transcends the law of words and thoughts. They just understand each other and the way they do, without even having to see each other, is just something that has to be witnessed once in a lifetime. It’s a sort of energy that travels through space, a special connection. It's light and invisible but leaves a warm trail on its way.

However, what doesn’t transcend their bond is the concept of time zone -which Corpse forgot about for a second. Sykkuno is probably asleep right now. Corpse’s panic takes back its race once he realizes he’s on his own and he types:

[Haha, very funny. You know, if you wanted to talk, you just had to say hi :)]

Denial, that will do the trick, right? You can’t be that persistent. Or at least that’s what Corpse hopes when he leaves his phone on an unstable balance on his forehead, waiting for an answer he hopes would spare his mind from yet another issue he has to take care of.

[I knew you’d say that but don’t worry, I promise I won’t snitch,] you reply, lips twitching under a sly smile. [I’m way too afraid of you cursing me or something.]

[Who told you shit like that anyway?]

[I just know someone.]

His expression hardens, that head keeps throbbing harder and harder by the minute. You’re so impetuous and it turns him into an impatient and choleric fog. The topic is too important, crucial and it shows how you truly have no idea what you’re talking about when you act as recklessly as you do.

[Some crazy folk told you about magic and you believed them, huh? Thought you were smarter than that.]

[Dream would be pretty upset if he knew you called him “some crazy folk”.]

Corpse stares numbly at his screen before sitting back on his bed, pulling away from his vision the curly strands that fell down. He throws a bunch of silent curses at the sun which is still attacking him, if not even more now. He types a few words but erases them in a snap, repeating the process once or twice more. Now he has to send another text, this one is for Dream : “we need to talk.”

What a weird day.

Questions, Corpse has so many of them but he can’t stop shaking his head with confusion. He had no idea you knew Dream. Why would Dream reveal something so critical as Corpse’s identity? Why would another sorcerer send you his way? That’s not how things are done unless it’s something they deem they wouldn’t be able to handle and there’s really a few things Dream wouldn’t be able to do. Corpse hesitates for second, fingers fidgeting in the air. He doubts that he would ever be capable of doing something Dream can’t do but does it really matter when, right now, you’re holding information you should never be holding in the first place?

[Feeling like trading secrets under the full moon?] You outbid. It’s always so tempting to tease Corpse when he sounds like a grumpy old man.

[A sincere fuck you.]

[That’s very rude, Mr Sorcerer.]

The way you avoid providing any sort of explanation grows in his mind like weeds that need to be ripped off. Really, from all the good timing in the world, you had to choose the worst one. But there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips when he does the math and realizes that, if you wanted to use that secret to your advantage, you would have done it by now. A slow relief that softens his headache. Also, Corpse is well aware that, as annoying as you can get, he can’t refuse you a thing.

[Fine, tell me what you need.]

[So I keep seeing the same number again and again and your name keeps appearing in my head at random times. Still don’t get the correlation but I know there is one. I wanna know the number’s meaning and how I can get rid of you.]

Corpse huffs, he’d like to know that himself. He’s about to laugh it off when he reads the text one more time. Something about it is mysterious enough to pique his curiosity. You mentioned his name, it bothers him. Not that he doesn’t appreciate you thinking about him but because it sounds odd enough to be something related to magic in one way or another. There’s this mix of excitement and apprehension that fills the pit of his stomach and now half of a smile is embellishing his lips. This buzzing sound in his brain, maybe it’s the final signal that he should start practicing magic again, the final signal his life will feel thrilling again.

[Call you in 5. This is a consultation by the way, I’m not doing this for free.]

[Fine, you rat.] You answer with a victorious smile.

Corpse’s words linger in the air. It’s smooth like velvet -you could almost touch it if you pictured it hard enough- and it’s soothing in some way. It’s deep mumbles and bits of light chuckles and a little magic. You’re spinning slowly on your chair, playing with strands of your hair. There’s a different tone in Corpse’s voice. He sounds tired and it’s mixed with something else you can’t really pinpoint. For the best or the worst, that, has yet to be determined.

“So.” Corpse says, bringing you back to reality. “What’s that number you were talking about?”

“Right. So, I keep seeing the number 5 everywhere. I wake up at 5:55 every morning. When my eyes are looking at the clock, it’s 5:55PM and it extends to absolutely everything.” You faintly slap your palm against your thighs in exasperation.

Corpse is silent for a moment as he tries to collect the bits of knowledge that are still hanging here and there inside his mind. As he expected, the pressure below his left eyebrow makes it hard to think. He really doesn’t get why Dream wouldn’t be able to take care of a matter that sounds so frivolous. It feels like the most important piece of the puzzle is missing , the one that makes the whole picture makes sense.

“Okay, this is not really my specialty but the number 5 is an interesting angel number.” Corpse hums. The word “specialty” echoes. Dream talked about that once and somehow, that’s how you finally realized that Corpse was, indeed, a sorcerer. Not that you wouldn’t believe the information in the first place but there’s a remarkable difference between learning and experiencing. What would be his specialty then?

Dream introduced you to this new veil a couple of months ago and you never fully believed in it before getting involved. Maybe that’s why you never talked about it to anyone. Even now, your skeptical nature always finds its way back to you. He said all sorcerers had specialties and that his was clairvoyance. You don’t really know what that means but you wouldn’t ask too much. Knowledge seems like a curse in that field, or at least that’s what you have learned from Dream’s distressed tone when he talked about the past. He always sounded like a broken record, a little out of tune, as if his soul was still partially stuck back there and maybe that’s why Corpse always sounded that way too.

“Do you believe in guardian angels?” You raise an eyebrow, high voice brimming with confusion.

“Do you?” Corpse pauses, you’re silent for a couple of seconds and he realizes that he won’t get an answer to that. “The number 5 is your guardian angel trying to tell you that things are about to change in your life. In fact, it means that the process already started.”

“You’re kinda scaring me though,” you say as you readjust your sit, nose wrinkling under an almost grimace. You don’t like it, you don’t like their world. It’s not yours, you’re only a human with a mere life and an almost mere job. Sometimes, you hate Dream for letting you on this secret you were now forced to keep. It always felt so two faced.

“You don’t have to be scared, the change is only gonna benefit you.” Corpse’s voice is soft and the way you can tell he believes in the words he is speaking is almost as surprising as reassuring. You can’t help it, you don’t like change. The unknown is called that way for a reason and maybe this reason is the explanation for why it needs to remain that way.

“Sure,” you coy. “What do I do about you? That’s what really interests me.”

He scoffs. Trust me, that’s what interests him the most as well. Yet Corpse knows no answer to that. He hesitates for a second and his eyes wander into the void. Should he let you know that he doesn’t have a clue, that it somehow scares him as much as it intrigues you? It feels like his broken sorcerer ego would crack even more if he did. Maybe he just had to find out before letting you know.

“Are you obsessed with me, y/n?” Corpse winces. Why would he have to travel through sarcasmland(™) to escape the question? His eyes go wide for a second, flickering on corners of his empty room. It’s only fair that he would tease you like you tease him, right?

“You’re just being annoying now,” you mumble, cheeks flushing in a vivid tint of pink and Corpse snorts.

Corpse almost forgot about himself for a second, about that damn candle, but it hits him once the conversation fades away and the static silence is the only thing left. So he gets up, grunts in complaint rooted out by sore muscles, turns his computer on and plays some rain sounds. The melody of droplets hitting the ground is reminding him how to breathe.

“Rain sounds, huh,” you whisper. “You like those.”

Corpse hums and the two of you are left listening to the rain. It tickles your ears pleasantly, so you close your eyes and relax in the back of your chair for a moment. It’s a beautiful disharmony if you really pay attention, just like Corpse is. You feel like the conversation is about to end, you don’t want him to hang up just yet.

“Corpse?” Your voice trails for a second and Corpse hums again. “Why did you decide to be faceless?”

“What did Dream answer to that question?” His tone is interesting, a bit higher than it probably should have been. What came up as conversation modalities turns into a piqued interest.

“He never answered me," you mumble.

“So people like you can’t take advantage of our nature in real life too,” he lies and you can tell by the half chuckle that travels with the answer.

You know you won’t get more from him, way less than you wish you did. Those faceless sorcerers always leave you hanging. They let you in on their little Hannah Montana life but never bear the consequence that is this endless and flowing well of questions. The rain rings heavily through your ears. It’s time for the call to end.

"Goodbye, Mr Sorcerer,” you sing before hanging up.

When the darkness finally surrounds Corpse, he slips into a strange place that greets him with a familiar smell; vanilla and freshly cut grass. The birds are singing. He takes a long inspiration, his body knows before he does. Corpse looks around, trying to let the image of the surrounding setting sink in.

That place seems oddly familiar, yet totally new; a kitchen made of golden wooden walls. It's decorated with an old and distinguished taste. The wooden table is dressed with a pretty blue and red tablecloth. Vases of fresh flowers displayed on parts of the kitchen, dried herbs hanging above the sink in front of the window. It’s dipped in sunlight, too bright to be real. The rays of light are swaying with the shadows of branches which are dancing outside with the wind. Corpse doesn’t mind the light for once, he even closes his eyes for a second to let every pore of his body get soaked in it. God, did he miss that place.

“Honey, I was waiting for you.”

Corpse’s heart jumps a little before clutching harder. He knows who’s here, he knows it’s his unforgettable love and the idea makes him almost want to never open his eyes again. He can feel it, the profound kindness and sweet smiles that are surrounding you like it always have and it makes his eyes burn with tears that are ready to trail down his cheek, sobs jostling inside his throat. Corpse wishes he could just cover you in embraces and kisses but he can’t, he can never do that in those dreams.

Corpse tries his hardest not to let the frustration immerse him in bitterness by controlling his breathing which could get carried away at any moment now. He finally swallows it all to look at you. There’s a significant disappointment on his face when he realizes yours is as blurry as always. He wishes he could just witness this beauty one more time. He doesn’t remember what your face looks like, you’re not real. It’s nothing but a dream and you’re not here.

“I made some cookies for you.” The ghost of you says as it points out a chair that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, inviting him to take a seat as it does the same. “Those are your favorite, remember?”

With a voice sweeter than honey, so bewitching, Corpse’s body works on its own and mimics your gestures. His eyes are frozen on your silhouette. He tries to remember the shades and colors that were once painted on your face. If only he could remember.

“Did you redecorate our kitchen?” Corpse asks as he takes a bite of the cookie.

“Did I?” Your past self wonders out loud. “It’s been so long, I can’t tell.”

The treat tastes as good as it always has, Corpse takes another bite. The silence in the kitchen is delicate, contemplative. Outside, the weather is lovely; white clouds floating above the endless and bright green meadows. Corpse tries to take everything he can from that dream, from the peacefulness he feels now deep inside, and the perfume of your skin, to the sweet voice that caresses his ears. If Corpse could stay here forever, he would.

“Why are you here, my love?” You suddenly ask, forcing Corpse’s attention which he refuses by looking away.

“I wonder if the wind is warm or cool outside, maybe I should check.”

Corpse knows what happens every time you visit his dreams : you end up asking this question, he answers and suddenly he’s alone and you vanished into thin air. The response is always the same; because I miss you. It leaves him feeling lonelier than ever, craving a presence he can no longer be blessed with. Just a little bit longer, please. He blinks rapidly to expel the few tears that are forming in his eyes, so the knot inside his throat wouldn’t become more unbearable than it already is. Corpse is left feeling so desperate and helpless.

In a precipitation he almost can't control, he gets up and walks towards the door. He just wants to feel the wind on his skin. Please, just a bit longer. Corpse is almost at the door when his eyes deform with stupor under the pressure of a hand that grabs his sleeve. His heart stops, he was never able to touch you in a dream before. What changed? There’s a moment of hesitation before his eyes travel from your hand, to your arm, to your neck, to your face and he can no longer swallow his emotions when he dives into your eyes. Your eyes, he can see them.

When Corpse wakes up, wiped out of his dream, his breath is short and sweat pearls down his forehead. He’s in a rush, he remembers something about your face, something important. He knows what to look for now; your eyes, your irises. They don’t match in color. The left is green, the right has a pretty hazel color.

☾ A/N : Welcome on this new AU my friends I’m so excited to have you here with me on this new journey! I hope you liked the first chapter. A big thank you to @moontwinkles for beta reading the chapter and being a big help 💗 How are we feeling about this? Faceless leo men being sorcerers and familiar Sykkuno??? Idk I’m a little too passionate about it. Don’t worry the next chapter won’t be as angsty as this one but I needed to express my thrist for angst lmao anyway let me know what you think! Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

☾ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 *OPEN* : @open-minded-chip-101​ ; @lochness-butmakeitsexy​ ; @bizarrebibitch​ ; @bellomi-clarke​ ; @ladybismuth​ ; @katyasrussianaccent​ ; @satanhauntedourcats​ ; @owl-llie​ ; @teenloves​ ; @notannis​ ; @mcntsee​ ; @rottenroyalebooks​​ ; @peachdoppi​ ; @mirahg​ ; @foxxtrot-116​ ; @koi-soi​ ; @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker ; @butterfly-skinnylegend ; @fanworrior ; @stickystrawberrysyrup ;

[brittanagirlcrush]

Ain't It Shocking What Love Can Do

Fic writing Prompt: “ You’re cute when you’re angry”

Santana bounced along the hallway and spotted a familiar blonde ponytail just ahead.

“Brittany! Hey, Britt!” she called out, moving faster to catch up to her girlfriend.

Brittany continued walking away. Santana caught up to her and slipped her arm through the taller girl's.

“Hey, I was calling you, what's going on?”

Brittany shrugged Santana's arm off and continued walking. Santana grabbed her elbow and forced Brittany to turn around and face her. Then stopped and stepped back from the look on Brittany's face.

“What do you want, Santana?” Britt's eyes were cold as she snapped at the smaller girl.

“What's wrong, Britt?” Santana's brow furrowed in confusion. She'd never seen Brittany like this.

“Why don't you ask your girlfriend?”

“I … thought I was?”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Britt … I have no idea what you're talking about. Talk to me.”

“I'm just pissed off that you think it's okay to treat me like that.”

Santana was completely blank. She had no idea what she'd done. She did know one thing, though.

“You're not pissed. You're cute when you're angry. This … this is not a Brittany is angry face. This is something I've never seen on you.”

“Well, maybe you've just never seen me really pissed.” Brittany was trying to maintain her coldness but Santana could see the hurt in her eyes; could see the tears Brittany was desperately fighting back. Santana grabbed Brittany by the wrist and pulled her into an empty classroom.

“Britt … talk to me. Tell me what I did so I can apologize or undo it or whatever I have to do.” Santana was getting desperate, her stomach churning and making her feel like she was going to throw up.

“Why don't you go talk to Rachel?” Brittany spat at her, “you seemed to really enjoy that cheating song … and putting her picture in your locker.”

The pieces fell into place and Santana's stomach settled a bit. She stepped forward and took one of Brittany's hands in her own, gratified that Brittany didn't pull them away even though Britt refused to look at her. She used her free hand to cup Brittany's cheek and tilt her face up.

“Hey … look at me. The song was just a song … and, cheating aspect aside, it's you I get so emotional about.” Santana smirked a bit. “And I saw you filming me.”

Brittany's cheeks flushed even as the tears started to fall. Santana stepped forward and cupped Brittany's face with both hands and thumbed away the tears.

“Rachel came up to me after and said a bunch of stuff about how we could have been friends all this time and asked me to put her picture in my locker because you, apparently, can tell a lot about a person by what they have on their locker. You're the one that's been telling me for two years that these people are my friends, my family.” Santana shrugged. “That's all it is, Britt. Rachel being Rachel and me accepting the friendship she was offering.”

Brittany sniffled. “That's all? Really?”

“Oh, Britt, of course really. I don't know if you know this … but I'm totally in love with the most amazing girl in the world. She's sweet, funny, beautiful, hot, and a genius. She's everything. The weird thing? She seems to like me, too.”

Brittany smiled bashfully. “I'm sorry, Santana, I don't know what I was thinking … and she more than likes you.”

Santana took another stepped forward and kissed Brittany softly on the lips. Then giggled.

“What's so funny?”

“You,” Santana grinned, “you weren't pissed. You were jealous. That's why I didn't recognize the look on your face. You've never been jealous before.”

“Shut up, was not,” Brittany was blushing furiously, “I didn't like that feeling.”

“I promise you, Britt, you never have any reason to ever feel it when it comes to me. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Brittany sighed, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend.

As they exited the classroom, hand-in-hand, Santana started laughing.

“What's so funny?”

“So much about this. That you'd be jealous of Berry in the first place is ridiculous. But, seriously, Britt? If I were going to cheat on you – not that I ever would – you really think I wouldn't aim higher than Berry?”

Brittany couldn't contain her own laughter as they continued down the hall to their next class.