#after the corpse paint didn’t work out the way I wanted it to

[slttygeto]

CURSING MY NAME, WISHING I STAYED.

જ⁀➴ synopsis: you never got the chance to say goodbye to each other in 2007, you never thought you needed to. ten years later, you are still unable to find the right words as you stand in front of his lifeless body. if suguru geto was truly dead, who was the man standing in front you almost a year later?

જ⁀➴ content warning: angst, hurt/no comfort, manga spoilers, slapping and choking.

જ⁀➴ word count: 1,4k

જ⁀➴ note: this was requested about a year ago and I only got the chance to work on it today. enjoy :)!

You never associate Suguru with spring, despite it being such a lovely season, you remember it being the one season where he decided he needed to pull away. It was subtle, but you could feel it. He ate less, spoke less, he didn’t want to hang out as usual. You didn’t go on missions anymore, but you tried to be present. Even when summer came around and all hell broke loose.

You associate Suguru with autumn. Satoru doesn’t say a single word when you say it loud, when you tell him that that the orange leaves falling down and painting the road remind you of your past lover, how your love for him felt that way when he left—fragile, easily crushed. But Satoru would beg to differ. He could see it in your eyes, how they refuse to meet his when Yaga brings up the man’s name. It hurts to lose a best friend, but it hurts even more when you have a best friend and a lover in the same person.

Ten years later on Christmas Eve, Satoru has to put his best friend to rest. He doesn’t need to call you or tell you where he is, you just know. You show up as Suguru is taking his last breath and you stand there, unmoving. Your love for Suguru didn’t feel like autumn anymore. The tears running down your face were warm, and your chin was quivering as you let out a pathetic sob.

“I’m sorry.” What was Suguru apologizing for? For killing people or for betraying the people he loved the most? You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, didn’t even bother to wipe the tears blurring your vision. You just stared at him, how a smile was dancing on his lips as he saw the two people he loved the most standing in front of him.

“Perhaps in another life,” Suguru’s voice is quiet, and you seem to take notice of how pale he looks. “I am who you’ve always wanted me to be.”

You wanted him to be many things, but it seemed unfair for him. If Suguru was truly unhappy while in Jujutsu high, then maybe you were never meant to be together. If he couldn’t wear a heartfelt smile in this world, then perhaps destiny played its cards wrong. If you were never able to keep Suguru around, then Suguru was never yours to keep in the first place.

You watch as the life slowly fades out of his body, and Satoru turns away from the corpse of his best as you kneel down in front of it and hold his lifeless body in your arms, the heart wrenching sobs that you let out force the strongest sorcerer to stand behind you and place a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s time to go.”

--

 “You’re late, (name).” You never associated Suguru with autumn after his death. In fact, no season could do your past lover justice. Yet the person standing in front of you reminded you of winter—cold, mean and lifeless.

Why was Suguru standing in front of you?

You and Satoru are unmoving as the familiar body of your best friend and lover approaches the two of you. You don’t speak, your lips are frozen as you stare in shock at the same person whom you’ve been mourning his death for the past twelve months.

Geto Suguru passed away on December 24th. You’ve been mourning his absence for almost a year—so who was this person standing in front of you?

“I don’t remember you being this quiet, my love.” The pet name sent shivers down your spine, and you watched as the hand of your past lover reached towards your face to hold it. You craved this, to be held by him again after so long, to feel the warmth of the one person who promised you a lifetime of happiness—only to break that promise so soon. You pull away harshly when the tip of his fingers touches your cheek, and Geto Suguru seems to find your hesitance extremely funny.

“Who are you?” You step back towards Gojo, and you don’t need to look his way to know that he was just as taken aback as you were. Wide blue eyes staring in shock at his best friend—his one and only. It was sad that Geto Suguru (while he was still alive) was your enemy for longer than he was a loved one or a best friend.

“Geto Suguru of course.” Liar.

“My six eyes…” Satoru starts, and your heart breaks at how panicked he sounds. “My six eyes are telling me that you are Geto Suguru.”

But he wasn’t Suguru. This wasn’t the man you fell for, nor the man you fought last year. You refused to believe that he somehow came back to life. Not when you kneeled in front of his corpse and held him in your arms.

“But my soul knows otherwise! So hurry up and tell us, who the hell are you?!”

It’s a gut wrenching feeling as you watch the man in front of you open up Geto’s head and toy with it as he wished. He lets out an ugly laugh, one that doesn’t match Suguru’s beauty.

“It’s a cursed technique that allows me to hop between bodies by switching brains. Of course, it lets me use the innate techniques within the body, I coveted his cursed manipulation and these exact circumstances.” His eyes then land on you and a sinister smile is dancing on his lips.

“You,” he starts, taking one step forward towards you. “As pathetic as you seem in this man’s memories, begged Gojo Satoru and Shoko Ieiri to not get rid of Geto Suguru’s body, am I right?”

As pathetic as you seem in this man’s memories.

You didn’t know what to react to first. His words felt like a thousand burning knives, each one stabbing you from a different side. You fight back the urge to jump on him, you know you’re at disadvantage because Satoru was bound to this prison realm.

“I did.” Your response is short and quick, and the man in front of you chuckles at how dry you sound.

“He loves you a lot, you know?” Kenjaku pauses for a second, and the time he takes before continuing makes you feel as though he was mocking you. “Always wished he could trade places with the strongest sorcerer. You two were close, it always nagged him.”

This wasn’t true. This could never be true because Satoru and Suguru were closer than ever. You don’t remember a single instance where you felt as though Suguru was jealous of his best friend. This man was trying to shatter you in hopes of trapping you the same way he trapped Gojo Satoru.

“How are you gonna let yourself get used like this, huh?” Satoru sounds enraged. “Tell me, Suguru!”  

You are just as shocked as Kenjaku when his neck twists, a sign of resistance when hearing Satoru’s loud yell. It was almost as if he heard him and wanted to wake up, to free himself of the man who was using his body to toy with the feelings of his loved ones. He then laughs, and again it sounds evil as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“Ha! No way! This is a first for me,” his eyes then fall on your frozen figure and by the look on his face, he was up to no good.

His hand makes its way towards you and wraps around your neck, you get that his intention was to choke you. But when his hand refuses to squeeze around your neck, the look on his face turns into an annoyed one. Kenjaku couldn’t hurt you, Suguru didn’t let him.

Unfortunately, he still had more control than the original soul occupying the body and his hand manages to grab your neck and push you up against the wall, knocking the wind out of your chest.

“You’re getting in the way.” No matter how hard Gojo tried to shift the attention back on him, Kenjaku seemed to want to get rid of you and as fast as possible. You find yourself thrown next to Satoru, tied up in similar bounds.

“Goodnight, my love.” His hand caresses your cheek, and you’re forced to feel his cold touch against your skin. You hear a smack and your cheek stings, teary eyes forced to stare into his cold ones when he roughly grabs your jaw.

“Let us meet in the new world.”

2023 ; all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

[issdisgrace]

THE START OF BILLY HARGROVE AND HIS METAL HEAD BF RELATIONSHIP

WARNINGS: Use of the word fag, nothing else​

A/N: There will be a part 2 in the future eventually.​

You and Billy officially met when you two were paired together for a History project. Both of you hated the idea of having to work with each other because why wouldn’t you.

You two were complete opposites. You were a 6’2 metal head that wore corpse paint, band tees, and arguably way to many rings. While Billy was a 5’10 blonde hair blue eyed fuck boy that drove a loud ass car.

So it was no surprise that you both asked the teacher if there was anyway to get a different partner.

Unfortunately or rather fortunately the two of you couldn’t get out of doing the project together. While neither of you really cared all that much for your grades you both needed to pass the class and the project would count as 50% of your grade. So you both had to do it whether you liked it or not.

Anyway you begrudgingly both shared your information with one another and planned to meet up at your place that Friday to work on the project together.

Eventually Friday rolled around and Billy showed up late as always in his blue 1979 Chevrolet Camaro.

To say Billy didn’t want to be there was an understatement. Fortunately for him you had all the information the two of you would need to put together the project.

So things went smoothly and you two talked back and forth as you worked getting to know each other.

Which was when you both found out that you shared a genuine love of cars. This definitely helped your guys acquaintanceship and made the project go by quicker.

Anyway in the end the project only took you guys 3 hours which was less than what you both expected it to take. After you guys finished Billy left your place and that Monday you guys presented to the class before you both went back to strangers.

You two stayed strangers again for 2 months until Billy had a problem with his Camaro and didn’t want someone he didn’t know touching his baby so instead of taking it to a mechanic and knowing you worked on cars, he showed up at your house asking for you to look at.

You were of course surprised by this visit and even more surprised when he asked you to take a look at his Camaro. You of course agreed and took a look. It ended up being something real easy to fix so you.

So you took off your rings and handed them to Billy for safe keeping. As you bent over the Camaro fixing the problem.

Billy quietly watched you from the side as you worked on the Camaro. He took note of everything about you from your height and build to your clothes and corpse paint.

As he watched you he felt something grow in his chest. Something all too familiar. Something that he frankly hated. Something he wished to ignore specifically being in this shit hole of a town.

This town wasn’t all to found of people like him. People that liked same gender. But Billy would never call himself a fag sure he liked men but he also liked women. He had no clue what he was but he knew he liked you.

Maybe it was the fact you were so openly yourself and didn’t care what others thought of you or maybe was it the way you held yourself and talked. Who knows because Billy certainly didn’t.

As you were finish up Billy realized he needed to pay you for your work somehow. He wondered if you were gay and would go out on a date with him as payment.

“You’re all set. Your baby should be working at 100% again.”

“Thanks……Um would you maybe want to go out on a date with me. It’s all on me, I just want to um pay you back for your work.”

“Sure that’s fine with me. I’m free this Saturday if that good with you.”

“Yeah that works for me.”

“Well it’s a date then.”

[even-disco-baby]

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant’s expression is difficult to place as he ponders the mural.

THE NEXT WORLD MURAL — “TRUE LOVE IS POSSIBLE ONLY IN THE NEXT WORLD— FOR NEW PEOPLE. IT IS TOO LATE FOR US. WREAK HAVOC ON THE MIDDLE CLASS.”

INLAND EMPIRE — Right on.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — What a slogan! So many layers in so few words. Perfectly crafted to grab one’s attention and keep hold of it for long after you’ve passed by. You wish you’d thought of it.

“Truer words were never spoken.”

“What a fuckin’ bummer, am I right?”

“Not bad, but I like the one we painted in Martinaise better.”

KIM KITSURAGI — “You mean, the one *you* painted,” he says pointedly. “I had nothing to do with that.”

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — He did like your mural. He’s just never gonna admit it. He’s too committed to the bit.

THE NEXT WORLD MURAL — The words seem to tower over you as you and your partner take them in. Once again, you can’t help but wonder how the Belles Lettres managed to paint this monstrously massive mural without being seen.

VISUAL CALCULUS — Surely there must have been scaffolding involved, or some kind of machinery.

LOGIC — They were seen. Just not by anyone who would disturb their work, or sell them out to the police. Which, if the results of the vote are anything to go by, would be most of the people of Jamrock.

“What do you think about the part about true love, Kim?”

“What do you think about the part about the middle class, Kim?”

“Did you know there was a vote on whether or not to remove the mural?”

KIM KITSURAGI — “We did hear about it back at 57,” he admits. “It’s rare for your district to organize a vote like that. Or any district, for that matter…”

He frowns slightly, peering up at the embracing couple. “I’ll admit, when I heard about it, I had no idea how *big* this thing was. I’m surprised that they voted to keep it. You must be able to see it for miles…”

CONCEPTUALIZATION — Eight stories loud, painted over the corpse of a failed real estate venture. A reminder, a call to action, and a threat, all rolled into one. Constant and inescapable. Oh, yeah. *This* is good stuff.

EMPATHY — It makes the lieutenant uncomfortable.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — That’s the point.

YOU — “How would you have voted?”

KIM KITSURAGI — “I wouldn’t have,” he says drily. “I didn’t live here.”

“All right, fair enough.” (Drop the subject)

“Cmon, Kim. If you *did* live here, which side would you be on?” (Press him)

KIM KITSURAGI — “I don’t know that it’s about taking sides…” His sentence trails as he considers the mural.

PERCEPTION (Sight) — He glances at you for the briefest of moments, and then away. Almost as if he hadn’t meant to do it.

ESPIRIT DE CORPS [Godly: Success] — You make him uncomfortable in much the same way that the mural does. Representative of truths that he doesn’t know what to make of.

There was a time when he dreamt of things like true love. And heroic deeds, and brilliant discoveries, and aerostatic pilots. A home that belonged to him. A table laden with food and crowded with people. The future and the past were polar opposites in his eyes— one a painful collage of loneliness and ostracization, the other a blank canvas, and all the more beautiful for it. It could be anything.

It did not take long for the present to beat it all out of him. And then he blinked, and he was forty-three and alone, having spent twenty years of his life on stubbornness and spite, trying to prove himself to people who didn’t and still don’t care, at the expense of the people that he should have cared for. And he realized it was too late for him.

YOU — Too late for what…?

EMPATHY — To do or be anything different.

KIM KITSURAGI — “…I don’t know,” he finally says. His voice is level, but quiet. “But I can understand why people wanted it to remain.”

He tears his gaze away from the mural at last and looks at you. “What about you? How did you vote?”

YOU — “I can’t remember.”

KIM KITSURAGI — He grimaces slightly. “Right. Sorry…”

“But I think I would have voted for it to go.”

“But I think I would have voted for it to stay.”

KIM KITSURAGI — “That doesn’t surprise me,” he sighs. “I’m sure the part about wreaking havoc on the middle class especially appealed to you.”

“You know it, comrade.”

“No, it was the part about true love being dead.”

“No, it was the part about new people.”

KIM KITSURAGI — He looks at you strangely. “…Oh? What do you make of it?”

“There’s no such thing as new people. We’re all the same, and we’ll always be the same, walking in the same old circles.”

“Fuck the new people and their new world that we’ll never get to see.”

“I think anyone can become a new person if they try. It’s a call to action.”

“Even if it’s too late for us to be new, I think we can still change. And we can still love each other.”

KIM KITSURAGI — He looks for a moment as if he’s going to say something… and then nothing. His lips purse slightly.

EMPATHY [Formidable: Failure] — It’s hard to say what he thinks of your little thesis. Matters of love are tough on him.

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Success] — But you get the feeling that *something* is happening within the lieutenant. There’s a crack in the dam that’s widening every day, and he knows it. He’s afraid to let it happen, but he’s equally powerless to stop it.

INLAND EMPIRE — You’re afraid, too. You’re both the same brand of coward.

VOLITION — You’re both a lot of things that you don’t have to be. It’s too late to have never been them. But it’s not too late to stop.

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — Stopping is precisely what he’s afraid of. He wonders what of himself will be left if he ceases to be *this.*

That’s selfish. We’re both so selfish.

It would be better if we ceased to be anything at all.

Whatever is left, I’ll still love him.

INLAND EMPIRE — How do you know he *wants* your love?

YOU — I don’t know. But he has it, anyway.

THE NEXT WORLD MURAL — A cold wind rushes past you, sending a chill deep into your bones. Unconsciously, you both step closer to each other. Seeking warmth.

[bunnyscrypt]

Imagine coming back and seeing Jason sitting upright with your makeup bag in his lap, rummaging through all the products, whispering the names under his breath, and figuring out what each of the products is. You smile, sitting directly in front of Jason, blocking his view from the mirror.

“Can I put lip gloss on you?”

“I don’t know…” Jason's voice trails off as he moves back, trying to escape. You scoot forward, your knees now touching his. You grab Jason's sleeve, tugging at it, “Please, Jay. You can wash it off right after.”

You smile at him sweetly, and as much as Jason doesn’t want to, how could he say no to that pretty face?

Jason rolls his eyes, “Fine.”

Grinning excitedly, you grab the makeup bag, rummaging through it to find the perfect gloss. Unscrewing the lid, you lean in so close that Jason could count each individual lash that gently grazes the apples of your cheeks when you blink.

Brushing away the hair on Jason's forehead, you brush the sticky gloss against his lips, blending it gently with your finger. You reach into your bag again, this time, grabbing a pinky blush and a big, fluffy brush. Jason didn’t know you needed a brush for lip gloss.

But his mind completely shuts down when you literally climb into his lap, straddling him, letting your legs wrap behind him to get even closer.

You hold the blush, gently swiping into the product, tapping the excess off the lid. Jason can barely breathe as you swipe it over his cheeks. Your breaths mingle together from your proximity. He would have objected because he didn’t remember agreeing to blush, but he couldn’t really think when your legs squeeze around his waist like that.

His own hands find the small of your back, resting just above your ass, but being so focused on doing his makeup, you don’t even realize the placement.

Leaning back, you take a good look at your work, adding the finishing touches.

“You look so cute!” you coo at Jason, squishing his face in your hands, and he groans, pushing your hands away as you laugh into his shoulder.

“Let me see!”

You stay in Jason's lap, twisting your body around to see his reaction in the mirror. You feel the air leave your lungs when you see the way he holds your ass, and the way your legs wrap around his torso, and the way he looks in the dim, gold light of your lamp.

“I look so fucking stupid.”

“No, you look cute,” you smile, and Jason feels his heart stutter at the compliment.

“I want this off my face.”

🐇 needed to share omfg I got a little carried away but it's ok

“i want this off my face.” pls skjhbvdsfhjg😭

this was so cute thank you for sharing <33

i do think he’d let you put a lil eyeliner on his waterline especially if you’re going to a show wait- now i’m thinking of you doing corpse paint while straddling his lap….. …

[brookghaib-blog]

Whispers of the past pt.11

Pairing: Hoshina Sohiro x reader

Summary: 10 years ago, Y/N went missing after being attacked by a kaiju, now working by Gen Narumi's side as his secret weapon, she hides herself in hopes that one day she reconnects with her first love, Hoshino Soshiro.

pt.10 - pt.12

Y/N's pov:

The battlefield was quiet, the sounds of battle long since faded. I sat atop the massive corpse of the kaiju I had just defeated, my new scythe resting against my shoulder. The first light of dawn was breaking over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the scene. The air was still, carrying the scent of earth and the faint metallic tang of blood.

I wiped the sweat from my brow, feeling a sense of satisfaction. This was the first mission where I had used my scythe exclusively, not once relying on my kaiju form. The weapon had felt like an extension of myself, moving fluidly with my every motion. It was a testament to Narumi’s insight and the skill of the craftsmen who had made it.

As I sat there, catching my breath and watching the sunrise, I heard footsteps approaching. I didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Narumi’s presence was unmistakable, a steady and comforting force amidst the chaos.

He climbed up and sat beside me, both of us gazing out at the rising sun in silence. For a while, we just sat there, letting the tranquility of the moment wash over us. The sky was painted with hues of pink and orange, a stark contrast to the destruction that lay around us.

After a while, I broke the silence. "If there was a world without kaijus, what do you think you would be doing?"

Narumi turned to look at me, his expression thoughtful. "A world without kaijus, huh? That's a tough one. I’ve been fighting them for so long, it’s hard to imagine life without them."

I nodded, understanding completely. The fight against kaijus had defined so much of our lives. "I’ve thought about it a lot," I admitted. "What it would be like to live in a world where we didn’t have to fight, where we didn’t have to lose so much."

He sighed, leaning back on his hands. "Honestly, I’d probably be a professional gamer. I mean, I'm pretty good at them."

I laughed, the image of Narumi as a professional gamer suiting him in an unexpected way. "I can see that. You’d probably be the best in Japan."

He chuckled softly. "I’d give it my best shot. But I guess it’s the same thing, in a way. Trying to be the best, pushing myself to new limits."

"And what about you?" he asked, his eyes curious. "What would you do in a world without kaijus?"

I paused, considering the question. "A cientist, that was the dream. But right now, all I can think about is slaying every kaiju that ever appears. I want to make the world a safer place, so no mother would be without her kids, no kid would be without their mothers."

Narumi looked at me, his eyes serious. "You’re already making a difference, Y/N. You’re one of the best fighters we have. You’re strong, capable, and you have a heart that won’t quit."

His words touched me deeply. "Thank you, Narumi. That means a lot, coming from you."

We sat there in silence again, watching the sun climb higher in the sky. The light grew brighter, washing away the shadows of the night. I felt a sense of calm settle over me, a rare moment of peace in our tumultuous lives.

"I know it’s hard," Narumi said after a while. "But we’re making progress. Every kaiju we defeat brings us one step closer to that safer world."

I nodded, feeling a renewed sense of determination. "And I won’t stop until we get there. No matter how long it takes, no matter how hard it gets. I’ll keep fighting."

He placed a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "And you won’t be alone. We’ll fight together, side by side."

I looked at him, grateful for his unwavering support. "Together," I echoed, feeling a surge of hope.

As the sun rose fully, bathing the world in light, I felt a sense of resolve solidify within me. This fight was far from over, but with allies like Narumi by my side, I knew we could face whatever came our way.

We climbed down from the kaiju’s corpse and started making our way back to the team. The battlefield was littered with the remains of the creatures we had fought, but there was also a sense of victory in the air. We had won this battle, and we would continue to win, one fight at a time.

"Come on," Narumi said, a hint of a smile on his lips. "Let’s go report back and get some rest. We’ve earned it."

--

"Y/N, I need you to read this."

I took the report, noticing the Third Division's emblem on the cover. My heart skipped a beat at the thought of Soshiro. Since our last encounter, I had tried to focus solely on my duties, burying the pain of his betrayal deep within me.

"What's this about?" I asked, flipping through the pages.

"It's a report on the last mission in the Third Division," Narumi explained. "Two new recruits fought what we now call Kaiju No. 9. He was disguised as a human, part of the cleaning team. But that's not the strangest part."

I paused, my interest piqued. "What else happened?"

Narumi leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "Kaiju No. 8 fought against Kaiju No. 9."

I looked up, startled. "Kaijus fighting each other? That's never happened before."

"Exactly," Narumi said, nodding. "There’s no memory or record of kaijus engaging in combat with each other. It's unprecedented."

I continued reading, my eyes scanning the detailed accounts of the battle. It was clear that Kaiju No. 9 was a formidable opponent, but the fact that another kaiju had fought against it was baffling.

"And there's more," Narumi added. "Soshiro fought against Kaiju No. 8, but it managed to escape. Its behavior was...odd, almost human."

I felt a chill run down my spine. "You think there might be other humans like me, transformed into kaijus?"

Narumi's gaze was steady. "It's a possibility. The way Kaiju No. 8 fought, the strategic thinking, the hesitation—it all suggests a level of intelligence and emotion that’s unusual for kaijus. It's not just mindless destruction."

I took a deep breath, absorbing the implications. "If there are others like me, we need to find them. Understand them."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," Narumi said, his tone serious. "Your experience, your insights—they're invaluable. We need to be prepared for the possibility that there are more like you out there, struggling with their new identities."

I nodded, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. "I'll do whatever it takes to help. If there are others like me, we need to find a way to reach them, to understand their situation."

Narumi handed me another document, this one detailing the Kaiju No. 8’s known movements and behavioral patterns. "I’m assigning you to a special task force to investigate this further. Your primary objective will be to gather as much information as possible on Kaiju No. 8 and any other potential human-kaiju hybrids."

"Is this your way of requesting me to go investigate the Third Division, Captain?"

Narumi lowered his head. "I don't like giving you this mission, but your living an unique experience, we have no collection of other person like you until kaiju n8 exposed this behaviour, I know, and you know too, that you would be the only officer in here able to detect something, if there's someone with your same condition, the kaiju in you will detect it. You are with us, but there's nothing that could prove that all of your kind have the same ideologies as you, if you request me, I'll go with you, but if you need more that one day to detect something, you know I can't stay away from that long."

I sighed, I knew I needed to do it, it's not like I could turn something like this down simply because of a person I didn't feel like seeing, we work under the same organizition, I knew I would see him eventually anyway. "Of course, there's no need Captain, they are colleagues now, in case of danger, I'll always be protected, the general declared me as an officer, they can't go against him anyway."

He got up from his chair, now facing me, he walk around the table, handing me the documents. "You'll call me everytime something happens, even if something personal, I'll be there as fast as possible if needed, it'll get easier with time to face some challenges, but I really need you to think as an officer, Kaiju n8 is to strong, if he's a turned human in the wrong side, we need to go after him as soon as we find him."

Looking in his eyes, I knew he was worried, but I was happy, he was finally treating as an offcier.

--

Arriving at the Third Division base unannounced, I felt a sense of unease settle in my stomach. The building was imposing, a fortress of discipline and strength. As I walked through the entrance, the bustling activity of the base reminded me of the First Division. Soldiers and officers moved with purpose, their eyes sharp and focused.

I made my way to the captain's office, my mind racing with thoughts of the mission ahead. I needed to gather as much information as possible about Kaiju No. 8. The possibility that there were other human-kaiju hybrids like me was too important to ignore.

Captain Ashiru greeted me with a nod as I entered her office. Her presence was commanding, her eyes sharp and calculating. "Y/N, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I’m here on a mission, Captain Ashiru" I began, trying to keep my voice steady. "I need information about Kaiju No. 8. Anything you can tell me would be helpful. There are suspitions from your last report, we need to investigate your base, the behaviour that was written was very peculiar for a kaiju, sure you are more than aware of that. "

Ashiru leaned back in her chair, considering my request. "Kaiju No. 8, you say? It's an unusual case. You’re in luck, though. We've had more than one of our officers to encounter with it."

"I'm aware, Captai Narumi assigned me to come here for that, I need a description," I continued, "something that could help me identify it and understand its behavior, my captain thinks it may be a species like me, if that, we need to find it, since your base was the first one with an interaction we will start from here."

Ashiru nodded. "You could interview Captain Hoshina. He fought Kaiju No. 8 directly. You should also speak with our new recruits, Ichikawa and Furuhashi. They were attacked by another kaiju, however kaiju n8 seemed to helped them, didn't even make a move towards them."

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the task ahead. "I’ll interview all of them. Since they interacted with the kaiju at different times, they might have different information."

Ashiru smiled approvingly. "Good approach. Gather all the intel you can. And be careful. This kaiju is unlike any we've seen before."

With a nod, I left her office and headed toward the infirmary. As I walked through the halls, I couldn't help but feel a mix of anticipation and dread.

In the infirmary, I found Ichikawa and Furuhashi resting in their beds, their injuries from the recent battle still evident. Ichikawa looked up as I approached, his expression curious.

I sat on a near chair, introducing myself.

"Y/N from the First Division?" he asked, a hint of recognition in his voice.

"That's right," I replied. "I need to ask you both about your encounter with Kaiju No. 8. Can you describe what happened?"

Furuhashi sat up slightly, wincing in pain. "It was…strange. The kaiju that attacked us looked like a human at first. It was part of the cleaning team. But when it transformed, it was like nothing I’d ever seen. Kaiju n8 saved us, if it hadn't appear, we would be probably dead."

Ichikawa nodded in agreement. "It had this…intelligence. It fought strategically, not just with brute force. It was almost like it knew what we were going to do before we did it."

I took notes, my mind racing with possibilities. "But Kaiju n8?Did it say anything? Any behavior that seemed…human?"

Furuhashi shook his head. "Not really. But there was a moment when it hesitated. Like it was…conflicted."

Ichikawa added, "Why are you investigating that Kaiju?"

"I'm afraid that is not an information I could say to you, if that's all you can provide me, excuse me."

I thanked them for their information and left the infirmary, my thoughts swirling. If Kaiju No. 8 was indeed a human-kaiju hybrid, its hesitation and strategic thinking made sense. I still had no physical description of the other kaiju, but could it be the same one that attacked me before. It's so strange the sudden appearance and disappearance.

Next, I needed to find Soshiro. The thought of seeing him again made my heart clench, but I pushed the feeling aside. This was for the mission.

Searching the base, I found Soshiro in the training area, practicing his sword techniques with precision. He looked up as I approached, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Y/N," he looked at me, I couldn't read his eyes.

"I need to talk to you about Kaiju No. 8," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Captain Ashiru suggested you might have information that could help."

He sheathed his sword and wiped the sweat from his brow. "I fought it recently. It's unlike any kaiju I've ever faced."

"Can you describe it?" I asked, trying to ignore the tension between us.

Soshiro nodded. "It fought with intelligence and precision. It was almost…human in its tactics. There was a moment when it seemed to recognize me. It hesitated, like it was trying to decide whether to fight or flee. He didn't attacked just dodged the attacks and aimed my weapons, never me."

I took notes, my mind racing with the implications. "Did it say anything? Any behavior that seemed familiar?"

Soshiro hesitated, then shook his head. "No. But its behavior was…not kaiju-like."

So everyone had basically the same informations, this was going nowhere for now.

I thanked him for the information and turned to leave, feeling the weight of the past and the present colliding. Just as I was about to exit the training area, I heard Soshiro call after me.

"Y/N, wait."

I stopped, my heart pounding. I didn't want to hear what he had to say. Not now, not ever. I turned around slowly, my face a mask of indifference. "What is it?"

He took a step closer, his eyes filled with regret. "I…I want to apologize. For everything."

I clenched my fists, trying to keep my emotions in check. "We are colleagues now, Vice-Captain Hoshina. So please, behave yourself."

He winced at my words, the pain evident in his eyes. "I know I hurt you. I made a mistake, and I regret it every day."

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my composure. "Your regret doesn't change what you did. Please go on with our day, that chapter is closed."

He took another step closer, his voice filled with desperation. "Y/N, please. I didn't mean to hurt you. I thought that I was doing the right thing, I searched years for you, I thought that maybe you were dead, 10 years and I found you by purely coincidence, it cannot be a coincidence my love, Y/N please."

I shook my head, feeling the tears welling up in my eyes. "You thought betraying me was the right thing to do? You used my trust, my love against me."

Soshiro reached out, but I stepped back, putting distance between us. "I know I can't change the past. But I want to make things right. Please, give me a chance to explain."

I looked at him, the man I had once loved, now a stranger with regret in his eyes. "There's nothing left to explain, Soshiro. You made your choice. Now I have to live with the consequences."

He looked at me, his eyes filled with sorrow. "Y/N, I—"

I cut him off, my voice cold and detached. "We're colleagues now. Nothing more. So, please, behave yourself."

Soshiro's initial regret turned into anger as he stared at me, his eyes blazing. "Why didn't you come to me sooner, Y/N? You knew where I was. I've been quite famous due to my job and position. Why didn't you reach out?"

I felt a surge of pain and anger well up inside me. "I was scared, Soshiro. Scared that you would do exactly what you did. That you would see me as a kaiju and not as your Y/N."

He shook his head, his expression twisted with frustration. "It's because of him, isn't it?"

I blinked, genuinely confused. "What are you talking about?"

His anger seemed to intensify, his fists clenching at his sides. "I know for a fact you love me more, Y/N. You wouldn't have given yourself to me if you didn't. Even after being with him, the moment I appeared, you didn't hesitate. Why would you be with him?"

My heart raced as I tried to piece together what he was saying. "Who are you talking about, Soshiro?"

He stepped closer, his voice low and filled with accusation. "Narumi. I saw you two kissing in the bar. You were with him, and you didn't even remember it, did you?"

I felt a cold chill run down my spine. I didn't remember that at all. Panic welled up inside me as I struggled to recall the events. "Soshiro, I…What are you saying, me and Narumi, we're friends and co-workers…"

His eyes flashed with a mixture of pain and anger. "You were with him, Y/N. You chose him over me. You let him into your life, into your heart. Did you gave up on me?"

Tears welled up in my eyes as the weight of his words hit me. "Soshiro, it wasn't like that. I never gave up on nothing, after what you did, you want me to feel guilty?"

He scoffed, shaking his head. "You don't get it, do you? You moved on. You chose him. And now you stand here, telling me to behave myself like we never had anything."

I felt a surge of anger and frustration. "You don't get to turn this on me, Soshiro. You betrayed me. You used my trust against me. How was I supposed to know you wouldn't see me as a monster? Which you did."

He took a step back, his expression pained. "Because I loved you, Y/N. I still do."

I wiped away my tears, my voice trembling. " You proved my fears right. You saw me as a kaiju, not as the woman you loved."

Soshiro's anger seemed to deflate, replaced by a deep sadness. "I…I didn't know what else to do. I thought I was protecting everyone."

I shook my head, feeling a deep ache in my chest. "Protecting everyone? What about me? How could you think that was the right thing to do?"

He looked at me, his eyes filled with regret. "I was scared too, Y/N. Scared of losing you, scared of what you had become."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "We are colleagues. Nothing more. I need to focus on the mission."

He reached out as if to touch me, but I stepped back, putting distance between us. "Y/N, please…"

I shook my head, my voice firm. "No. This conversation is over."

[oleander-nin]

Horrortober Day 9 - Death(Yandere Rise Mikey x Reader)

A/N, not important: DO NOT IGNORE THE CONTENT WARNINGS. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: DEATH, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH(?), DECOMPOSITION, living with a corpse, Delusions, vomit, kidnapping, blood, bodily fluids, dark themes, yandere themes

Words: 964

Summary: Mikey's so far into his own head he doesn't even notice how far gone you are as well.

Mikey whistles to himself as he draws in his sketchbook, your head in his lap while he does so. It was a lazy Saturday, nothing going on for him, or for you. He decided that morning that he didn’t want to do anything but cuddle and relax, dragging you into his lap and settling down. The hand he wasn’t using to draw rakes slowly through your hair, your closed eyes and paling face making Mikey smile.

You were so much sweeter like this. Complacent with everything he does, no longer fighting, no longer flinching at his touch. Sure, you had grown quiet, but you had also stopped arguing. It was a massive improvement in his eyes.

The candles around his room flickered, the sweet aroma battling the foul stench seeping from the depths. He barely noticed, having grown so used to the smell. It wasn’t bad to him, and he brushed it off whenever his brothers complained when they walked by. It was why he got the candles after all. To quell their complaints and keep you happy. He couldn’t have you living in a rancid room after all. Even if it was mostly your fault either way.

Mikey sets his pencil down and leans over, grabbing the remote to his personal TV Donnie had gifted him for you. He turns it on, switching through the channels with mild disinterest. He glances down at you, his thumb caressing your cheek softly. He could feel your cheek cavity caving in at the small amount of pressure, fluid spilling from your lips. He simply wipes it away and turns back to the screen, ignoring the way your hair falls out in clumps in his hands as he strokes your head.

“What do you want to watch?” He asks, clicking through each channel as it comes on. He appreciates how you weren’t as rigid as the other day, although your skin still felt dry. He knew you hadn’t been getting up to take care of yourself, but it was still disappointing. Maybe he’d give you some lotion to put on later, to add some more life to your touch.

He doesn’t wait for you to answer, clicking on the first cartoon that pops up and leaning over his sketchbook once more. The weight of your head in his lap was comforting, making every wrong in the world right once more. You were his anchor, keeping him still and steady despite the rocking waves. He would be lost without you, and he refused to ever let you go.

The TV drones on in the background while Mikey draws, loosely sketching you and practicing poses with your body. He was restraining himself from adding too much detail to the pieces, trying to capture your essence in as few lines as possible, but feeling guilty for not pulling out all the stops in the drawing of your likeness.

He takes your limp hand and squeezes it, whispering soft words to you while he stares. You gave no opinion to his dilemma, but Mikey still felt bad for not giving you the full works, even if it was just in a drawing. He sighs, deciding to leave those drawings as just sketches, and make a fuller piece of you on the next page.

The page turns, and a knock sounds from the door, startling Mikey. He stares at the door for a moment before carefully moving you off him and slipping off the bed. He opens the door to see Leo, the older slider grimacing. He coughs when the door opens, taking a step back from his room.

“Mikey, Hermano, your room smells like death. Are you okay? Did a rat die in your paints again?”

Mikey frowns, shaking his head. “Not that I know of. And I have candles burning, so that should get rid of the smell soon. But I don’t even notice it unless I’ve been outside for a long while. It’s not that bad.”

Leo sighs, rubbing the bridge of his snout. He didn’t have the heart to tell him just how awful the smell was. He looks at his younger brother, both in concern and love. “Have they woken up yet at least? You said they’ve been sleeping for three days now.”

Mikey pouts, shaking his head. “Nope, still asleep. I shook them this morning and everything.”

Leonardo stares at his younger brother, contemplating what to do. He understood you were Mikey’s, and he wasn’t going to fight the younger on that again. However, having his youngest sibling and his kidnapped partner live in a room that reeked of death, especially while you were apparently out cold, was not the best idea.

“I’ll take a look at them.” Leo mumbles, walking into the room once Mikey steps to the side. Leo covers his nose as he steps into the thick of it, his eyes burning and lungs crying out for mercy. He couldn’t even breathe through his mouth, the air tasting as putrid as it smelled. His eyes land on you, and he freezes. Flies were buzzing around your head, landing on your skin. Pus and other fluids dripped from you, your bloated body being in the middle of Mikey’s bed and staining his sheets and blankets with the muck of decomposition.

Mikey was right in a sense. You hadn’t been waking up. Not like you could anymore, not with what Leo was staring at. Your eyes looked to have been forced shut with tape, your body patchy and drained of color from the lack of life. Mikey looks on at you too, his vision warped to see your sleeping form rather than your corpse. Your dead, rotting corpse.

Leo pukes and runs out of the room, yelling for his brothers with Mikey’s pleas hot on his heels.

[shitpostdevil]

Am I Allowed to Cry?

(((SatoSugu one shot)))

Drowning in the Blue Nile

He sent me "Downtown Lights"

I hadn't heard it in a while

My boredom's bone-deep

This cage was once just fine

Am I allowed to cry?

‘Why didn’t you chase him?’ 

The words echo in my mind, 

haunting me as I stare 

at the bare wall of my dorm room 

where photos used to stay. 

It was my responsibility as a jujutsu sorcerer 

to stop exactly what Suguru caused. 

His smile was so soft. 

He knew I wasn’t going to understand 

and he didn’t even try to convince me. 

He was always like that this last summer. 

Something in him changed after Amanai died. 

I’m pretty sure he had thought I was dead too 

from the look on his face 

when I walked into that room holding her corpse. 

I knew I had changed. 

Being on the brink of death will do that to a person. 

I grip my bedsheets, 

gritting my teeth at the tears 

that burned their way out of my eyes 

against my protest. 

All I remember after that is screaming 

until I heard Shoko’s voice.

“Give him space, 

get out of here! 

Gojo, hey, Gojo-”

I dream of cracking locks

Throwing my life to the wolves or the ocean rocks

Crashing into him tonight, he's a paradox

I'm seeing visions, am I bad?

Or mad? Or wise?

Do we still talk? 

It would be unwise to indulge the answer to that. 

How they haven’t found me out yet? 

I have no idea. 

They must trust their golden boy enough 

to not assume that he would be 

in the bed of a criminal after long missions, 

dressing my wounds, 

always stretching out the time. 

He explained himself. 

Adopted two little girls- 

I can’t blame him for doing what he did, 

but I would never say that out loud. 

This world is… horrible. 

We know that better than anyone I suppose.

What if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind?

One slip and falling back into the hedge maze

Oh, what a way to die

I keep recalling things we never did

Messy top lip kiss, how I long for our trysts

Without ever touching his skin

How can I be guilty as sin?

Staring at my phone screen, 

my scrolling through pointless pictures 

paused by his text; 

When are you coming over next? 

Simple, but he always did get straight to the point. 

My finger absent-mindedly twirls 

around the black cat phone charm that he got for me- 

something I had claimed I’d won in a random gacha pull, 

but I knew the truth and that’s all that mattered. 

Part of me needed him with me, 

even if I couldn’t admit it. 

I want to drop everything and run to him 

every 

damn 

time. 

Soon. I text back, 

locking my phone and letting my arm drop, 

painted fingertips grazing over sheets 

he will never see again.

I keep these longings locked

In lowercase, inside a vault

Someone told me there's no such thing as bad thoughts

Only your actions talk

“How long are you going to do this, Gojo?” 

Shoko quizzes me, 

her face holds a touch of disapproval 

but not disappointment. 

I just look at her. 

Does she really expect me to give an answer for that? 

Until the day I die. 

I want to say. 

Want to scream.

I can’t even give an actual answer 

because all that would give is 

confirmation that I still see the ‘traitor’. 

She knows. 

She has to. 

She… saw how badly it broke me- 

feelings I never want to unleash again. 

“What are you talking about?” 

I finally ask, 

eyes begging her to drop it through sunglasses. 

She just pulls out her cigarette box silently, 

flipping the top open 

and holding it in my direction, offering. 

I take one.

These fatal fantasies giving way to labored breath

Taking all of me, we've already done it in my head

If it's make-believe

Why does it feel like a vow we'll both uphold somehow?

“S-Satoru~” 

His liquor soaked breath stutters in the dark 

as I work my art on him, 

messy kisses to the insides of his thighs, 

leaving marks that will only be known to us. 

His hands are tangled in my hair loosely, 

tightening every moment he feels good. 

He refuses to be quiet, 

but I couldn’t complain. 

“A God amongst men, 

and you’re begging for me.” 

I state breathlessly, 

smirking up at him. 

He just hums in pure amusement.

“You always were so cocky~” 

he chides, 

hips bucking when my lips find his leaking head.

“You were saying?” I ask.

“Mm-mmm~” he says as he pushes my mouth onto his cock. 

I can’t help but give him what he wants.

What if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind?

One slip and falling back into the hedge maze

Oh, what a way to die

My bedsheets are ablaze, I've screamed his name

Building up like waves crashing over my grave

Without ever touching his skin

How can I be guilty as sin?

Shoko notices the hickey I tried my hardest to cover 

almost immediately. 

Deny. 

Deny. 

Deny. 

“The girl I was with wasn’t really as careful as I asked her to be.” 

I bluffed, laughing. 

Her eyes questioned deeper, 

but not her voice. 

What if I roll the stone away?

They're gonna crucify me anyway

What if the way you hold me is actually what's holy?

If long-suffering propriety is what they want from me

They don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly

I choose you and me religiously

“You know this can’t last forever Satoru.” He says. 

I clench my jaw. 

Of course I know that. 

Why did he feel the need to bring this up again? 

His hands are so gently painting my fingernails black. 

It was his way of being intimate without having to admit it. 

I secretly loved having any trace of him on me that I could get. 

I don’t want to respond to him, 

I just want to stay here, 

at this moment. 

Forever. 

I never wanted him to stop holding my hands so preciously.

What if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind?

One slip and falling back into the hedge maze

Oh, what a way to die

I keep recalling things we never did

Messy top lip kiss, how I long for our trysts

Without ever touching his skin

How can I be guilty as sin?

“At least curse at me a little at the very end.” 

His smile is still so soft even with blood everywhere. 

I just fall to my knees, 

eyes filled with traumas no one should have to see. 

“If I had noticed… 

If I saw how badly it destroyed you… 

would it have changed anything?” 

I’m speaking before I can think it through.

“Perhaps…” He coughs, breathing sharp, 

“But then again… probably not.” 

The tears are falling before I can stop them. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

I can't get my voice above a whisper.

“It’s not your fault, my one and only.” 

My one and only…

He sent me "Downtown Lights"

I hadn't heard it in a while

“Satoru.” 

The voice of a ghost speaks from behind me and I falter, 

if only for a moment. 

Suguru…? 

I turn. 

I’m trapped again, 

but this time it’s real. 

Is it really so bad to die if it’s at his hands? 

Horror written all over my face- 

that’s his body, but that isn’t him.

Am I allowed to cry?

My soul knows otherwise…

[cuubism]

part four of Hob running into Dream between their centennial meetings [final chapter] [& explicit chapter]

--

Hob spends several weeks afterwards fretting.

True to Dream’s word, no one had tried to stop him leaving Fawney Rig. They must have been sleeping, or perhaps just dead. Hob didn’t much care. Dream had gotten out of there. That was what was important.

It’s the afterward that Hob’s uncertain about.

For all his attempts at displaying his normal pride, and strength, power, Dream had seemed worn, tired, after escaping from his cage. As well he should. But he hadn’t stopped even a moment to rest. What if he gets himself hurt chasing after his tools? What if he gets captured again?

Hob does some digging to see if he can find Dream’s tools himself, but to no avail. It doesn’t help that he’s not certain what the tools are. That ruby, maybe. Dream always had it on him during their meetings. But if it was sold or passed around, it wouldn’t have been under the provenance of Dream’s name, which was too obscure, and simply searching for mystical gemstones on the market is too broad a net.

He’s still poking around at it when, several weeks later, Dream swirls unexpectedly into his flat.

Hob jumps, nearly flinging the antiquities sales ledger he’s reading at Dream’s head in instinctive defense.

“Apologies,” Dream says, standing very still in the center of the living room. “I did not intend to startle you.”

“Dream!” Hob lurches to his feet. “Christ. Thank God you’re okay. I’ve been worried.”

“You worried for me?” He sounds ever so slightly touched. And he’s— he’s wearing Hob’s coat. The sight of it startles Hob so much it takes him a second to appreciate the rest of Dream’s outfit, which—

—he’s really taken the new year in stride, hasn’t he, Christ. Dream has always dressed to the times at their meetings, always the peak of elegance and grace, and now is no different.

But now it’s a panther’s grace, not a king’s. His jeans are skintight, and Hob swallows hard at the thought of the lithe muscle of him that he’d seen but barely taken in during the rush of the rescue. His black t-shirt is simple but so much less than Hob’s used to seeing on him, his fingernails are painted black and shiny like claws, and he’s got studs running up his ears, heavy dark makeup hooding his eyes, hair as much of an electric shock as when he’d stepped from his prison, vibrating at the pitch of glass shattering.

He looks dangerous. He always looks dangerous, but now he’s dangerous in the way that would have knocked Hob into a wall if he’d met him in a nightclub. Kneecapped him more effectively than any weapon.

Hob would want to look dangerous too, if he was escaping from such a prison.

His brown overcoat is fair ruining the look Dream’s sporting, but still he wouldn’t have it any other way. He swallows, throat clicking dryly, and all he can manage to say, gesturing at the coat, is, “You still have that.”

Dream takes it off, holds it out to him. This reveals his bare, wiry arms under his t-shirt.

Hob shakes his head, still strangled. “Keep it.”

So Dream drapes the coat over his arm.

“As promised, I have returned to assure you of my wellbeing,” Dream says. “Unnecessary though it is.”

“It’s not unnecessary.” Hob finally manages to get his legs to work and moves closer. Dream does look better. He’s less gaunt, still pale but no longer with quite the pallor of a corpse. His ruby is once again hanging around his neck. “I’m glad to see you.”

Dream inclines his head. “I promised you a boon in return for your help,” he says, and he looks slightly wary now. Does he really think Hob would try to take advantage of him? His oldest—at least in his own mind—friend?

“You coming back is more than enough,” Hob says. “You don’t owe me anything.”

Dream seems, if anything, more disconcerted. “I would not leave a debt between us unpaid.”

There’s no debt, Hob thinks, but arguing this point is probably not going to get him anywhere. “Stay for tea, then, and consider it paid.”

“That is what you would wish?” says Dream, brow furrowed.

Hob sighs. “My friend, you don’t have to pay me to help you. But if you insist on it, then all I want is the pleasure of your company.”

Dream frowns, but sits at the table. “Very well.”

Hob busies himself making tea, and when he returns from the kitchen Dream is still sitting where he left him, hands steepled on the table, Hob’s coat draped over the back of the chair. He looks distant, lost in thought.

“Something on your mind?” Hob asks, setting a mug before him.

“Chance,” says Dream, taking it, lifting the cup delicately and sipping slowly. “And coincidence. It was chance that allowed me to step into a sleeping guard’s dream—a mere lapse in concentration. Chance that we met outside the hospital, so that later I may think to call upon you and believe it possible you would answer. Chance that one man—” his gaze flicks to Hob— “would be thinking of me with enough fixation that the weakest form of my power could still connect.”

“Of course I would answer,” Hob says. It’s Dream. His eternal stranger. That Hob wouldn’t drop all to help him—unthinkable.

“It was not a requirement of our arrangement.”

“You didn’t have to help with those—what were they? vampire hunters?—that time either. Still never told me how you knew about that, by the way—” Dream’s lips quirk up, but he doesn’t explain—“but you did. How long would you have been stuck there, if I didn’t intervene?”

“A very long time, I expect,” says Dream, lips thinning to a line. He says it with apparent equanimity, but under the stoicism is a flash of hurt. A raw wound, that cage, still. Which isn’t surprising, and neither is that Dream would do what he could to avoid it being seen.

“So tell me, if I were in that cage, would you have left me there?” Hob says. “After all, you owe nothing to me.”

He half expects Dream to say yes, to be honest. It’s possible Hob will regret opening this line of questioning.

Dream’s countenance darkens, and for a moment Hob swears the actual room darkens too. Something flashes in Dream’s eyes, and he looks very inhuman, for that fleeting second. “That would be gravely offensive to me. To attack one who bears my mark is tantamount to attacking me.”

That’s... not the reason Hob would have gone for. But boy is it something.

“Um,” says Hob, grip tightening on his untouched tea. “Your mark?”

Dream’s gaze turns to him. “I would not tolerate abuse to one who is under my protection.”

“Oh,” says Hob, choked. He really doesn’t know what else to say.

Dream sips his tea, and is silent. The thrumming energy that Hob hadn’t realized had been buzzing in the air around them finally fades.

He must know by now that the feeling is mutual, even if Hob has little protection to offer, even if Dream is the only one he would care to offer it to if he did. The only being on this earth he would wade through Hell’s high waters to help.

“What did you do to them?” he asks. “At the manor.”

He still doesn’t really know what Dream is, what his powers do.

“Made them sleep, and dream,” says Dream. Dark satisfaction curls on his lips. “They won’t wake.”

Dream, Hob thinks. Literal, then. A shiver runs up the back of his neck.

“Does that frighten you?” Dream asks. He seems darkly enamored with the prospect.

“Little bit,” Hob admits. Something about Dream whispers of nighttime dangers, especially when darkness swirls around him like that. “Still sitting here, though, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Dream muses. “You are.”

The fact Hob’s had to accept about himself is that no matter how primordially frightening Dream flexing his powers is—and it is—it’s also alluring. It’s more alluring than frightening. It’s magical in the way the night sky is a brilliant and consuming abyss.

He downs half of his tea as if it were something stronger, then, pushing his luck, says, “I think you should stay awhile. If, of course, you have no more critical tasks to occupy yourself.”

“I don’t,” says Dream. His gaze touches on Hob’s hands, chest, jaw. Interested. Proprietary. He really would have come for me if our positions were reversed, Hob thinks incredulously. At least after we met in 1915. He doesn’t know if it would have been out of friendship, or just possession, annoyance and offense that something he’d come to consider his had been taken from him. Maybe it doesn’t much matter.

Hob stands up, and Dream’s eyes follow him. Hob circles his chair to the kitchen, possibly a bit closer to Dream’s back than he really needs to be. He feels like nothing so much as a lure, like he’s taunting some dangerous thing into playing with him. Dream’s attention prickles on the back of his neck. “Wine?”

Dream inclines his head.

Hob fetches two glasses and a dust-covered bottle from the wine rack under the cabinets. A good vintage, this one. Only the best for his stranger. Especially if he’s willing to let Hob draw him in to something deeper.

Heart pounding in his chest, Hob walks to the living room, gesturing with the wine bottle for Dream to follow. Which he does, like a shadow peeling up from the table to slip across the floor.

Hob uncorks the bottle and sets it on the coffee table to breathe, then sits on the couch. He expects Dream to take one of the armchairs, but instead Dream sits beside him, though with a small distance between them. Hob’s body thrums with his proximity. He remembers the moment they’d touched, when he’d helped Dream out of the shattered remnants of his cage. Just a brief moment of support, but truthfully, Hob had longed to hug him. He’d like to think it was an impulse to comfort Dream, but it may have been more selfish. An assurance, for himself, that Dream was okay. Enjoyment in the pleasure of his touch.

When he judges the wine’s breathed enough—or really, when the tension of just sitting next to Dream gets the better of him—Hob pours two glasses. Holds one out to him. “1875 vintage. Hard to believe that’s considered old.” 

Dream takes it in delicate fingers, raises the glass to his nose and inhales the scent with a hum of pleasure. The sound runs right down Hob’s spine.

“The youngest thing in the room,” Dream agrees, and Hob chuckles. Dream takes a sip of the wine, and his pleasure deepens. “It is very good.”

“I’m glad.” Hob takes a sip of his own. It is good. Nice trick he’s hung onto it for all these years.

“Does wine actually get you drunk, or are you impervious to it?” he asks.

“It can affect me if I allow it to,” says Dream.

“And are you now?” It feels like pressing on something beyond just curiosity. But he presses.

“Would you want me to?” The energy around Dream hums. Hob feels like he’s being challenged. He’s uncertain which answer to that challenge is what Dream wants.

But he answers. Pulse jumping in his throat like his heart itself has moved up under his jaw, he wraps his fingers over Dream’s hand. His hand is just as bony, skin just as smooth as it looks, and very still. He doesn’t move away.

Hob lifts his hand, kissing the soft skin of Dream’s inner wrist, over the stark tendons. “I think I would,” he says.

The tension buzzing in the air around them snaps.

Dream goes from sitting stoically beside him to being in his lap in half a second, his boots melting away into sand as he goes. Hob catches him by the hips with a barely-restrained yelp, and Dream smiles at it, pleased and predatory. He straddles Hob’s thighs, pushes his shoulders into the back of the couch with wiry strength, the lightness of his eyes—human blue, now, not dark and starry—standing out even more starkly against the dark eye makeup. Christ, but he’s stunning. Hob’s never had him so close, and it takes him a moment to come back to a semblance of sanity.

“Never have I had such a gallant rescuer,” Dream purrs, sliding his hands up and over Hob’s shoulders.

“Oh, enjoyed that, did you?” Hob asks, breathless. “Got a good show?”

“Mmm. I did,” says Dream. And he kisses Hob. Hungrily, devouring his mouth, all the weight in his gaze and his words from earlier set alight.

Hob must be dreaming. Does merely interacting with Dream count as dreaming? Regardless, he’s not about to miss out on the opportunity, even if he is dreaming. He readily opens his mouth for Dream, and Dream sweeps his tongue in, bites at his lip, he is powerful and demanding and all-encompassing and it’s glorious.

Hob slips his hands just under the waistband of Dream’s tight jeans, over his hips, and Dream smiles against his mouth. “You are daring,” he rumbles, and doesn’t seem displeased about it.

“You jumped into my lap,” Hob reminds him, and Dream chuckles lowly.

“You kissed me,” he counters.

“Oh, like this?” Hob takes Dream’s hand again and kisses the inside of his wrist, then nips at the skin. Dream’s eyes darken.

“Supplication,” he observes, the word sweet and satisfied. “Befitting such a fair rescuer.”

“Is that what’s due to your station?” Hob asks, sucking a bruise into his soft skin. “Always knew you were some regal thing. Damn haughty enough for it.”

This could have been offensive, but Dream only smirks. “I am king of my realm,” he says, though doesn’t elaborate on what realm that is, exactly. Something with dreams, presumably. Hob would have to be daft to not have pieced at least that much together.

“My lord of dreams,” he says, and Dream’s eyes flash. Right on, then. “I hope you don’t mind if I take some liberties.”

“If they suit me,” says Dream. Of course.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Hob says. And without dallying any longer, he returns to the tight waistband of Dream’s jeans, undoing the button and zipper and finding the soft skin underneath, his hipbones, the vee of his pelvis, the swell of his arousal in his underwear. He’s reluctant to really undress Dream at this point, unless Dream does it himself, but he pushes down the hem of his underwear to take Dream in hand, strokes him once, loose and revenant. He can’t believe he’s touching his stranger this way.

Dream shivers, sighs, tips his head back. Enjoying his touch. That itself is such a reward; Dream wanted to know what favor he would request? Seeing him like this is its own boon, its own privilege.

Dream grinds into Hob’s hand, fingers wrapped around the back of Hob’s neck, twisted in his hair. Hob pays no mind to his own erection, it’s secondary, he’d rather watch Dream. The way his eyes flutter shut, his mouth lax and open. Hob strokes him with an uneven pace, relishes in Dream grinding against him, writhing in his lap. He slips his free hand down Dream’s back, under his waistband, grabs a handful of his ass and pulls Dream closer. Dream lets out a low moan, grip tightening on the back of Hob’s neck.

“Do you like that, darling?” Hob murmurs, even though it’s fairly clear that he does. “Is that good for you?”

“Acceptable,” says Dream, even as he leans in, touching his lips to Hob’s, breathing against him. Hob chuckles. Dream’s lips are soft against his and it’s intoxicating.

“If we’re only at ‘acceptable’,” he breathes, “you’ll just have to come back to give me a chance to improve.”

Dream’s lips twitch up in a small smile. “Perhaps.”

“Welcome anytime,” Hob says, twisting his hand and rubbing his thumb over his slit, pulling a shiver and a moan from Dream. “I want to figure out what makes you feel good. Wanna get my mouth on you, have for ages.”

“Ages?” says Dream, and now his hand finds Hob’s chest under his shirt. Those slim, cold fingers trail down his skin, leaving a prickling trail behind, and Hob shudders, temporarily losing his pace. Dream smiles with what Hob can only interpret as mischief. He would be murderous in bed. He would be such a brat, Hob just knows it, and what Hob wouldn’t give for the chance to fuck it out of him. Haughty little thing.

Of course, this would probably result in Dream bringing his full power and kingly dominance to bear to make Hob cry, but he’s not exactly opposed to that. It might, in fact, have featured in some prominent fantasies over the years.

“Ages,” Hob confirms. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Flattery,” drawls Dream, seeming quite pleased about it. He tips his head back as Hob keeps stroking him, and Hob kisses his throat, biting a mark into the skin, which feels very daring indeed. Dream just tips his head to the side, letting him. It’s heady, the allowance, the sense that Dream is luxuriating in his touch, the fluid lines of his body grinding in Hob’s lap. Pre-come beads at the tip of his cock, he must be close. It’s strange, the normalcy of his body in this moment.

Though Hob wonders if he can actually control his body, if he can prevent himself from coming so he can luxuriate in something that he likes for longer. The thought only makes him harder, and he presses Dream to him by the small of his back, finally giving in to temptation and grinding against him. Dream makes a satisfied humming sound, almost a purr.

“Will you come for me, darling?” Hob murmurs against his throat. “Wanna see you. Gorgeous thing.”

Instead of answering, Dream plucks open the button on Hob’s trousers, slipping his hand inside to take Hob in hand. Hob startles—fuck his fingers are cold—but then mentally stutters at the feeling of his stranger, Dream, touching him, pleasuring him. How long has he held improbable dreams of that?

He loses himself to it for a while, their hands on each other, the way they move together. Dream’s touch is unpredictable, giving and taking, and it has Hob on a wire, drawn after him. Always drawn after him. Dream, meanwhile, is a vision of hooded eyes and dark makeup, superiority on his face again as he watches Hob fall apart at his touch, but Hob sees the shivers of want that go through him, that send ripples through that superior look. He slows his pace, dragging his touch with agonizing patience up and down Dream’s cock. Watches the shudder run through him. And then Dream comes with a gasp, as if surprised by it. He tips his back, eyes closed, mouth open and long throat bared. He’s radiant and loose in that moment in a way Hob hadn’t thought was possible—and the sight of Dream’s pleasure is enough to send Hob over the edge, too, spilling over both of their hands.

For a moment they just breathe—or, Hob breathes, Dream seems to settle his existence back in order in a more metaphysical way—and Hob brings a dab of Dream’s spend to his lips, tastes it, more out of curiosity than anything. He doesn’t taste like much at all, it turns out. Sort of like the way a sex dream might be incredibly vivid but have no real smell or taste to it—ha.

When he looks back up, Dream is watching him. Gaze still heavy, though sated, for now. He’s just as stunning when Hob’s gaze is clear. What Hob wouldn’t give to get him in an actual bed, to really dishevel him. Smear that makeup. Mess up that outrageous hair.

But he wonders if Dream will simply leave again, instead. He’s fulfilled whatever obligation he felt in assuring Hob he was still alive, and now he’s taken his pleasure, too. It would be just like Dream to disappear now with only a vague promise of a meeting a century in the future. Before having Dream in his lap, kissing him, touching him, seeing the shudder of climax run through him, Hob might have been able to bear that. But not now.

But Dream doesn’t get up. His hands are braced on Hob’s hips, playing idly with his t-shirt. He seems to be deliberating on something. Deciding whether to go, perhaps.

“Stay a while, if you want,” Hob says, even though it might have been better to remain quiet and let Dream come to him. His nerves always come back around Dream, and when he’s nervous he runs his mouth. “If you need a rest after… well. You must still be tired.”

Dream stiffens. Shit. Goddamnit, Hob.

“You assume me to be infirm?” Dream says, tightly.

“No, I—”

“I assure you, I am more powerful than I have been in eons, and will gladly demonstrate—”

“Dream, no.” Hob strokes his hands up and down his sides, and Dream stills, though he still looks one misstep away from biting. His eyes are guarded now, and that’s not what Hob wanted at all.

“I know you’re powerful,” he says. “That’s not what I meant. I meant that, even with all that power—” he touches Dream’s chest— “I was worried about you. You went through all that and you didn’t even flinch. You said before you would have helped me if I was the one who got stuck in that place, hm? Well, continuing that scenario, would you blame me if I was a bit fucked up afterwards?”

“I don’t suffer human injuries, Hob,” says Dream, stiffly. He doesn’t climb off Hob’s lap, though, and Hob knows he’s right. Even if Dream won’t admit it. “I have taken my vengeance. That is all that is required.”

“Sure,” says Hob, hand still over his heart.

“Your concern is unwarranted,” Dream continues, though Hob hadn’t contradicted him. “I am not hurt.”

So he’s the type that needs someone to push. And also the type that’s run away when Hob pushed in the past. Great. Fortunately, Hob has an eternity to wait if Dream runs again.

He strokes his thumb over Dream’s wet lower lip, over the corner of his mouth to his cheek. “I think you are hurt,” he says quietly.

Dream opens his mouth to speak, but Hob covers his lips again with his fingertip. It’s too bold by half, and he almost expects to get turned into sand, but instead Dream stills.

“And you’re right to be,” Hob continues, just as quiet. “And it wasn’t enough, that vengeance, was it? It’ll never feel like enough. And it burns. And under that—” he presses harder against Dream’s chest, where his other hand still rests— “it hurts. I see it. I get it. And it’s okay.”

Hob’s mother had always wondered aloud where in God’s green kingdom Hob had gotten his foolishness. And where indeed. For Dream really might smite him for that. But Hob doesn’t take it back. Stronger than the fear that Dream might leave is the need to give him the moment of comfort and rest and empathy he so clearly has not allowed himself to have. Hob doesn’t know if he has anyone else in his life to offer such a thing. He hopes so. But even if he does, it’s obvious to Hob in his iron posture, his careful control, that he hasn’t let himself lean on it. The sex felt good, filled some need, but Dream still kept all his stern, haughty power through it. Never quite believed Hob wouldn’t abuse his trust if he let himself fully relax.

Dream’s dark gaze bores into his, burning with the same low fire as the hurt, the anger Hob knows is still deep in his chest. But it’s not anger at Hob, not this time. With everyone in the manor already punished, his anger has no direction. And Hob knows that sometimes with no other target, that type of anger will turn back on oneself. He may still leave. He might run from it.

Instead, Dream leans into his hand, and Hob’s heart trills with surprise, then relief. He takes Dream’s face between both hands, framing those harsh cheekbones with his thumbs. Dream doesn’t say anything in response to Hob’s words, but then Hob’s always been the more verbose between the two of them. Always running his mouth, and sometimes it gets him walked out on, and sometimes it gets him this. Dream leaning into his touch, and closing his eyes, and letting out the most gentle of sighs as Hob strokes his thumbs over his skin. That’s answer enough.

He draws Dream close and kisses him.

It’s different this time. The hunger has shifted. Less urgent, but still chasing a certain need. Hob notices the way Dream slips his hands close, skin-to-skin. Seeks out touch and warmth, rather than pleasure. Apparently he’s decided he will let himself have some degree of it from Hob, and Hob gives it freely, enthusiastically, he would have even if Dream had never been captured, would have fallen into bed with his stranger given the first hint of an opportunity, but it’s different now, when he feels he can offer Dream something he needs. Something he has not had for so long.

He pulls his t-shirt off over his head to give him access to more skin, if that’s what he wants. Dream hums in appreciation, pressing his hands to the warmth of Hob’s body. Rubs his cheek on Hob’s. His skin is utterly smooth against Hob’s stubble. Hob wraps a hand around the back of his head, drags his fingers through his hair. Dream lets out a shivering sigh and shifts closer, pressing their bellies together.

Come closer, Hob thinks, but doesn’t say out loud, not this time. Come closer, it’s alright. It’s alright, darling. Let me give you what you need.

He doesn’t say it, for the last thing he wants is to chase Dream away. He leans back against the couch, curling Dream’s body further into his, arm low around his waist. Dream tucks his face into Hob’s throat. Hob’s breath shakes. Grateful for the trust of this strange, wonderful creature.

“Staying for a while then, love?” he asks, rubbing his hand up and down Dream’s back.

“Mmm,” says Dream. “Perhaps.”

Perhaps might as well be yes, for he doesn’t move, just sinks further into Hob. And for as long as Hob might have dreamt for, wished for the opportunity to have his old stranger in his bed, out of lust when they first met, and care and passion later, this is so much more special. What he’s always truly hoped for, deep down, more illicit and impossible than sex. And for Dream, too, it seems a much greater expression of trust than just sleeping together, as it were. He could perhaps have tempted Dream into bed in a prior era, but he could not have gotten this, not before Dream’s imprisonment.

So of course, he lets Dream stay, relishes in Dream staying, getting what he needs to feel better even if he won’t voice it, never voices it. And when some time has passed, he knows not how much, of Hob stroking his hair and Dream settled against him, and Dream finally sits back up, and Hob knows he’s going to say that he has to return to his duties, he’s stayed too long already— he takes Dream’s dear face between his hands.

“Come back,” he murmurs, “if you want to. You know I’m always here.”

“A man of constancy,” Dream says, with a little smile.

“You said you thought I could change. I hope that’s true. But that’s one thing I wouldn’t. That I’m always here. At least, whenever you come back.”

“And for our chance meetings as well,” says Dream.

“I don’t know if it’s totally chance,” says Hob. “I think I’ve just been waiting for you.”

Dream is Hob’s own source of constancy. A guiding point, ever since they first met. Perhaps it started with the chance meeting of Hob’s loud mouth and Dream’s penchant for challenge, but it doesn’t feel like chance anymore. Chance does not involve so much choice to come back.

With great care, Dream kisses him, a light press of lips that Hob holds dearer than anything, and then sits back again.

“Very well,” he says, and at last slips off of Hob’s lap, all his clothes miraculously perfect again as he stands, though his hair carries the lingering traces of Hob’s fingers still. “I shall return. If you are waiting.”

“Always,” Hob vows, and watches with awe and reverence as Dream lifts Hob’s hand to his lips and kisses his palm, watching him with his dark gaze all the while. Then he turns away, already swirling into a cloud of sand, and Hob’s heart aches with a mixture of sadness and hope, the feeling of endings that also herald new beginnings. And Dream swipes up Hob’s coat from the back of the chair where he’d left it, and then he’s gone.

Hob presses his palm to his lips, touching where Dream just touched, feeling nothing so much like he’s been engaged in a long, careful courtship and his suit was finally accepted. They don���t really do courtships of that kind in this decade. But his Dream is not a creature of this or any decade, and Hob’s always had a lingering fondness for the ‘old ways’ in that regard. The ways of romance they’ve preserved only in novels, nowadays.

He looks at the scattering of sand on his floor, and the empty back of the chair where his coat had been, the places Dream’s already claimed in his life. And just smiles.

[coalswriting]

domestic / dating headcanons - natalie scatorccio

(approx. 900 words)

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

you and natalie started dating after you met her at a party.

you were with your friends, and you had spotted her from across the room, talking with travis.

you were way too many drinks in, and feeling confident, so without thinking, you abruptly ended your conversation with your friends by walking over to natalie.

travis looked irritated the moment you started talking to nat. she did not; you could see underlying relief in the sparkle of her eyes and she listened to you intently as you told her some random fun fact you had heard in biology.

one thing led to another, and you woke up with her in bed with you the next morning.

you panicked, thinking you had done something regrettable with someone you barely knew but she reassured you that the two of you simply came back to yours because you wanted her to paint your nails black and watch a movie.

cool. cool.

natalie didn’t end up leaving for ages that day, and when you saw her in school the following monday, she stuck around you.

you were pretty much glued together and she felt like your other half.

you watched her practices, went to her games, packed her a nutritious lunch every morning (because let’s face it; school lunches suck), and even helped her study.

it didn’t take long for the two of you to start dating; maybe two months of talking consistently every day.

and damn, did she move into your house fast.

your parents weren’t around too much due to work, but they really liked natalie based on the few interactions they had with her, so she was basically free to stay whenever.

your wardrobe instantly became better as natalie let you borrow her clothes, and you even would go shopping together with money you had earned from your part time job as a cinema worker.

speaking of cinema work, you always snuck natalie into movies for free with you when your shift would end. most of the movies, you two would just whisper through and joke around, but when it came to horror movies, natalie was honed and focused. she really loved them, and you loved seeing her enjoyment even though you’d freak out at any sight of gore.

natalie started looking a lot healthier when she moved into your house; she was used to eating shitty oven meals at home due her not having much cooking space nor ingredients, and when you both started cooking together, she loved it too much – you’d say she hasn’t had an oven pizza in months after you had started to date.

you do most of the meal prep whereas natalie cooks. somehow, she’s a natural! you oftentimes come home from work to the kitchen smelling like brownies or whatever delicious dinner she’s decided to make for you. and then, yknow, she leaves you with a sink full of dishes.

natalie isn’t a super affectionate person. she won’t outwardly kiss you or hug you often, but she shows it in different ways. maybe she’ll brush your hair, do your makeup, help you decide an outfit, make you a playlist, or link your pinkies together when youre watching tv.

however, if she gets drunk? that’s a whole different story. she’ll pull you away to make out with you every chance she gets. she would almost escalate it anywhere if it weren’t for you being reasonable and stopping her before things get too hot and heavy.

she’s also a little spoon. i will die on this hill. she’ll sleep facing away from you, but during the night, will push herself towards you until you’re holding her and breathing in the smell of her shampoo. she doesn’t care if it gets too hot, she will literally sleep through the night like a corpse – and then take a shower the next day because she’s all sweaty.  

she’s almost too over-protective at times, literally glaring at anyone that even looks at you wrong. once a guy catcalled the two of you in the hall at school and she literally kicked his locker shut onto his wrist.

his face was worth the detention that you both had to sit through.  

natalie stopped smoking for you. it’s not that you necessarily complained that you didn’t want her to smoke, but you made an off-hand comment once about how you’d love for her to take care of her health more.

and she took that personally. she literally went cold turkey, and you stayed with her the entire time while she was moody, sick, and tired from withdrawal.

natalie’s favourite thing to do is shower. she didn’t have the liberty to shower every day when she lived with her parents, so she basically showers daily at yours, if not twice a day. you don’t mind though; you’re not the one paying for the water.

you’ll oftentimes just sit outside on the toilet while she’s showering and talking to you about a new album she wants to buy or some drama she heard while in the changing rooms for soccer.

speaking of soccer, the yellowjackets think you two are such a weird couple. natalie is so rough, whereas you’re so sweet and caring. you’ll literally come to their practices with bottles of water for everyone and natalie will say some comment along the lines of “she’s mine, all of you find your own fucking girlfriend.”

meanwhile, everyone else is just blinking blankly, not even doing anything to insinuate that they’re trying to steal you.

[thecrystalquill]

A/N: Welcome to Chapter Thirteen! Thank you for waiting; I wanted to do it before Christmas, but you know how busy December is. Also find me on AO3: The_Crystal_Quill !

Also I'm so glad to finally give Rahim some appreciation <3

Please don't forget to leave a like!!!

Masterlist Series Masterlist Introduction Your First Year Letter

Chapter Thirteen ~ One Step Closer

Dear (Y/N),

It’s about time that you wrote me a letter that I didn’t have to share, and I don’t appreciate you keeping secrets from me, but I do enjoy having secrets to keep. I won’t tell anyone; I highly doubt they would be of any help anyway.

First of all, stop looking in the damned library, the answers to your Message aren’t in a book. I suggest you figure out where to go. This Spirit, whoever they are, obviously has something for you to find. They must have been to Hogwarts, or there would have been no point in Contacting you now. It must be there.

I would like to be involved in this, obviously you’re getting nowhere on your own, the only obstacle in my way is the fact that Hogwarts is so far. you should stay at Hogwarts to do some investigating. I will help.

I’ll start to set the seed in Mother and Father’s heads about what it would be like to see your school, I know there is a village near Hogwarts, find out the name for me. Then you can write home and tell them that you want to spend the holidays at Hogwarts – I’ll convince them to travel to see you there, it should be easy to get them to believe it was their idea.

In the mean time, you just look for some clues. I’m sure you can find something to do until I get there.

~ Wednesday

Emotionless, mildly condescending, and straight to the point, just like her sister. It was clear to (Y/N) that Wednesday was rather excited about this enigma; it had only taken a couple of days for her to reply, and she’d obviously put a plan together rather quickly in her eager state.

She really must be bored without (Y/N) there. It was a nice thought, in a way.

(Y/N) didn’t really want to spend the winter holidays at Hogwarts; she’d actually been rather looking forward to sleeping in her own bed and decorating the family tree, standing for another annual portrait and bickering while Lurch painted their every expression, and not to mention the flaming Christmas Pudding that only Grandmama knew how to make. But it seemed that some things were more important – (Y/N) was starting to despise this Spirit for interrupting her life; she was supposed to have a very normal year of magic and studying.

There were no practical lessons so close to the holidays, and most of her classes consisted of reviewing the work they had completed during their first term before it came to an end. For the last thirty-six minutes, she had been writing an essay about Rowena Ravenclaw and her life before and after the creation of Hogwarts, while Professor Binns lectured about how next term they would be looking into the other schools of magic around the world. It was a shame, (Y/N) thought, that Binns had a talent for making a subject so interesting sound so incredibly boring. It seemed the most exciting thing to ever happen to him was his death, and even then his retelling of the event was as dull and lifeless as the corpse which he left behind.

“…Now, Beaubatons, the French academy, that is – you may read it and think it is pronounced ‘beau’ as in ‘beautiful’, but is actually pronounced ‘boar’ like the wild pig, now that I think on it, it’s much like Hogwarts being named from the mole of a hog – anyhow, Beaubatons is in the Pyrenees, and takes students predominantly from, France and Spain, so I suppose they must also have language classes there too. Actually, quite a lot of them seem to speak a few languages, very talented students, they are, so I suppose they must offer language classes. So anyway, as I was saying, Beaubatons school is cloaked under a spell, much like the one that hides the Hogwarts grounds from muggles, but where here they simply get dazed and confused and return themselves away from the area, them being in the Pyrenees means a lot of muggles tend to get themselves lost off the edge of rocks and cliffs and the like, and as unfortunate as that is, it means that the whole area is highly advised against, as far as the muggles are concerned, so in the end it turns out to be not so bad. Sure, there’s a few injuries and the odd death every now and then, but it does a fine job at keeping the muggles away. So, as I was saying…” Sweet Hades take my soul to the depths of Styx already, (Y/N) thought. If he carried on any longer she may just pull her ears off, and her peers seemed to suffer similarly. Listening to Binns’ unique way of speaking was somehow the verbal equivalent of watching paint dry; his tone was slow and monotonous as if he were bored of it himself, and he drawled through each sentence like a snail, droning on and on, digression after digression, to the point where it’s hard to even hear what exactly he’s talking about over the constant sound. And don’t even get started on what it was like to get trapped in a conversation with him – there was no escaping the relentless torture of word after word for what felt like hours, and there was no helping his victims chained in place by the requirement to be polite to your elders.

Sharing her desk was Saoirse, of course, but (Y/N) had noticed she’d fallen asleep some time ago – Binns had quite the power for doing that. Now would be the perfect time for some earphones, yet another con to muggle technology not working at Hogwarts; she’d once wanted to ask why that was, but she dreaded how long the answer would take.

‘Rowena Ravenclaw then decided that her house would be one for students who valued wisdom and knowledge above all else, and created an environment which would nurture their minds and mould her students into some of the brightest witches and wizards at Hogwarts.’ (Y/N) wrote, hoping to finish her essay before the class ended so she wouldn’t have it for homework. Only ten minutes left until the bell would sound and release them from their torture.

When there was only four minutes left, (Y/N) nudged Saoirse with her elbow, waking her almost immediately; they had learned that it was best to leave as soon as the bell rang, rather than risk being caught up in a conversation with the professor, it was a mad-dash to leave.

As she rolled up her essay and put her quill away, (Y/N) thought about what she was going to write in her letter home. Wednesday must have already set the seed of seeing Hogwarts, as she’d put it, so now she needed to request that she stay. Only, she was finding it a little tricky to think up a reason for the strange request; in almost every letter (Y/N) had mentioned how she couldn’t wait to return home, what could possibly make her want to stay?

She needed a lie, and a good one at that.

When the bell finally dismissed them, the girls grabbed their bags and cloaks and exited the classroom. As December had rolled around, the snow was starting to fall each night, leaving a light layer on the grounds, and the hallways were becoming even more chilled than before. It was the perfect amount of cold for (Y/N); her breath fogged slightly in front of her, and she could wear comfortable layers, and feel like she was taking a lovely trip through the morgue.

The hallways gradually warmed up as they got closer to the Great Hall, their ever-burning fires seemed to heat the whole room, and the toasty warmth was trapped between the walls. Magic, probably, stopped the heat from escaping through the brickwork.

At the Slytherin table, (Y/N) sat and thought of what to write in her letter while Saoirse started a conversation about her latest obsession: vampires. “Wait, you really didn’t know they were real?” (Y/N) asked as she fiddled with the golden goblet in front of her. She sometimes forgot that Saoirse was raised by very ordinary muggles.

“I thought they were just a myth, like an old folk-tale, y’know?” Answered Saoirse with a wave of her arm, she gestured often when she spoke, (Y/N) noticed. “Like Dracula.”

“Dracula was real too.” She replied, amused at the way Saoirse dropped her hands on the table and gawked.

“What?” She said, moving her hair out of her face to pay proper attention to her friend. “Explain, now.”

Rolling her eyes, (Y/N) succumbed to the distraction. “Count Dracula was from Romania, he came to Whitby by ferry, and he lived and died there. The story got a bit exaggerated through time, but he was very real. In fact, you can learn all about him in my town.” She was ready to leave it there as she saw her other roommates enter the room and look for them, but she thought one last piece of information would be worth sharing. “Local legend says he’s buried in an unmarked grave somewhere in the town, but he’s actually buried in the Addams Cemetery next to my Great-Great-Uncle Wolfgang Addams.”

“WHAT?”

Dear Mother and Father,

I have so been looking forward to returning home for the holidays, as you know. But there has been an unfortunate incident involving a friend of mine and a carnivorous plant in one of the herbology greenhouses. She is having to spend the holidays in the hospital wing and can’t go home. I know you have been excited for me to be back home, but I may have already agreed to stay here so my friend wouldn’t be alone. Is that alright? I feel terrible about it all, but I’ve heard Christmas at Hogwarts is something to be awed. Perhaps you could send my gifts here? Or we can save them for the next holidays? It’s such a shame you can’t come here.

I have been practising my sword skills in the Forbidden Forest, luckily the cold weather means that few people are outside to see me. Sadly, I haven’t seen any terrible creatures in the forest, no ghouls or monsters, but there’s still time.

My lessons have been going well; my potions are near perfect, herbology has been coming naturally to me, and I only fell off of my broom once. Though, Transformation is proving to be more difficult than I anticipated.

The Hogwarts Express leaves from Hogsmeade Station early on Saturday morning next week, and I’ve agreed to accompany Saoirse as she boards. I look forward to hearing back from you.

~ (Y/N)

It wasn’t a perfect lie, but it would do. (Y/N) was attaching the letter to Mortis’ long leg as he finished up the steak and kidney pie she brought him, hoping he wouldn’t get too cold during his long flight. She’d already sent a note to Wednesday, informing her of the name of the nearest town and any updates on her mystery. With luck, she could easily convince them to stay in Hogsmeade – it would be a shame to not see them all for the winter – perhaps (Y/N) could sneak Wednesday into school.

“Go on then, Mortis.” She said to the great bird, giving his strong back a pat. “Fly back home as quickly as you can, I’ll see you soon.” (Y/N) took a step back, and watched as the vulture gave her a farewell nod and spread out his massive wings, diving from the tall tower and catching the wind to take him south. She watched until the giant creature turned into a brown-ish blur and disappeared into the white horizon, hoping it didn’t snow on his journey.

The trail back to the castle was long and peaceful; dark fir and pine tree tops were dusted in white and the snow on the ground had set a foot deep already, crunching beneath her shiny black boots with each step. For a while, that was the only sound she heard, until she neared the castle grounds and saw that there were students dotted around – some were settled around the courtyard some were walking through the fields to the iced-over lake, and two identical red-heads were throwing snowballs either at their friends or at unfortunate bystanders.

(Y/N) tugged on her leather gloves and tightened the emerald scarf around her neck, feeling a chill breeze redirect her way. She was pondering returning to the library to once more search for a useful book in the Divination section; she had all but given up on that idea, there was no way she could search through so many on her own, but she’d hate to admit that Wednesday was right.

She was just ascending the salted stone steps that lead into the castle, when she felt a soft pat on her head, and cold water melting into her hair and run down her neck. (Y/N) froze, and the whole courtyard seemed to freeze with her. A curse was muttered from behind her, and she turned to face the culprit. Maybe a dozen people were in the open area, all staring wide-eyed between the black-clad Addams heir and the group of damp third-year boys at the centre of it all. Three of the boys took a step back, pointing at their red-head friends accusingly, who watched warily for her reaction. (Y/N) said nothing, waiting for them to go first.

They straightened themselves out, faces pale from the cold and shock, noses red, gloves wet, both covered in snow. They looked to each other briefly, seemingly deciding what to do. “It was him!” The one of the left exclaimed, pointing to his brother.

The second twin gasped and put his hands up in surrender, shooting his brother a horrified expression of betrayal. “It was an accident, I swear!” He defended, giving her what he hoped was a sincerely apologetic look, crossing his heart with his forefinger. “I was aiming for Lee!”

A boy on the right threw his hands up, mirroring the look of innocence his accuser displayed. “Don’t drag me into this, you’re just a crappy shot.”

“Oi!”

“Well you’re the one who hit her!”

It was clear a petty argument was about to break out, so (Y/N) turned to face them fully from the third step and crossed her arms, successfully regaining their focus. They expected her to yell, to scream, to throw insults and curses. But she didn’t – she already had their attention; she didn’t have to cause a scene to get what she wanted.

All eyes were on them as the boys looked between themselves and her nervously; the longer she stood silent, the more anxious they became, wondering what she might do. Nothing in her face or body language gave away any indication of what she was thinking. Lee elbowed the twin nearest to him, seeming to snap him into some sort of action. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t do it on purpose, I promise.” The guilty red-head said, pulling his knitted hat over his ears as he gave her another genuine expression.

There was a pause of complete silence, all lesser-noises absorbed by the blanketed snow, as everyone watched. Then, with only a single, small nod, (Y/N) turned and continued on her way, leaving them to their business.

Sometimes (Y/N) forgot about the reputation she’d somehow accumulated since her arrival, after all, she did very little to build it. Somehow, in simply being herself, people had made her (and her family) to be some sort of fantastical being of dark and mysterious origin. Saoirse often made her feel so normal, that she often forgot that, in the eyes of everyone else, she wasn’t. So it wasn’t too drastic of her to assume something as simple as a rogue snowball may have been thrown on purpose, she thought. But an apology was all she needed, and the boy was polite enough to give a sincere one. So perhaps not everyone outside of her inner circle was all that bad, even if they thought some truth was behind the rumours about her.

It was half-past eleven on a Saturday morning, exactly one week before the Winter holidays, which meant that the library would be full of people finishing up assignments and catching up on reading. As she entered the quiet hall, she was unsurprised to see most people wearing Ravenclaw jumpers. Making her way towards the back, (Y/N) passed a table piled high with books; curiously, she peered around a stack to see Hermione in a discussion with her two Gryffindor friends. “This is taking forever, I don’t know where else to look.”

“I know I’ve read his name somewhere.” Harry said, flicking through a copy of Great Wizards Of The Twentieth Century, before Ron nudged him in the arm and nodded to their observer. “Oh, um… hi…” He said, drawing back slightly, as if unsure of what to say. It was then that (Y/N) noticed how Harry didn’t seem to ever say her name – perhaps, (Y/N) considered, he simply hadn’t decided on if he should call her by her first name or her last.

“That’s quite a lot of books,” (Y/N) commented, busying herself with undoing her coat.

“Yeah well, we’ve been doing quite a lot of reading.” Said Ron with a slight edge of defence. (Y/N) couldn’t understand why, it seemed to her a silly thing to defend.

Normally, (Y/N) would have resigned the attempt at conversation. But given that these were Hermione’s friends, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to show a little effort – she thought it was very grown-up of her. “Anything interesting?”

The answers from each of them varied, but Hermione simply huffed at them and turned to her. “(Y/N), do you know anything about Nicolas Flamel?” She asked, ignoring Ron’s noise of protest.

(Y/N) hummed as she removed her scarf and hung it on her arm. “Can’t say I’ve heard of him. Why?”

“No reason.” Said Ron, closing his book and moving it aside, interrupting Hermione before she shared too much.

Hermione only sent him a glare and ignored his frown of disapproval. “We’ve looked everywhere but we just can’t seem to find anything on him. The only place we haven’t checked is the Restricted Section.”

“The Restricted Section?” (Y/N) repeated, wondering why a library would hide books rather than share them. “What’s in there?”

“Mostly books on restricted topics, advanced dark magic and the likes.” The intelligent girl explained, turning to look to the back of the library. “Unfortunately, you can’t go in without a consent form, and that’s never going to happen.”

“Well, can’t you just ask the librarian? Surely she’ll know something about this Flamel.” (Y/N) offered, though she was clearly intrigued.

Harry shook his head. “No way, she’ll tell on us for sure.” He said, but the moment he did his eyes widened and Ron made another frustrated groan.

(Y/N) raised a brow and felt her curiosity grow. “So it’s a secret, this Flamel stuff?” She guessed, and it seemed she hit the nail right on the head.

“Look, you can’t tell anyone.” Ron stressed, moving the stack of books from between them so she could see all of him properly. “It’s very important that no one finds out about any of it.”

(Y/N) nodded, she wasn’t one for spreading secrets. “Of course.” Seeing then that she had nothing more to offer, and not long before lunch, (Y/N) stepped away from the table to take her leave. “I’ll let you to it then, I’ll see you here in the week, Hermione.” She said, then gave a nod to the group and made her way to the Divination section.

She thought that went relatively well; at least this time they actually talked with her.

With her coat and scarf placed safely on a desk chair, (Y/N) chose a shelf to scour, and began her ascent up the ladders to have a look at the M’s. Perhaps today was a good day to go through Meteoromancy: Secrets in Storms. She did love the sweet lull of thunder.

The Great Hall was decorated beyond (Y/N)’s expectations; snow dusted trees standing twenty feet tall at the front of the room, snowflakes falling from the ceiling only to fade away halfway down, colourful ribbons and garlands hung on the walls, and everything smelt of cinnamon and pine.

It was all very light and bright and colourful… it only made her miss the smooth blacks and blood reds of their tree at home.

At the Slytherin table, (Y/N) sat picking at a bowl of fruit as everyone discussed the holidays; Saoirse was looking forward to returning to her home most of all, telling Millicent all about her dog and how much she’d missed him. (Y/N) wished she was going back to Whitby – the beachside town was so charming in the winter; there were rarely any tourists, the wind was icy cold from the sea breeze, and the famed abbey looked so beautifully haunted covered in snow and salt-ice. The Addams Manor would be decorated with silky blacks, silvers, reds, white, and plum; the tree decorated with skulls and spiderwebs, piles of gifts wrapped in black paper; and the games they would play would bring a smile even to Wednesday’s face (especially when they played autopsy).

There were exclamations of excitement and dozens of owls came flying down from the highest windows carrying letters and packages to their owners, dropping them in their laps. Saoirse, Millicent, and Bridgit tore open their letters eagerly, as (Y/N) waited for Mortis to deliver a letter from her parents.

“I’ll just be a minute,” said Bridgit after a gulp of pumpkin juice, standing with a letter in hand, “this one’s addressed to me and my brother, I need to catch him before he goes to class.” She explained with a huff, turning to find him at the Gryffindor table.

Saoirse leaned across the table to stab her fork into an untouched sausage on Bridgit’s plate, then put her own letter safely in her bag. “What about yours?” She asked Millicent. “That from your parents?”

Millicent nodded, fiddling with the page in her hand. “Yeah, just how they’re looking forward to me going back and all that. Not very long, though.”

A moment later there was a scuffle of wings from the high window as a few owls rushed out of the way, making room for Mortis to fold his enormous wings to fit through, then reopen them again to glide down. He had the usual black envelope in his talons, dropping it for his young mistress to open, and bending his head low for a pat. “Good morning, Mortis.” She greeted him as she dragged an unused knife under the fold of the envelope to reveal the off-white paper inside. “Go get something to eat.” She said, watching him waddle over to a plate of bacon; his walk might have been cute, if it weren’t for the sharp talons that tapped the table with each heavy footfall that showed his weight. With all of the long-distance flights and buffet of foods, he really was getting bigger by the month.

(Y/N) unfolded the pages to read her mother’s swirling black handwriting.

Dear (Y/N),

We understand your desire to stay at Hogwarts with your friend. If you had something to do with the injury, it shows good character that you would agree to make up for it, & for that we are very proud of you. Pugsley would very much like to know more about the injury and how it came about, & if there were any limbs lost or infected wounds. Well, you will be able to tell him yourself. After we received your letter, Wednesday subtly pointed out how Hogsmeade is a popular visit this time of year, & how it isn’t too far from your school – she will deny it to her dying breath, but I believe she misses you more than she’ll admit. But nonetheless, we agree. We have made reservations at the Hog’s Head, & will be arriving on Sunday 22nd and staying until January 5th. As for you, you may stay with us or at Hogwarts with your friend, we can make arrangements for whatever you decide. I’ve included a note for the deputy headmistress in the envelope, if you would please give it to her.

We are all so looking forward to seeing you, Darling. It has been far too long already.

Missing you,

Mother

X

(Y/N) let out a small sigh; Wednesday might not have been as subtle as she’d said, but her intentions worked out anyway – and her family believed the lie she’d crafted, so all was well.

She folded the letter back into the envelope and took out the page written for McGonnagal, curious to be sure that she hadn’t written anything about the lie, but was relieved to read only about last-minute plans to Hogsmeade. (Y/N) would be glad to deliver it at the end of her Transfiguration class.

A tap on the arm brought (Y/N) back up from the page, seeing Saoirse collect her bag and grab a biscuit. “C’mon, we’ve got Potions.” She said, and (Y/N) noticed she had Millicent’s letter in hand.

“Why do you have that?” She asked as they made their way out of the Hall.

“She left it on the table, I’ll give it to her in class.”

The Dungeons were icy at this time of year, which was no surprise really – actually, what was a surprise was that they let students live down there in the damp and the cold. Their breaths fogged up in the air as they descended the steps and turned down the classroom’s corridor, seeing most students already at their desks, still wearing their robes and gloves. Saoirse gave a quick indication towards Millicent, nodding to (Y/N) as she returned the letter.

Snape entered the classroom with a swish of a cloak, glaring at those left standing around. “Be seated.” He demanded with upturned lips, watching as everyone shuffled to the nearest table. Truly, that man shouldn’t be working with children.

(Y/N) saw a spare seat in the centre-left of the room, where Rahim was sitting alone, and decided to occupy it (seeing as Saoirse had panicked and immediately sat with Millicent). She gave him a nod in greeting, receiving a shy smile in return as she unloaded her textbook, notes, and parchment onto her side of the desk.

“Today we will review the Forgetfulness Potion.” Snape drawled, and if it weren’t for the fact that so many of them were scared of him, many students would be lulled back to sleep by his monotonous voice. “This includes ingredients, directions, effects, cures, and history. Find the page in your textbooks, and I want an essay of at least two feet before the end of class, or you will be finishing an extra foot for homework.” There were a few groans from the back of the room, which he ignored completely. “You’ll do well to pay attention – you will be tested on it at the start of your next term, and it will be included in your final exam at the end of the year, along with the many other potions and ingredients that we cover.”

For a long while, there was near-silence in the room, only the scratching of quills and the low mumbles and whispers of discussions. And as (Y/N) was writing about the effects of the potion (which she was already having a hard time remembering), she felt a cramp in her hand and decided to take a short break.

Rahim was writing quickly, copying a list from his textbook rather efficiently, until he noticed the bored look on his friend’s face as she studied a satisfying lower-case ‘b’ on his paper. “Um… you alright?”

Nodding, (Y/N) continued to rub her hand as she glanced in the direction of their professor, seeing he was busy marking papers with vague disappointment. “Yes, just… in need of a break.” She answered truthfully.

Rahim nodded and straightened himself out, hiding a yawn behind his hand. “Yeah, me too. But at least there’s not long before the holidays.”

(Y/N) hummed, deciding against mentioning how she was staying back. “Yeah, you can finally spend some time away from the library.” She teased, as if she wasn’t in there far more than him.

Humming a laugh, the boy gave her another shy smile, half-hidden by his dark hair. He seemed to be considering something, opening and then closing his mouth hesitantly.

(Y/N) realised that she couldn’t recall ever having a conversation with Rahim alone; they were always accompanied by Saoirse or Hermione. Perhaps that was why he was hesitating – or maybe it just made him all the more shy. “What is it?”

Rahim scrunched his brows slightly, before opting to say what was on his mind. “Well, uh… I was just wonderin’… about them books you’re always reading from the library…” He finally said, fidgeting with his quill and smudging his fingers with the first ink-stains of the day. “They’re just a bit… um… odd… I guess.”

She could tell he was trying very hard not to offend her, which she found very endearing, and was pleased that he was putting such effort into his phrasing. She thought perhaps that he could be trusted with the vague truth; after all, he didn’t have anyone to tell secrets too, other than Saoirse maybe. But (Y/N) was too tired to think up clever lies – it was a skill she’d have to work on. “I received a Message from a spirit, and I’m trying to figure out what to do.” She strategically answered.

To her surprise, Rahim didn’t seem all too shocked by this. Given his quiet nature, she’d expected a bit more of… a reaction. But instead, he seemed to be thinking over her answer seriously. “Spirit? Like a ghost?”

She waved a hand in a ‘sort of’ gesture. “Kind of… but a more dead ghost than a… living... ghost?” She cringed — not so elegantly put.

Rahim thought nothing of the peculiar answer, going along with it in understanding. “Well… where’ve you been lookin’?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Well, just about everything really. Auramancy, Occulomancy, Tarot, runes… so far I haven’t found anything helpful.”

“And Necromancy wasn’t any help?”

She stopped. For the first time in a while, her brain seemed to stutter and freeze. Necromancy.

Necromancy.

Oh how the hell did she not think of Necromancy?

“Oh… I am such an idiot.” She muttered, massaging her forehead in frustration. It was so obvious now, she seriously questioned where her head had been all this time. “Rahim, it’s extremely rare that I’ll ever say this again, but I owe you one.” (Y/N) said, earning another shy smile from the boy.

She had one last shelf to check in the library.

Thank you for reading! Pleeeease like/comment/reblog to support!

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[mxmorbidmidnight]

Morbid Midnight’s reviews of goth white foundations on textured skin/ acne

Remember dears, tis nothing wrong with acne, this is not about hiding the acne. This is simply about whether you are able to have a consistent base with the following foundations and whether or not it clumps and crusts into acne and scarring on the skin. These are foundations I have tried and my reviews on them as a person with textured skin.

1. Manic panic dream tone (liquid goth base and colour corrector)

This foundation didn’t work well on my skin. The colour was inconsistent and patchy. I couldn’t build up the colour to desired intensity, which was particularly an issue because it meant that the areas it clumped into my acne where very visible. It is so incredibly difficult to have a consistent colour with this foundation if you have textured skin. The only way I can use this is if I pair it with multiple other foundations.

2. manic panic goth white

I find this foundation ideal on textured skin. You can have a more subtle white base without an excessive amount of thst “crusty” look you’ll often get when putting face paint on acne. You can built it up well, to the point that you can even use it for corpse paint. However a few things to consider, this foundation has these sort of grainy chunks in them, when you blend it in they disappear however this might be irritating (isnt great if you have sensory issues). Another is that it is deceptively small. The image online makes it look like a typically sized pallet however this is it beside a bottle cap (this bottle cap is also bigger than most bottle caps). This is the best option for if you want a very white base.

Additionally, this foundation requires to be powdered down. You’ll have a ring around your mouth after a few minutes if not.

3. Look like you’ve seen a ghost by drop dead gorgeous

This one I just got my hands on and it works so well. I recommend sort of swiping it on with a sponge of some sort. This is good for everyday goth purposes, as it’s much more of a foundation than a face paint (unlike the prior two). It stays on longer than most, has minimal clumping and feels a lot nicer on the skin (most goth bases I’ve tried will feel quite crusty and uncomfortable however I have not noticed that with this one, if you have sensory issues I’d opt for this one over the rest). Doesn’t go as white as the manic panic goth white, once again it’s more of a foundation than a face paint.

4. Stargazer lose powder (white)

This powder works magnificently on its own as a base but also to set down a face paint or foundation. It can be used on its own for a subtle white complexion, for this I will simply apply it with a brush to my face. Whenever I use a foundation or face paint I always use this powder afterwards or else I’ll be missing colour in random patches across my face. This also works well as it evens out gaps in colour after putting on foundation (which is useful if you have acne). I personally find it best to apply with a brush.

[kalevalakryze]

Just Call (I'll Be There)

Relationships: Shin Hati/Sabine Wren Characters: Shin Hati, Sabine Wren, Sabine Wren's Howler, Murley The Loth-Cat Tags: Fluff, Loneliness, Accidental Cuddling, Fluff Without Plot, Maybe Plot, I Don't Know, Self-Indulgent, Modern Universe Notes:  This idea hit me while I was driving a few days ago. I'm still working on getting out of my writers block, and preparing for galaxycon in five days (stares in so much sabine armor to print and sand and paint still)anyways, I really needed some of the softer side of wolfwren, so this is really just self indulgent fluff Word Count: 3,517 AO3 Link: Here!

The motor mounts rocked and clanked as the key was turned in the ignition. The hundredth try to get the car started and find some semblance of heat in this damned cold was met with yet another failure. 

She should have listened every time Baylan had told her to take her car in to get the timing chain replaced, but she’d been so… well… none of that mattered much anymore, did it? Three in the morning and stranded on some backroad, colder than the tundras she’d grown up playing in, with half a bar of cell service, and her phone’s rapidly depleting battery.

“Trakhny mene,” The woman groaned, breath fogging into the freezing air as the keys were yanked from the ignition and tossed fruitlessly aside into the scattered remains of her backpack, poured over the seat in her haste for the hot hands pack that was currently on its last leg stuffed in her left glove. 

She couldn’t put it off any longer, lest she wanted to become a frozen corpse for someone to see on their trip when the sun finally crested the rolling hills. Pulling her glove off with her teeth, Shin was at last faced with the dim glow of her phone screen, and the sinking realization of her short contacts list. 

Marrok, Baylan, Morgan, Thrawn; After what happened, there was no way she could call any of them… Enoch was a maybe, but they already knew that would spiral into something uncontrollable that would bite her in the ass worse than frostbite. Tano… was an option, but not one she wanted to admit defeat to. 

The group she started to hang around with! She didn’t have all of their numbers, but she had Rorik’s, and he’d mentioned something about being awake at ungodly hours too- The line rang, though with each unanswered trill, Shin felt the cold seep deeper into her bones until the voicemail prompt screeched through the speakers. 

Yanking her phone away from the horrifically loud monotone of ‘voicemail full’, Shin’s head slumped back in her seat, letting her eyes close as the traitorous feeling of tears and a runny nose picked at the numbed skin on her face. “Don’t you dare,” She whispered more to herself than anything else in the vehicle... Certainly not anyone on the other line, since there was no one. 

The cold rattled deep in their chest, but the shaking in their fingers had begun to subside, and while she knew that was a bad sign, she was too thankful for the unobstructed scrolling to care. 

She passed a contact once, twice… Traitorous, blurry eyes glanced towards the name, and the plethora of ‘hate’ emojis smashed into the contact name. Wren… She wouldn’t expect this as an offer of a new leaf for them, and wouldn’t make her decide on who or what she wanted to be… if she even picked up. Their rivalry had its moments of calm near friendship, but coming out and asking for it? Asking for help? It was mortifying for the young woman.

A tremble of cold brought the shiver back, thumb bumping the contact as her hands were reignited with the icy heat of feeling once more. Before they knew it, the line was ringing and… Kriff, it wasn’t like Sabine would actually pick up, letting it ring wouldn’t hurt; she’d have more time to consider calling Baylan, or Thrawn, or-

“Nnng, Hello?” Sabine’s voice was thick with sleep, Shin could hear the springs of the mattress creaking under the Mandalorian’s body weight as she sat up. “Shin?” Confusion underlay the fog of sleep, tinged with the pleasantness that only came from a nice sleep, one that Shin had surely interrupted. 

Shame and discomfiture had their throat swelling, certainly it was her abject horror at receiving an answer that kept her voice stuck in their throat, rather than the ache of cold and loneliness that had swelled with the sharp wetness that had been building in her eyes since the timing chain had snapped. The silence continued with only the slow click from Shin’s blinking hazard lights filtering through the speakers. 

“Are you okay…?” Sabine finally questions, sounding more awake than she had when she’d answered. Part of Shin wanted to find joy in ruining the Mandalorian’s sleep. The other part just wanted the hypothermia to kick in already so she wouldn’t have to remember any of this. 

“Shin…? I can hear your… is that your hazards? Did your car shit out?” 

The call clicked as quickly as Shin’s frozen fingers could smash against the screen, stuffed back into her glove just as quickly to find some sort of solace. Her heart thudded heavily in her aching chest, and the phone, warm from use, was finally dropped into her lap uselessly as she turned her gaze to the frosted-over windows.

Fat snowflakes drifted to the earth slowly, performing a slow dance for only Shin to see. It wouldn’t be a horrible way to die, really. If she died here, no one would be able to taunt them or use this against her, or-

The vibration from her phone startled them, causing them to jump in the seat, knees banging against the steering wheel and head slamming into the ceiling of the car hard to send the device tumbling to the ground. There was a mad scramble against the floor of the car, eventually finding the phone tucked up under a lip of the mat, offering Sabine’s contact flashing on the screen, and a smear of dirt streaking across the screen. 

“Hey, where are you?” The woman was moving, clearly, with the jangle of keys and the sound of rustling fabric. “No, Tota, you can’t come. Go lay down with Murley,” She could hear the woman chide, along with a muffled whining from the beast on the other end.  

Still, Shin was silent, even as she listened to the door slam and the keys in the lock as they transferred through Sabine’s speaker. “Please don’t make me do all the hacker shit to find you, come on,” The Mandalorian groaned into the phone, frustrated already with Shin’s shadowy antics. 

“The Biox detour,” Shin answered at last in a shaking voice. The craggy whisper must have been enough for the woman to go on, because once the door of the jeep slammed shut, the line was filled with the mechanical sounds of typing. 

“What’s your closest mile marker?” 

“Three two seven,” Shin’s forehead slumped into the window. She was just so cold; embarrassment gave way in short order. 

“Can you stay on the phone with me?”

A cautionary glance at her phone had the woman contemplating. Thirty percent… they might be able to cut it. “Maybe,” She answered truthfully, already turning her screen brightness all the way down to preserve what power she could. 

“Just stick with me, should be… fifteen minutes?”

This gave Shin pause; Sabine lived almost thirty miles from the back road, she knew, because the route was only taken in emergencies to avoid proximity to the woman. Before she could ask for clarification, the sound of a radio turning on drowned out any further thought. 

At some point, the quiet calm of Sabine’s radio, and the soft way the woman had sung along to the music had lulled the blonde into something like sleep. She didn’t notice the headlights that flashed in her rearview, or Sabine’s careful questions to try and figure out if it was in fact, Shin that she’d pulled up behind. They didn’t have the energy to tune back into the word until knuckles rapped at her icily obscured window. 

“Shin?” Sabine called, watching the figureless shape move in the car as the woman picked herself off the window, cold hands fumbling at the door handle to force it open. Sabine helped open the door the rest of the way, wincing at the uncomfortable screech as the meta swung open. “Jeesh, you’re a sight for sore eyes-”

Their cheeks and nose were red, hands tucked painfully under their armpits, lanky frame tucked into the coat that was meant to protect them from the weather, with exhaustion and too much else to unpack swirling in grey eyes. Sabine took one look at them, and the dying amber lights flashing had the woman shaking her head and cursing, reaching to grab at Shin’s arm with a surprising gentleness. 

Shin was led to the passenger side of the purple jeep, Sabine kept them on the inside, even though no cars dared to pass through the treacherous turns this late at night. Something about chivalry, or another thing they were too frozen to bother remembering. 

Inside of the passenger seat, blankets waited, tucked to the side closest to the center console to give her room to clamber inside to the safe warmth offered by blasting heaters and the rumble of the idling engine. In a stroke of kindness that Shin was too preoccupied to consider, Sabine helped them into the vehicle and even carefully wound warm blankets around their hands. “I’m gonna go check out your car and see what I can do. Do you need anything from it?”

“My bag is on the seat still,” Their first breath not full of arctic breeze was met with the warm citrus smell of Sabine, the blankets were comfortable, and Sabine was reaching across them to pull the buckle across and click it into place around them. The door was shut gently, but by then, the blonde was already sinking into the calm embrace of sleep once again, nose twitching as the heat finally seeped into her skin to begin thawing her out.

There was some rustling as the back door was opened and her bag was thrown in, and the sounds of Sabine trying to start her car, but it was all in the back of her mind as the muddled haze of rest slowed the world down around her. 

“Shin?” Their eyes blinked open slowly. Only one overhead light was clicked on, Sabine was hovering her fingers in front of the heater closest to her. “You with me?” There was a droopy, lopsided smirk on the purple-haired woman’s face as she tugged her seatbelt across her chest and shut off her light. 

“Shcho?” They asked dumbly, blinking sleep from her eyes as Sabine pulled away from the shoulder, reaching over to fix the blankets around their hands, warm fingers brushed against cold knuckles, bringing a shiver to their spine. At least they still had feeling in her hands. 

“Nothing, babe.” There was warm laughter in Sabine’s voice as the woman’s head drooped into the armrest, the radio clicking as the music started back up, nice and low that they could catch the gentle hum as Sabine went along to the melody. The drive took longer, this time, no longer needing to hurry, and with the just-woken-up adrenaline freshly faded at last, Sabine was keener to following the laws of the road than she had been the first time. 

Every now and then, the warm amber glow from streetlights would cut through the darkness. She could hear Wren talking quietly on her phone at some point, offering directions to where her car had gone down at and whatever she’d figured out was wrong with it, reaching over occasionally to adjust the blanket around Shin’s ever-present tremble.

They seemed to fine-tune back into consciousness in the last few turns before reaching Sabine’s parking garage. Forcing her eyes open, Shin let out a quiet groan as she sat up properly, untangling her hands from the blankets to rub at her eyes. As Sabine scanned into the garage, Shin pulled off their gloves to make sure their fingers were still in working order. Balling their hands up into a fist experimentally, and fisting into the soft material of the blankets in their lap, they were relieved to find that each digit was in working order. 

“How long were you out there?” Sabine finally broached as they moved through the different levels, glancing away from the silent garage around them to peer at her sometimes-enemy, golden eyes full of more worry than Shin wanted to think about. 

“What time is it now?” They peered groggily at the green display on the radio as their weight shifted into the chair. 0429 blinked in the corner of the screen and Shin huffed. “I went down at two.” 

“What the fuck?” Sabine’s brows furrowed, nose crinkling cutely as her head whipped around to stare at them. “Why did you wait so long to call?” Shin turned away entirely now, staring at the different cars as they passed to the middle level, where Sabine finally backed into a spot. “Okay-” A deep breath from the Mandalorian as the car was put into park. “Fine, it took you a minute,” She brushed a hand through the scraggly purple strands of hair on her head, still mussed from when she’d been woken up. 

Silence hung thick between them once more as the car idled. “Thank you,” Both women started at once. Sabine stopped with an easy smile, considering Shin looked as if thanking her may have been equal to admitting guilt. 

“I’m not saying it again, you  osel.” The blankets were moved until Shin could stuff them up by their face and look pointedly out the window, even though there wasn’t much to look at other than the dark tint that greeted her from the neighboring car. 

“Yeah, alright, alright. That’s fair.” Sabine reached over the console to unbuckle Shin’s seatbelt for her, ignoring the intensity of the glare on her as she began gathering her phone and keys. “Thank you for calling me,” The death glare dropped with the unmasked look of confusion, whole and near heart stopping as silver eyes went wide. 

“Sccho?” 

“Like,” Sabine huffed, now it was her turn to look away as a dark blush rose to her cheeks. The fraying material of her steering wheel cover suddenly became much more interesting. “I’m glad you called me instead of…” Sabine let her words trail off. The business with Thrawn was no secret, and if anyone knew what it was like to avoid ‘crawling back’ to family, it was Sabine Wren. “So.. you know… Thanks,” 

Shin huffed, regaining her composure and forcing the mask back in place. The last thing she wanted to talk about was her Father’s eclectic philosophies that had led to his abandonment, or the people he’d allowed into his life that had only egged on these decrepit ideas. She would rather face Sabine Wren and her pitiful understanding sympathy than be dragged into the cult that Baylan had found himself in the middle of. “Whatever…”

“Yeah… come on, let’s get inside.” Sabine slipped from the car, and while Shin was trying to untangle herself from the blankets, the Mandalorian had jogged around to the other side of the vehicle to open Shin’s door. Doting on Shin, the older woman tucked the blankets tight around their shoulders, even as their hands tried to weakly bat her off. “Here, lemme grab your bag-” The door was shut as Shin moved to the hood of the car so Sabine could get in the backseat and grab the backpack, now semi-neatly tucked back together, with only a few of her research papers poking past hastily closed zippers. “I tried to grab everything I saw up front,” She explained sheepishly as the bag was tossed over her shoulder and she began leading the way into the building. 

Huffing, Shin pulled the blanket further around themselves to fight off the chill from the garage, ducking under Sabine’s arm as she held open the glass door connecting the complex to the garage level. “Thank you,” They grumbled, eyes rolling at the resounding beam of a smile shot her way as the other woman followed them inside. Shin already knew the way to the apartment number, spotting the six hastily scribbled into the wood next to the metal nine bolted into the door, something Sabine had joked about the first time she’d brought Shin to her place. 

Tota and Murley were both waiting for them in the living room. While Tota had been very excited to see Shin, Murley only seemed to grow more pissed off as Sabine ushered Shin inside and shut the door. 

“Yes, I know, we were gone for so long, but I brought your best friend!” Sabine cooed to Tota as he crowded them. Shin shucked off her shoes at the front door, brushing past Sabine’s side to garner the Howler’s attention so the Mandalorian could do the same. 

“My best friend is a rat-dog?” Shin questioned monotone as he tried to jump on her and lick her face. “Original,”

“Oh you love him, shut up,” 

Shin moved to the couch, making sure to steer clear of the hissing Loth-cat as she dropped onto a cushion to begin unwinding herself from the many layers. 

The studio was small. From her spot on the couch, Shin could see the corner by the large paned window full of canvases and the paint splattered easel. A tarp sat under everything, but it hadn’t done much to stop the flecks of paint that had stained the hardwood around it, or the glass closest to the easel. The bed, still messy from Sabine jumping up to save them, was stuffed against the far wall, just a few feet from the edge of the couch, a perfect distance for Murley to jump to when he realized their guest had no intentions of leaving the couch. And the kitchen was tucked into the corner at Shin’s back, with the only other closed off room being the bathroom crammed into the corner by the front door. 

There was clattering in the kitchen as Sabine worked through different cabinets and prepared a pot to warm everything she’d need for hot chocolate, and the microwave was soon humming radioactively. “Bo-Katan brought over some leftover Pog soup,” She explained when the aromatic smells began to fill the apartment. “Number one way to warm up when your stubbornness keeps you on the side of the road for two hours,” 

“Zatknysya,” The blonde had finally managed to unwind herself from the blankets and her coat, though she was quick to tuck back into a warm blanket when cool air touched bare skin. She never wanted to be cold ever again. 

“I know you’re chilly-” She could already tell that Sabine was about to say something asinine from the lilt in her voice as the microwave door was opened. “But at least we have bowls!” The woman came around the edge of the couch, balancing two plastic bowls in one hand, and two ceramic mugs in the other. One of which specifically had paint water, do not drink etched into the purple coating. “Okay, grab one before I drop these and die,” 

Biting her tongue to stop her lips from betraying her in a smile of her own, Shin reached up to grab a bowl, balancing it in her lap as she reached to grab the dark green mug from waiting hands. “Thanks,” Sabine flopped into the seat beside them, groaning when Tota jumped up to crowd the last cushion and push into her personal space. “No, none for you. The last time I gave you anything, you vomited in my shoe,” She scolded. Tota’s ears moved to lay flat against his head as he gave the woman his best sad eyes. “Nuh uh,” Sabine pointedly looked away from him to focus on her own bowl. “You’ll live, no upset stomachs for you today,” 

Shaking their head, Shin tucked thankfully into the warm meal. The shivering had stopped by the time she finished the soup, and she could finally say that she no longer felt like a popsicle. At some point, they’d started to sag into Sabine’s side, ignoring the noise from the other woman’s phone as she scrolled through mindless videos. They didn’t even notice the bowl or mug being taken from weakening hands, only curling into the warm body at their side.

It was getting harder to convine themselves that there wasn’t an air of home with Sabine Wren. And even harder, when the Mandalorian’s arm wrapped around her shoulders and allowed their head to tuck into her neck, that there may be something more than their hesitant relationship may have previously let on. 

Sleep had found Shin in the early hours of the morning, with Tota’s body stretching across Sabine’s lap to rest his head on Shin’s thigh, with Murley climbing to the back of the couch to press a clawed mitten into the thi material of their shirt, and with the warm press of soft lips against her forehead as the sun had begun to kiss the small apartment with its warm glow. 

If Sabine’s contact had somehow made it to the top of the list and was starred as an emergency contact, neither woman said anything, and Shin didn’t bother to change it. After all… Sabine kept her word; she’d always come for her. 

[kittysamzkewlz19]

Medusa Ex Makina

Prologue: And the Winner is…

Rated: M for Mature

Warnings: None

Author’s note: This is a redo of the Prologue from my art blog, @kattartsblog from here on out I will be posting future chapters and canon Makina events here. Vignettes and other silly events outside of the main plot will be on the art blog.

It had been 3 years after the events of “Army of the Doomstar”. Dethklok was asked to judge the third annual “Doom-opolis”, a battle of the bands styled competition that also was a celebration of Dethklok saving the world from utter destruction. It was down to the final 3 groups; the Ska punk group, PulsinG, the Idol group, Jennifer’s Corpse, and the emo metal band Lycan RIOT. Nathan really didn’t want to be there, he was disappointed by the lack of creativity and spark the two acts he sat through were. He was already anticipating Lycan RIOT to be just as lackluster. Nathan had decided it was best to stretch his legs and wander about a bit before the band had to make their final decision. His mindless wandering ended him backstage where Lycan RIOT excitedly waited for their turn. Or at least their singer was excited. She peaked behind one of the curtains to see an ocean of cheering. Her eyes filled with excitement, “Isn’t this awesome?! We’re in the finals and Dethklok is here! I mean, even if we don’t win the prize, our names will be in lights and we can say that we opened for THE Dethklok! We gotta make every second count.” The singer’s bandmates were not as enthused, the guitarist put a hand on her shoulder, “Maki, look man. We’ve been friends since high school. And you brought us all together. But now… damn, what I’m trying to say is-"

"We’re done screwin’ around!” shouted the band’s drummer. “We got new jobs ‘n’ lives now, like normal gits. We got no time or dosh for your little doolally! Yer rockstar dream’s stone dead!” The singer furrowed her brow, fury and sadness had overcome her, “Are you serious right now?! Look at how close we are, how far we’ve come! And you guys have the nerve to just throw out this dream we built?!” The dark haired woman began shedding tears, slightly smudging her corpse paint, “After years of hard work, the countless failed gigs, and even a freaking catastrophic apocalypse; you’re all going to quit?!” The man with the ponytail nodded, “We’ve moved on from this shindig ‘Dusy, so pull yer head outta yer arse.” The purple haired one had hummed in agreement, “We’re bound to fail, so let’s make this our final show.” The woman clenched her teeth, there was a fiery anger burning deep in her soul. But it was covered by devastation in her voice. “Fine then, after this performance…” she sighed, “We break up.” Nathan heard the shakiness in her voice, he could tell that this was a passion of the lady. It was something he could relate to. Music was his calling, he wouldn’t be the man he was without it. “Oh and we’re changing the fucking song.”

“What, we could get disqualified!” The bassist exclaimed. “Well it doesn’t matter anymore to you, right? If we’re performing together for the last time, I wanna go out with a bang.” The announcer calls Lycan RIOT to the stage as Nathan watches in the distance, the rage festering in the young lady was something almost refreshing to him. But then that’s when Nathan felt a chill in the air, his eyes widened. The way she carried herself on stage gave him a fright. He stood there frozen in awe. It was as if he was staring at a mirror. The woman reminded him of his younger years; the frustration to start something big, the passion she possessed, and the sheer raw emotion from her stance alone was enough to make him almost crack a manic grin. Nathan didn’t quite know what he was feeling. He was reminded of the vision from the whale prophet all those years ago, to be the hand. Maybe this time it was a different kind of hand? The lady looked down at the stage, closed her eyes, raised her microphone in a pair of devil horns, and then… “FFFFFUUUUUUUCCCCCKKK!” She growled, then a very familiar melody began to play.

Meanwhile, back in the VIP booth, Skwisgaar leaped out of his seat and ran to the railing with eyes widened with a sense of horror, disgust, and genuine surprise. “HOLYS SHIT THEMS PLAYINGS OUR SONGS!” The swede exclaimed. Murderface and Toki got up to join him, “Hey yeah, didn’t they submit a different piece?!” Murderface exclaimed, “They’re breaking the rules!” Toki nodded in agreement. The vocalist roared and screamed her heart out, the melody became clear and soon Pickles realized what song they were covering. Hatredcopter, a song that was meant to be sung as a duet, but now both parts were being sung by one artist. He had laughed at other covers in this style that failed to meet his expectations before, but not this time. Pickles couldn’t look away at the young singer. The raw emotion being poured out onto the stage, every note was in perfect pitch, and even the girl’s lowest death growl delighted him. “I’m kinda impressed, what do you think Nathan?” The ginger haired man looked towards his left and Nathan was not there. Backstage, Nathan’s heart began to beat fast, the sheer power in this girl’s voice him feel something. However something strange began to occur, there was a slight tinge of a green aura surrounding her. Initially, Nathan thought it was the lighting but now he see that there was something more mysterious at play. The large man gripped his chest, he wanted to run onto the stage and just talk to her but instead he just listened to the harmony of a duet being sung by one vocalist. Once the song was over, Makina raised the microphone to the sky holding it in a set of devil horns and chucked it straight into the face of an audience member, breaking their nose and teeth. “Wowie, that’s ams brutals!” Toki exclaimed, Murderface started laughing his ass off, “Ha! That guy had it coming!” The crowd cheered and applauded at the violence from the vocalist, it almost made Nathan chuckle a little bit. This performance was the best Dethklok had witnessed all night, but the only one that had the balls to cover one of their songs!

The announcer asked the audience to wait for the results as Lycan RIOT was then escorted off stage and into the green room. Nathan watched on, “Ok it’s over. You can go now.” the woman hissed, crossing her arms. “Whatevuh. Toddle off then, ‘Dusy.” the drummer said, flipping her off as the rest of the group packed up their stuff. Alone in the green room, the woman saw the bottle of champagne and popped it open. She had originally bought it for the group as a celebratory reward, now it was to be used to drown out her sadness. She didn’t bother pouring it in a cup and began chugging it down like a frat boy at a house party. Seething, she punched the wall as hard as she could, her knuckles began to bleed. Nothing mattered to her, she began to open the wine bottle on the vanity table and poured herself a glass. After taking a swig, she flopped her head in her arms on the vanity and began to silently cry. Nathan’s face grew concerned and without thinking, he knocked on the door. The woman rolled her eyes, “Chester I swear to fucking god if you left something I-” she was now face to face with Nathan. His intimidating size made her shiver, “Uh… Hi.” Nathan said and gave a slight wave. “Mind if I join you?” The lady nodded, “Sorry for the outburst. I thought you were someone else.” The woman gestured to Nathan as he entered the room. “You put on one hell of a performance.”

“Thank you, god I wish it didn’t have to end like this.” The woman sniffed as she swirled around her champagne. “Are you ok man?” Nathan asked, tears began to well up in the woman’s eyes but she violently wiped them away. “I’m fine, it’s just been a rough night. But nothing a little booze can’t fix, right?" She lied jokingly. Nathan invited himself in and sat on the couch. He pondered for a moment and tried to say something positive, “You were pretty brutal up there.” She giggled at the comment, “You don’t have to lie, I looked like a toddler with a temper tantrum.” Nathan shook his head, “No I mean it, it was great.” The vocalist smiled and thanked him. Just then, there was another knock at the door, this time it was a stage hand. “Excuse me, are you a part of Lycan RIOT?” The black haired woman nodded, “Sorry to interrupt, but your charcuterie board has arrived.” The lady thanked the stage hand and placed it on the table. “I was supposed to drink and eat with my stupid band to celebrate a job well done, but they left me to drown. And I can't finish this all by my- Wait, where are my manners? Would you like some?” Nathan nodded and took some cheese and crackers, she continued on. Something in his blackened heart shifted as she spoke. He wanted to reach out. But he couldn’t. Instead he kept listening. The woman stuffed a few pieces of cheese in her mouth, “I do all of the manager stuff, I got us this gig, and we practice like crazy. But no, they leave me high and dry!”

“Damn kid that sucks!” Nathan stated, “I mean you guys slaughtered that set. Kinda ballsy doing a Dethklok song though, let alone a duet.”

“It was a risk I was willing to take. I know we’ll get disqualified, but I hope that Dethklok had a good laugh out of it. I bet right now they’re probably disgusted with us.” Nathan smirked, “What do you think they’re saying right now?”

“Heh, probably something like ‘What a bunch of self righteous idiots. They sucked assholes! And that singer, who does she think she is?’” she chuckled but her breath began to stifle, her heart began to spill out, “What a poser, she is nothing more than an ugly wannabe loser who’s going to die alone. I mean really, wow. Her singing was like a little kid learning how to do a monster voice. How fucking pathetic!” The vocalist curled up in her chair and hugged her knees, she felt like the world was crashing down around her as she kept on venting. For some odd reason, Nathan wanted to comfort her. He wanted to tell her that everything was going to be okay and that she wasn’t who she said she was. But his hesitancy bit his tongue, he mindlessly walked toward the spiraling singer. The woman snapped back to reality when she saw Nathan hulking over her, he knelt down to her level and quietly stared at her with a look of calm understanding in his eyes. Nathan finally spoke up, “You know what, fuck your old band. You were more metal by yourself than with those dildos! And sure Dethklok would laugh, but I don’t think it would be at you.” The lady was stunned at such kind words from a complete stranger. The vocalist aggressively wiped her tears away again, this time messing up her already tear stained makeup, “Ack, sorry. I just kinda drowned there for a second. Look at me talking too much again.” she sighed, “Thank you for listening to my stupidity.” She looked towards the bottle of champagne, “You can have the booze and the snacks. I think I’m gonna grab an uber home.” Nathan backed away slowly to give her some space and straighten herself out in her chair. “By the way, I didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s Nathan.”

“Nathan… I’ll remember that. I’m Makina Gorgon, that’s why they call me Medusa.” she smiled pitifully, trying to play off her sadness. Makina made little devil horns with her hands and winked playfully. Just then there was a sound coming towards the green room, a voice called out along with a set of footsteps. “Nathan, come on where the-. AH! There you are, come on we’re going up soon.” Pickles looked over at Makina who’s mascara was clearly messed up from crying. “Oh hey, you’re that singer from Lycan RIOT. That was metal as fuck, great pipes kid.” Makima blinked hard and fast, were her eyes deceiving her at this very moment? Pickles grabbed Nathan’s arm and began to drag him out of the room, “Come on man, let’s go!” Then the realization finally set in, her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red and her hands were shaking. “It was nice chatting with you, Medusa.” He said smiling as he exited the room, following Pickles out. Makina’s heart sank, the man who she was venting all her stupid little problems to was none other than Nathan motherfucking Explosion, the Nathan Explosion.

Nathan and Pickles regrouped with the rest of Dethklok, “Ah there you are.” The announcer greeted the two, “Gentlemen, we need you to make a decision before you go on stage. Which of the finalists should win?”

“Lycan RIOT.” Nathan stated bluntly, “They had my attention and deserve to win.”

“I second that vote, they were entertaining.” Pickles chimed in. “I agrees too! The lady singers was like if Nathans was a womens!” Toki gleefully exclaimed. “I would agree too. But I think those idiots had a lot of balls to cover us, especially since they broke the rules.” Murderface interrupted. “What rules?” Nathan asked. “It’s like that stupid European contest, they played a different song than the one they submitted.”

“That’s bullshit!”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but, for once, Murderface is right.” The announcer straightened his tie, “They would be disqualified by default. Also for a number of other reasons. I’m sorry, but you all cannot vote for Lycan RIOT. We also received word that all the members left without a trace.”

“Damns, so it’s betweens that skas-punk trash heaps or dumb internets rap kids. Such disgustings choosinings.” Skwisgaar sneered. “Hold on a second, not all of Lycan RIOT left. The lead’s still here, I can find her. I’ll be back.” Nathan ran back to the green room. All Makina wanted to do was hide away in a hole 16 leagues under the sea. She debated whether to stay and watch the show or get that uber she promised herself. But before she could make that decision, Nathan bursted through the doorway. “DON’T LEAVE!” He yelled, “I NEED YOU TO STAY HERE, GOT IT?” And just like that Nathan left to join the other members of Dethklok onstage. Regrouping back with his band, Nathan pointed to the green room. “You, dildo, she’s still there. Make sure she doesn’t leave!” Pickles was surprised by Nathan’s words, he had never seen the raven haired man so adamant before on anything. Makina hesitated and cautiously walked near the wings, peeking from backstage. She could hear the sound of Guts Punch Balls Throw Up begin to play, her stomach twisted. What exactly was happening?

After Dethklok’s performance, the announcer was handed a microphone, “Alright, it’s time for our judges to make a final decision. What’s your verdict fellas?” Nathan looked to his band and then towards the wings, “We decided that Lycan RIOT should win.”

“Ooh, I’m sorry. Unfortunately, due to Lycan RIOT breaking some rules and some faces, they will be disqualified from the competition. So Dethklok, which band is going to win Doom-opolis this year?” Nathan snatched the microphone from the announcer, “We said Lycan RIOT wins, got it?” The frontman said more firmly. “But, they’re not even here! No representatives, no win! And like I stated before the band was disqualified.“

“WHO GIVES A SHIT!” Nathan shouted defensively. Meanwhile in the wings, Makina was utterly stunned when her band’s name was called. “We, Dethklok, have decided that Lycan- no, that Medusa should take the golden facebones.” She couldn’t believe it, Makina actually won something?! Maybe her string of putrid luck was finally coming to an end. At that moment she knew she had to stick a middle finger to the world and accept this award, after all it was the most metal thing to do. In a flash, all of her worry and doubt had melted away. It was as if everything she had suffered through that night was worth it. Makina walked on stage with pride in her soul, Nathan smirked and tossed the microphone to her. Makina wore the biggest shit eating grin and began her acceptance speech, “I am Makina Gorgon, former lead singer of Lycan RIOT and now a solo artist. I humbly accept this award on behalf of my stupid bandmates who decided to scurry away like sewer rats. Thank you Dethklok, thank you Doom-opolis, and a big fuck you to everyone who didn’t fear the Medusa!” The crowd roared and rumbled with applause. The other members of Dethklok were not paying attention to her speech, instead they were puzzled by Nathan’s facial expressions and body language. He was smiling and nodding in a fatherly manner, acting as if Makina was his own flesh and blood. Nathan crossed his arms proudly almost as if he wanted to say ‘That’s my little girl.’. The announcer and the award presenter were appalled by the disrespectful display that took place. Murderface snatched the award away and handed it to her, “You are one crazy son of a bitch.” He whispered. The crowd cheered, Makina handed the microphone to a stage hand and was ready to pose for a photo with the band for the press. Makina smiled widely and raised the award in the air in a pair of devil horns, Dethklok and Makina walked off stage together. They could see the angry look of the other bands but they didn’t care.

After the many photos, Nathan realized what he needed to say to them. How to reach out to them. “Medusa, since you’re solo now I think it’s best if you get some help. How about I become your mentor?” Makina’s eyes lit up like a christmas tree, “You mean, I can be your protégé?!”

“Is that a fancies words for pets?” Toki asked naively. “Nah Toki, she will be his apprentice, a student in the ways of metal. ” Pickles corrected. Nathan looked at Makina, he saw it again, that younger version of himself in her. The young man who he once was, when he signed onto Crystal Mountain Records. The same young man who had felt the betrayal of his former bandmate Magnus Hammersmith. A singer that could scream out their tragedies and make it into the most brutal form of art in the world. He didn’t want to fully admit his admiration for the singer. But in that very moment, Nathan wanted nothing more than to see Makina thrive. He could imagine how badass of an artist she could be. And with his guidance, the possibilities seemed endless.

“What do you say?” Makina wanted to scream and jump around like a little kid on a sugar high. All she wanted to do was to hug Nathan and thank him for the opportunity, but she didn’t. She held back her glee with all her might, her hands were still shivering as she went to shake Nathan’s hand to seal the deal in a professional matter. “I- I look forward to working with you!” Makina said nervously. “We start in a week.”

“YES SIR!” Makina said stiffly, the professional dam that held her excitement was slowly crumbling away. “Dude, you can let loose a little.” Pickles said, patting her reassuringly on the back. “Yeah s-sure. Totally totally totally. I’ll just be uh… right back.” Makina backed away slowly to the green room and slammed the door behind her. She smiled widely and began to squee like the fan girl she was. She pumped her fists in the air in a victorious manner and danced around like an idiot. Nathan didn’t realize it, but his world was about to be shaken. This was only the start of Makina’s metal journey.

[arengnera]

The Flesh Dress

All of the fabric for this was reclaimed from curtains, scraps, tights, discarded tule from a local highschool prom that I snatched up like a horrible little vulture. The boning in the bodice was done with huge zip-ties but I’m not convinced getting real sewable boning wouldn’t have been worth it. The channels on the reinforcement were a bit of a bitch. The swords I also forged myself, but this ain’t about them. A lot of (mostly fake) blood, sweat and tears went into this one and I’m super pleased with the results. Huge shout out to @spoonbendersanonymous​ who was kind enough to lend me the fake blood, their anatomical text book, and had me sit down to watch Bride of Reanimator for inspiration.

Process photos and bonus photoshoot pictures below the cut!

Original sketches! A lot of me trying to figure out how to make boning look like bones while maintaining a classic shape. I said edwardian on the sketch but it honestly might be Victorian I'm really not sure. This was a combined art project for one of my classes, the idea was using old fashioned mourning traditions and clothes in a modern and campy way, to complain about how much capitalism erodes our time to mourn. At least that’s what I told the professor, It’s really about making a weird and off putting dress first and foremost.

Tape pattern and paper pattern! This was my first time doing this so don't take thus as any sort of guide.

It worked though, as shown by the world’s worst corset fitting - the pink thing on my arm was where I was planning on putting the upper sleeve, I was trying to see if my poof was good since my sleeves were a lot thinner and a lot longer than what would have been optimal for the amount of poof I wanted, I had to do some work around with the fabric I had

Now I’m just bragging about getting eyelets to look clean and good for once in my life. If I was going to do anything different about this though, I would ad more eases in the back, because I need to contort horribly to get out of the bodice, I fit it too well

This bad boy was really the crux of the whole project. The entire thing was a pun so I could applique an anatomically accurate heart on a sheer sleeve.

This was was it’s intermediary stage, where I was suddenly very much out of time for the first deadline and had to put off adding all of the gore I wanted to, so the simple applique heart had to do. The skirt itself was way less poofy than I would have liked, and didn’t quite give the silhouette I wanted. I ended up going with the train because the under skirt isn’t actually connected in the back. Thus is the nature of working with weird panels of curtains you’ve already cut into for a few other projects. God bless the thrift store curtain section.

The guts were made by sewing together sheer tights, and filling them with polyfill. Here they are, before they were stippled with liquid flesh colored latex and soaked in fabric paint - and after where you can see all that extra TEXTURE

I was able to use it for another project though, and I was very happy with the beading work here, although I did end up losing my biggest strand at some point.

Here’s my makeup test! I played around with doing some blood red lips but decided the blueish corpse look was better. Fun fact! I drove home wearing a sweatshirt that says “I heart corpse desecration” on it through the snow storm, and pulled over to offer some guy a hand with his car, forgetting I still looked like this. He turned me down.

The face of someone who can definitely be trusted for road side assistance. - Also I was posing as the two of swords tarot illustration for the final gallery exhibit.

[slasherbish]

They Know (Chromeskull x gn reader)

Chromeskull x gn reader

Contains spoiler for first laid to rest movie

Bold text is texting and signing

Oh and Preston is alive in this

  Crimson droplets of blood painted his shiny mask as  he rammed one of his twin hunting knives into the chest ofhis latest piggy. He listened to the final gurling breaths that his victim took before the light in her eyes  vanished. Chromeskull cleaned the blade on the corpses shirt before turning the camera on his shoulder off. The glint of his chrome skull mask in th moons pale glow gave the illusion that he wasn’t human.

 “Job is done. Will stop by organization before heading home.’ He texted to his assistant Spann. The woman named Spann sighed at the message that popped up on her phone. “He’s coming back now” was all she said to a nervous looking Preston. All Preston could say was “oh fuck”.

Jesse got into his black car after sending the text. He drove through the night wanting to get to the office quickly so he could return home to his dear (y/n). In the early morning hours he pulled into the parking lot of a large warehouse. The offices of the organization were tucke away in the unassuming building. 

Once in his office the rather large man sat at his desk to finish any paper work that needed to be done. Soon after Spann and Preston walked in. The normally cocky man stood slightly behind Spann and his face projected the worry he felt inside. Spann on the other hand had her normal emotionless face, she was not an easy person to read. 

“What is wrong?” Said Jesse’s text to speech on his phone. He had practically smelled the fear seeping from his underling. 

“You know how you tasked us with with watching over you partner while you were away but told us to keep our distance so they would’t be suspicious?” Preston answered quickly. “What did you do Preston?” The voice from Chromeskulls phone spoke again. The underling looked offended “I didn’t do anything. Why assume it was me?” Preston asked. 

“Sir surprisingly Preston didn’t do anything this time. Your partner, (y/n) knows” Spann spoke up sure that if she didn’t that her boss would kill preston. As much as she wanted to see that she had to admit that being able to push paper work off on Preston when she didn’t want to do it was useful. 

Mr. Cromeans slammed his hands down on the desk. Spann didn’t react to the violent outburst unlike Preston who may as well have jumped out of his skin. The large boss man put his mask away and stormed out of his office. Everyone in his way moved as he oozed anger. Once back in his car he let his fear shine through. The killer was scared. He needed to see his (y/n) as soon as possible. His last significant other had found out what he did for a living and she committed suicide right after, not being able to handle the idea that her gentle giant had a murderous side. 

Thoughts overwhelmed the drive home. What if they don’t want to see me? What if they’ve left already? What if they’re scared of me now? What if they went to the cops already? These thoughts raced in his head making the entire drive a blur. He parked in the driveway and let out a shaking breath. More anxious thoughts flooded in his mind like a raging river as he looked in the rearview mirror at his disfigured face. After a few moments he managed to talk himself into going into his house. He didn’t even remember walking up to the front door until he heard the click of it opening. Jesse took a deep breath pushing it open. The house was silent. He prepared for the worst. His chest ached as he walked into the dining room to find papers scattered on the table. They were files on him and his work, there were also graphic pictures of his films. Jesse’s heart drops, he can hear nothing but the sound of his own pounding heart. 

“I read through all of it…that is some very dark things…” A soft voice came from behind him. It was the voice of his beloved (y/n). Jesse couldn’t bring himself to turn around, not yet. He didn’t want to see the fear and despair that he assumed would be written on their face. Jesse would never see that though. The next words out of his partners mouth perplexed him. “I was worried. When were you going to tell me? I was starting to think all these business trips were really just for cheating.”

Jesse nearly gave himself whiplash from turning so fast. A smirk was plastered on their face. “You’re not scared of me or angry?” He signed wanting to know why. 

“Scared of you? You might be a serial killer but you’re a teddy bear to me. I’m only angry that you didn’t tell me sooner. I’m also relieved that you weren’t cheating.” (y/n) replied. 

“You are weird” He signed. He had no idea how his partner was taking this so well. 

“Says the man kills for a living” They smiled a genuine smile but it disappeared quickly. “I did think that maybe someone had sent them because they were trying to hurt you or worse. The thought of losing you is what scared the crap out of me.” (y/n) started to gather the pages that were on the table and walked into the living room. Chromeskull followed closely behind curious as to what was going to happen. “We should probably step up our ‘normal’ life image. You know it’s kinda cold in here” Their gentle voiced said. Jesse signed back a simple cold? The house wasn’t even slightly cold. (y/n)’s (e/c) eyes rolled at his cluelessness and placed the papers in the fireplace before setting them aflame. 

His significant other smiled a warm smile at him gently placing a hand on either side of his face bringing him down for a loving kiss. The killer happily returned the affection wrapping his arms around their waist. The two came up for air after a few moments. “I love you Jesse Cromeans. No more secrets okay?” He could only nod and kiss their nose in return not wanting to let them go. “That includes having your coworkers stalk me when you’re away.” They said catching the killer off guard making him back up a step. You knew they were there? “Of course I did. They aren’t exactly the best at it. Invite them for dinner. I want to meet them.” (y/n) replied casually. The thought of Preston being in his home made him cringe. Now that could be a disaster.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Sicktember 23 : Cold Case

(15. Sick in an Inconvenient Place + 24. “Did you just sneeze?”)

The detective's throat hurt.

Without leaving from sight the stuffy room, he massaged it slowly. His eyes were drier than usual, too. He blinked furiously. All for nothing, of course. No one was there yet; just him, a stupid little private eye freezing in a stupid little store that wasn’t heated. At least this time he was inside while it was snowing.

He’d already made good decisions in his life. It had happened ! Accepting this case had not been one of these. Not because of the case itself, oh no; it was – or at least, he hoped – rather simple. No corpse, for a start. That was a nice beginning for an inquiry. The client himself was much more of a problem. It was the first time that the detective had a rich collector among his clients, and if he was lucky, he’d be the last before long. The phone call that had begun it all had been one-hundred twenty eight (128. Honest.) minutes long well before his opening hours. The client had spent the first thirty seconds to explain that one of his greatest treasures had been taken from him, that was to say a priceless painting, and the rest to describe how miserable he was and the impacts on his social and financial life. Two hours left more than enough time to become salty, so the detective had asked:

“If that painting was that priceless, isn’t its place in a museum ?”

The client’s voice had become as frosty and hard as the weather outside.

“This painting is in my family since generations. Haven’t you heard, sir? It was stolen in a museum, because I lent it for an exposition.”

The detective had rubbed his temples and glanced at his alarm clock. 8:15. He’d never been at his brightest before 10 AM. Especially when he had been woken up toward 6 AM, all for a painting and some guy who was taking him for some kind of therapist. Yes, he’d heard about the stealing. Only he’d paid it no attention. It wasn’t often that rich guys were coming to him. The biggest mystery, really, was why the client had called him, but he’d needed the money, so he’d gone to work. A quick examination of the museum had told him that the thieves couldn’t have gone out by the main entrance or by the exit. There had to be a third way. Crime was always on the rise in this time of the year, and police and him didn’t get along too well, so as always he’d had no one else to help him. The museum security hadn’t been understanding either, so he hadn’t been able to make a very detailed search. Fine. He’d left out the place, and had tried to determinate if it’d been the only theft done in the same style, no matter how insignificant. It had been a laborious search, to enter all these stores only weeks before Christmas. He’d been shouted at, he’d been slapped once, and he’d been so very, very cold. While the days were going by, it’d been harder to get out of bed. He’d felt his throat hurting, his stomach growling, and sometimes he’d felt feverish. Used tissues piled up in his bin, and it took gallons and gallons of tea with honey to make him feel a little better. There was no time to rest, though. His medical appointment kept being postponed. The grumpier he was, the harder he wanted to catch the thief. Mostly though, it was because the client would not leave him be. Every day he called to complain. There was no polite way left to get him to shut up. The detective made his morning coffee while the phone whined on the table, and he’d only occasionally turn his head to add a “hmm” or “sure.” It wasn’t like he could turn it off altogether. Unlike what the collector seemed to thought, he actually had other clients.

Still, his work had paid off. All signs pointed to a little antique store next to the museum. He was pretty sure now that there was an entrance that connected the two buildings – and, if he was lucky, the painting might have been still in here. Judging by its description, it wasn’t something you could hide or carry easily.

After a bit of breaking and entering – he swore he’d pay for the damage - he’d settled in there and crouched behind an authentic-genuine-I-swear post-prehistoric chest of drawers. The perk of being small – or, as he’d liked to call it, a very reasonable height – was that in the middle of all these objects, he was invisible. He’d been waiting for a long time now. Hours and hours in the dark without moving too much, without getting asleep, without doing anything but watch. It’d been tedious. But the ray of light he could peek at just now told him that it hadn’t been for nothing. Said ray of light belonged to a flashlight that belonged to a long, bulky shape in black.

There you go.

The form extirpated itself from a hole in the stone wall, that had been hidden before by a bookshelf. One slightly slimmer shape followed up, then a tiny, tiny third that made him tilt his head in confusion. Maybe it wasn’t a child. He hoped it wasn’t a child.

Three whole humans. Right. Sure. His throat hurt a lot more all of the sudden, and it wasn’t because of the cold. He’d better believe he was as invisible as he wished, because the first one had something in their hand that very much looked like a gun. Of course, he had his own. That wouldn’t do much good because it was loaded with blanks. The only thing worse than risking being killed was risking killing another person. He wasn’t sure he could bluff against three. On the other hand, if he wasn’t noticed, it was his early Christmas present. He was paying them a visit just the night they were making another trip to the museum. What for, though ?

“A good thing we have done”, mumbled the first one. “That painting would have ruined us.”

Wait, what ? The second shape seemed to slap lightly the third, who whined in protest and stepped back.

“How was I supposed to know it was a fake ?”

Wait. What.

“Yeah, let the kid alone,” neglectfully said the first shape; “good thing someone had a brain cell inside his skull and checked with Dr Garner.”

The detective took note of the name, but he was still too flabbergasted to precisely hear what they were saying. So that was why the police hadn’t been that interested into that theft and the museum security had given him the cold shoulder. They must have known. Bastards, they could have told him ! Else he wouldn’t have been risking his neck for a fake painting that had been given back. As for his client, he’d never killed anyone in his life, but he was very much tempted to at least try to strangle him a bit.

Still, those bozos were going to be arrested. He didn’t like the kind of fire they carried around. He liked even less the kind of guys who bullied kids. He couldn’t catch them now if he wanted to live a little longer, but he wasn’t in a rush. He just had to wait for them to drop a clue.

So he stayed and stayed and stayed. He barely dared to move and had no idea of the time. Fortunately it was December and dawn wouldn’t break before very long. The thieves were still taking their sweet time, though. Oh, they spilled the beans all right. They let out names and addresses and other things that could be easily checked. He had them. He had them good. It was worth it. Sure. But there were also long, long silences that reminded him that it had been hours since he was in the same position and there still wasn’t any heating and the slightest noise would mean a bullet in the head. His throat was killing him but as long as it was the only thing killing him, he would be fine. Right ? Right. He could take it. He was a persistence hunter. The ache in every muscle in his body and his burning forehead and his vocal chords on fire meant nothing, so long as he got out alive with all those precious hints.

And then, the first shape took a step back and accidentally knocked down a table. It was far too close from him for his taste, but he was relieved to see it didn’t affect the little barricade of furniture who protected him. He let out a big sigh, unaware of the dust cloud that the table had moved, accidentally breathing it.

The second shape started.

“Did you just sneeze?” they asked awkwardly to the first.

“No,” answered the first, drawing out a gun, passing so very close to a shadow huddled into a corner with his hands on his mouth and nose and his eyes wide.

“I didn’t.”

*

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