#alas such thing exists only in my dreams

[obliviatedlemondrop]

someone please take me on bookstore dates, and talk with me about books, and our futures and aspirations, and then at the end we exchange our favorite books with each other, and drive home listening to music.

[an-absolute-trainwreck]

I had 3 dreams last night. Spot which one is not like the other.

1. My dead dog came back to life (although, he looked different, so perhaps reincarnation) and everyone was super happy

2. I joined a manhunt to kill Elon musk. I had an army of dogs and eventually he passed out, allowing me to drag him into my fathers house, suffocate, and behead him.

3. Me and my academic team went to a fair and I won a big Pokémon plush

…

[anna-does-a-fandom-thing]

nothing serious.

professor! anakin skywalker.

a/n: hiii! so, @fuckmyskywalker came up with the idea for this concept, and I've decided to write my own fic on it! LOVEE me some starwars boy. But put him in a SUIT?? drool worthyyy.

tw!: smut. lots of smut. ahem. p in v sex, sort of breeding kink? it's small but it's there. use of the name pet!! unprotected sex! do not attempt! dumification kink? also miniscule but there. big big sir kink. Anakin loves asserting the fact that he's the top here.

Disclaimer: 18+ only please! I'm not responsible for the media you consume as an adolescent!

description: Attending the most sought after university definitely was the best decision you'd made regarding your college career, but one perverted professor almost makes you want drop out entirely. Anakin Skywalker, was in no short terms, egotistical and a hard-ass. At least that's what you knew, so why is he asking to see you after class?

Ah, Corscuscant University. One of the most popular STEM universities in the country. The same STEM university you attended. Being a biology major, it was a no brainer for you come here. When you arrived as a freshman Corscuscant felt like your dream school, but like every dream, reality had set in. Your painful reality was Anakin Skywalker; your math professor. Professor Skywalker was one of, if not the most attractive man you had ever seen. He knew he was good looking, too. Almost every person in school had a crush on him, one of those people being you. That's not to say you didn't find him annoying as hell, but you could appreciate a good complexion when you saw one. Despite his good looks, it didn't change the fact that Anakin Skywalker was an egotistical hard ass, whose courses were next to impossible.

It was easy to ignore his big mouth and jabs at any poor soul unfortunate enough to get a question wrong in the beginning, focusing on your studies and logarithmic equations. However, as the class began to get more difficult, your counselor started suggesting attending his after school lessons. Something you couldn't be bribed to attend. But alas, hell hath no fury like a college counselor.

The good thing about Anakin's tutoring is that it's only on Fridays. The bad thing, is that it's a ghost town most days. if he's lucky, Anakin might get 2 or 3 students. So by the second semester, it became just you and him.

Anakin Skywalker was now aware of your existence. He was aware you sucked at math, and he was probably aware of your attraction to college professors who made even Pythagoras hate math. So now here the two of you were.

Just earlier that morning, you'd been notified that the tutoring had been canceled, so your plans for the evening were to go home and sleep. But, before you can walk out of the classroom, Professor Skywalker calls your name. Leaning against his chair, he looks at you piercingly. "Come to my office as soon as possible. We need to discuss your grade in my class."

"Yes professor. " You stuttered, sending a questioning glance to your friend. You walked towards Anakin's office, knowing he'd already be in the room. You hesitated to enter, dreading whatever miserable information he had to bestow upon you, in private. You noticed while peering into the room that he's got a paper in his hand. 'please don't be mine,' you pray.

Once you entered, you moved to stand in front of his desk. "Are you free to stay awhile? I have some questions about your last exam." He says, seeming relaxed. You DID have plans, no, you were not free. Ugh. You guess you can't deny your teacher, so you nod politely. "Great to hear." He says, motioning for you to walk around the desk.

Anakin rolls out his seat, and moves to stand. Now standing in his personal bubble, per his suggestion, you fidget with your hands. "So, what about my exam? Did I fail it, sir?" You start to get worried. "No, no, nothing like that. You actually made top of the class once I graded it." Anakin praised. "I'd actually like to offer you some extra credit."

Anakin motioned for you to take a seat on top of his desk. "What kind of credit?" You asked, now level eye level with his chin. "Just some extra course work and a few more sessions in the week." Anakin shrugged, almost distracted. You hesitated, "I suppose I can, uhm, do that." Anakin smiled at your stutter. He placed his hand under your chin and lifted it to meet his eyes. "You're certainly obedient. I like that." You felt your brain screech to a halt. "Excuse me, what?"

Is Professor Skywalker hitting on you? This has to be a dream. You look up at him, and lo and behold, he's staring right back. He looks hungry, like you're a delicious piece of meat. "You behave when and how i tell you to. Has anyone ever told you that's attractive?" Anakin clarifies, placing both of his hands on desk, trapping you under him. You bristle at his statement. "Sir! that's inappropriate!" Anakin just laughs, and leans in. He says, quietly, "That's alright, pet. It's only inappropriate if someone finds out. I don't intend on telling a soul."

You feel your nose subconsciously scrunch up in confusion. "Pet?" Where did that come from? "You're my little teacher's pet, aren't you? It'll be our little secret." Anakin places one hand on your thigh, the other further along the desk to prop himself up. You can feel his hand wander to your hip, and you're not sure you want to stop him. You didn't know someone's hands could feel that good, with his feather like movements. You're about to let him continue, until you remind yourself that you didn't lock his door. Anyone could walk in.

"Wait, not here. Someone will see." You try to push Anakin away, but he grabs your wrist to restrain you, gently. "Yes here. I can't stop myself." Anakin ducks his head below your chin, and places butterfly kisses along your throat. You hold it in, but you want to moan at his touch. Anakin pulls away, "I'm going to give you your first extra credit assignment. Answer these 3 questions."

You try to focus on his words and not the pooling heat between your legs. "Yes sir." You're pretty sure Anakin noticed you squeezing your thighs together like no tomorrow, and he's just saying these things to rile you up. He quietly moans at your obedience. "Good girl, keeping doing that." You look at him, "What, calling you sir?"

Anakin nods, giving your hip a squeeze. "Yeah, baby. It means you know who's in charge here."

Clearing his throat, Anakin begins. "Now, question one. are you aware of how tempting your body has been to me?" You can feel your cheeks lighting on fire. He's certainly been bold. "N-no sir."

"That's okay, beauty, I'll show you. Question two: will you let me kiss you?"

Oh fuck. You knew that was coming. Oh well, you only live once. "Yes sir." As soon as the words left your lips, Anakin had cupped your cheek, pulling you into a passionate kiss. Anakin was a good kisser. You'd figured that was probably true a while ago, but now? To feel him? It was overwhelming. He pushed against your mouth, using one hand to lift your leg against his hip. Using the new angle, Anakin deepened the kiss causing you both to moan against each other.

You can feel Anakin get more and more aggressive in the kiss, to the point he's pushing the desk a little. You pull away from him for a moment, causing him to chase your lips. "Anakin.." You start, but he cuts you off with a growl. "Who, pet?" You should've expected that one. "You, sir. You're pushing the desk apart." You correct yourself quietly, murmuring your concerns into his ear. Anakin frowns in thought before donning a sultry grin. "I've got a better place for us to continue, dear pet." Before you can question him, Anakin wraps your legs around his waist and takes your mouth in a kiss. He lifts you from the desk before walking towards the couch in the corner of his office.

You yelp as Anakin gently throws you onto it, and you're once again locking lips.

"Mm, sir.." You moaned into his mouth, feeling him crawl on top of you. Anakin smiles, looking down at such a pretty sight. "Such a good girl, pet. You gonna spread f'me?" Anakin tapped your thighs, and you pulled them apart at his request. Anakin settled himself between your legs. "For the last question, pet," Anakin pulls up your skirt and hooks his fingers into the hem of your underwear. "How badly do you want me to fuck you?" Feeling your heart speed up, you replied shaking, "So badly, sir. Please."

"Good girl. you've earned yourself an A+." He rasps, sitting up and undoing his belt. Craning your head, you watch as Anakin unzips his trousers. You almost gasp when he pulls out his dick. You're not even sure you can take him, with how large he is. "It's alright, pet, no need to look scared." Anakin cooed, kissing your jaw. He lifted up your skirt, and pulled on the hem of your underwear. Discarding them, you were now bare for his eyes to see. "We'll go slow, baby." Anakin reassured you, lining himself up with your entrance. Gently as Anakin could be, he pushed into you. Whimpering, you felt tears well up in your eyes. It was both painful and overwhelming, and you instinctually pushed at his chest. "Relax, little pet, relax." Anakin grunted, already being squeezed like a balloon waiting to be popped. Anakin finally bottomed out, after what felt like forever. It felt so good. "Tell me when, darling." Anakin refused to move until you gave him a sign. Taking several deep breaths, you nodded. "No, pet. give me words. Use them, baby."

"Please, sir."

"Please what, my girl?"

You knew Anakin was getting impatient, but you were so overwhelmed with pleasure it was hard to form words. You him growl in your ear. Feeling his hand touch your soft flesh, Anakin gripped your waist and moved without warning, "I'm not going to wait anymore, little pet." You couldn't help but let out a guttural moan. Holy shit. He was so big, and you've never felt so filled in your life. "Sir..!" You cried, pulling him down and kissing him. Anakin begins to kiss you passionately, pressing you into the sofa. His mouth meets yours in a loving and desperate kiss as he starts to move faster, causing your loud whining to be muffled. If you weren't blissed out, you'd die of embarrassment at the lewd noises the two of you created. Anakin, on the other hand, loved it. Feeling him speed up, you pulled away from his mouth and almost screamed. You knew you were close, and you told him so. "Sir, please! Close, close, please.. mm," You were practically crying from how good he felt. "I know pet, I know." Anakin replied, grunting when he felt you squeeze him harder. "God, keep squeezing and I'm gonna burst, baby, fuck."

Hooking his hands under your thighs, Anakin lifted them onto his shoulders, pressing you in half. The new angle made your insides burst with pleasure, making you scream. "C'mon pet, you can do it." Anakin encouraged, hitting all the right spots harder. "Cum for me baby, cum all over my dick, yeah?" His words sent shivers through your spine, and your eyes rolled. It was too much. The coil in your tummy snapped, and you finished with a moan.

However, Anakin didn't stop. Despite your release, Anakin moved even faster. "No, no, sir! I can't!" You cried, already overstimulated to high heaven. "Don't be selfish pet, i know you can do it," Tightening his grip on your thighs, Anakin grunted over, and over, and over with every thrust. "Don't want my cum, baby? huh? Don't want your teacher to fill you up till you're full?"

Too fucked out to use your brain to respond, you squeezed around him again. It was too much for you, and now, the last straw for him. Letting out an animalistic growl, Anakin buried himself as far in you as he could, bottoming out fully. Your tummy felt so warm, being painted with his load for what felt like forever to you.

He collapses on top of you, panting softly. "Such a good girl f'me, baby. M'so proud of you." He coos at you, still out of breath from the intensity of the moment. After a few seconds, Anakin lifts his head and chuckles. "Poor thing, too dumb to respond to me?" He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze. You whine at his teasing, pouting at him. He leans to your ear and whispers, "Don't be shy, baby. You did so good f'me."

[heartfullofleeches]

“I've heard dreams are a pleasant escape for some people. Is it strange that all of my dreams revolve around you?"

fucking sobbing i love him so much (dea uses any pronouns right?)

id do everything i can to praise them in any/every way for the smallest things. theyre literally the sweetest. Any input on how they’d react if we just started calling them our spouse/partner out of the blue one day? -zs

[Using he/they for this fic but yes, Dea uses any pronouns. ]

Dea enjoyed grocery shopping with you. While the deity could simply will the ingredients needed for your meals into existence - there was something special about going out in public while at your side. They aren't one to boast about your relationship, but it's nice to have other bare witness of it. Their heart fills with joy whenever a human sees you as potential interest - only to be detered once they see the god lucky enough to reach you first hovering over your shoulder.

The two of you stand in line at checkout when someone calls your name from afar. If you noticed Dea taking a step closer as the familiar face approached you paid no attention to it. They squeeze your hand gently as you engage in conversation with your acquaintance. The god had finally worked up the courage to ask for your hand- Not in marriage, but at least whilst you were out and about. Dea had been quite fortunate when it came to your relationship however they doubted you'd go even to those lengths with them.

Alas - a god could dream-

"So who's this behind you?"

"Oh, right you moved away before I met them. This is Dea.. We've been together for a few years now- They're my spouse."

".S...."

Spouse? Surely they misheard you. Dea felt blessed just being able to hold your hand. Spouse. The word repeats in their head. A beautiful, yet hauntingly cruel title. How could you call them your spouse when they hadn't even presented you with a ring yet? Could they even obtain a piece of jewelry on that would properly convey their eternal devotion to you before you lost interest and moved on? Spouse.. They're you're spouse. What could they have possibly done to deserve this honor?

Your vision distorts as a hitched breath tickles your ear. You look up to see Dea - hiding the glittery tears building in their eyes and the cracks forming along their skin with their robes. You bite pass the dizziness you feel as their physical form slips to grip their hand tighter as they sob.

"Dea...Are you.. okay?"

'I'm fine... I am more than alright, My Grace, I just - got a little overwhelmed. Thank you. Thank you for choosing me. I promise you not a single day will go by without me expressing the depths of my affections towards you. I love you so much."

"I love you too, Dea...." You kiss away their tears, dropping your voice to a whisper.

"But we really have to work on getting you outside without tearing a hole in my reality."

[sempersirens]

sun bleached flies | four

masterlist

chapter summary: joel seeks to make amends the only way joel knows how: messily

warnings: 18+, mdni. previous dark!joel/raider!joel. mention of ptsd, nightmares, some sexist/misogynistic comments, lotsa swearing, nihilism, alcohol & bad decisions.

a/n: hello! as you may know, i paused this series for a little while after receiving some comments about the content of this story. i was quite upset and reactive upon first seeing the comments and instantly pulled the series in order to give myself some time to consider whether i wanted to carry on. but, as is obvious, i really do not care anymore. i put detailed warnings before each chapter so everyone knows what they're getting into. if this isn't for you, that's okay! don't read! alas. thank you SO much to all of you who continue to read my silly little stories and send me such kind messages, reblog, and like. i love and cherish you ALL. this chapter is very much giving "it's the drama, mick. i love it.”

Joel's POV

In the movies about the end of the world, humanity always seemed so vulnerable. Not so much in the way that people would be literally picked off one by one by hordes of undead, but there was always the feeling that it took the end of the world for the human race to finally become their true selves. As if the worst of times brought out the best of people.

Joel had hated that trope. Whenever he, Tommy and Sarah picked out a zombie movie at Blockbuster on a Friday night they opted for the most gory, gruesome option on the shelf. They would simultaneously roll their eyes at any cheesy line snuck into the dialogue mid-fight scene - apart from Tommy, who would wipe his bleary eyes with the back of his sleeve in the hope that nobody had seen.

Sat amidst that gathering of lost survivors, each searching for some semblance of safety in the dire form of group therapy, Joel had perhaps for the first time in his life seen true, raw emotion reflecting in your eyes. You had always seemed so composed during your brief but sharp run-ins with one another, but this evening was different.

He'd watched your cheeks turn pink when the idiot stood at the front of the group prompted you to share your story. The way you unravelled speaking about Mia, it was as if your facade had shifted ever so slightly - perhaps even accidentally - because as soon as you realised your mask was slipping, you snatched it straight back and regained composure. Like she was your Achilles heel, the only thing in this world that could bring your walls tumbling down.

Joel had tried to follow you after the session to get you alone to talk about - he didn't even know what. He just knew was the right thing to do, and he had made a promise to himself to start following that gut feeling for once. But he had been trapped by his row of slow-moving attendees with little sense of urgency and menial small talk, and you were long gone by the time he had escaped the barricades of plastic chairs.

You'd had a child, his child. A child he had no right to see, and wasn't even sure if he wanted to see. How could he look her in the eye knowing the reason she had been brought into this world, knowing he had even let such a thing happen, to bring something so small and innocent into such a plagued existence?

A lot of things kept Joel up at night; too many things to count. The fire of bullets before feeling the limpness of Sarah's body in his arms. The mocking song of defeat, noise constantly muffled in his eardrums that reminded him of that damn flinch. Ellie's small body collapsing into his still-weak chest, fresh blood coating her pale skin. The smell of the burning building in their wake.

It was worse when the dreams reminded him of his own cruelty. Settlements raided and burned to the ground. Blades pressed through temples in the dead of night.

And then there was you.

He had stumbled upon you at the peak of his inhumanity. He wanted to blame it on being around the other raiders for so long, that the things he had only ever been a bystander for had finally seeped into his skin and corrupted him. He wished he could reject all of the shame and responsibility as an unconscious action of muscle memory.

When he saw you standing in your kitchen passing his brother a bottle of beer like it was the most mundane action, he thought his subconscious was punishing him again; like his first day in Jackson, when he'd dared to drop his shoulders ever so slightly at the sight of a woman he let himself believe to be Sarah. For that second all logic evaded him, all he could think was that his little girl was alive and well right before him. As if it had all been a bad dream and she would turn to face him like it had only been an hour at most since they'd been apart.

It took just as much time for his brain to remind him he was really seeing you and not another one of his nightmares. Despite the briefness of your encounter all those years ago, he would've known you anywhere. Even if he'd wanted to forget you, his brain wouldn't let him.

You had every right to despise him, to out him to his brother and the entirety of Jackson. Not only had he taken advantage of your vulnerability, he'd failed at the one measly promise he had made you in exchange.

His biggest regret manifested as a Bambi-eyed little girl staring up at him as if he were a stranger. Which in truth, he was.

It was still early when Joel returned home to an empty house. Ellie was staying the night at a friend's, Dina, or something. Tommy and Maria had reassured him that she was a good kid and it would do Ellie some good making friends if they planned on staying in Jackson for the foreseeable future.

So, he retired to bed and tried to disappear underneath the thin duvet in the hope of dreamless sleep.

After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, your feeble voice from earlier ricocheting through his ears, he admitted defeat.

One thing Joel appreciated about Jackson was the lenient opening hours of the Tipsy Bison. Something he didn't appreciate, however, was how the entirety of Jackson's male population seemed to think the same thing.

"Joel," Tommy called across the room as Joel entered the bar.

For god's sake, Joel muttered under his breath, all hope of a peaceful glass of whiskey dissipating at the sight of his little brother waving him over.

"What you doin' here so late?" Tommy questioned, trying to decipher whether Joel had seen through his suggestion of attending the support group.

"Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd make good of this... fine establishment." Joel replied as Tommy signalled to the bartender for two more of whatever he had already been drinking.

Two men Joel hadn't met yet were seated on either side of Tommy, and he didn't care to be introduced to them either.

"You go to that meetin' I told you about?" Tommy was never good at being discreet, making the situation sound more like Joel was eliciting some kind of drug run rather than going to a damn trauma support group.

"I did," the bartender placed a glass of whiskey on the table in front of Joel. "Saw your girl there."

"Oh yeah, she goes every week. How was she?" Tommy's face lit up at the mention of you.

"S'fine. Don't think she likes me very much."

Joel took a swig of his drink as one of the other men chirped up, questioning whether the topic of conversation was about you.

"She's my patrol partner sometimes. Doesn't like anybody very much, don't take it to heart."

"That so?" Joel mused, twirling the glass around in his fingers.

"Spends most of her time with her kid, and if not her, then she's with our Tommy and his Maria. Reckon they're all that's good enough for her in this town."

"Now, don't put yourself down like that, Keith. She's just a private gal, that's all." Tommy reassured the man to his left, earning a raised eyebrow in response.

"Hopefully not that private, I'm takin' her for a drink tomorrow night." Now the man on Tommy's right spoke up.

Joel felt his grip tighten around the glass, his eyes narrowing on the tall but weak-looking man sitting across from him.

"Well I'll be damned," Tommy laughed. "Y'finally wore her down, huh?"

"Other way round, really. I gave into her asking and asking."

"Now, now, Greg. She's a good girl, you better look after her."

"Yeah, really look after her, Greg. Be doin' us all a favour, might put a smile on her face for once." Keith added.

"C'mon now, boys. She's like a sister to me, don't be talkin' about her like that." Tommy grimaced slightly, which soon turned to a snort. He always did lose his backbone after a couple of drinks.

"Like any of you would say that to her face." Joel scoffed, taking a sip of his drink to stop him for saying anymore.

God knows why, but Joel felt defensive over you. Listening to the way Tommy was allowing his friends to speak on you made his blood boil. He could hear thumping in his eardrums, waving his hand in the general direction of the bartender for another glass of whiskey.

"They're just playing, Joel. She can be kinda icy to say the least."

"Yeah, why d'you think that is, Tommy? She's got a damn kid to look after, all on her own."

"I didn't realise you knew her so well." Greg retorted, his face looking more and more punchable by the second.

"I didn't know you were keepin' tabs on my life, who I know and who I don't." Joel spat back with a little too much vim in his voice.

The bartender replaced Joel's empty glass with a filled one, which he knocked back without a second thought before rising in his seat and slamming the glass back on the table.

He turned to leave, feeling the warmth of the alcohol settling in his chest.

"The hell was that all about?" Tommy had followed him outside.

"What?" Joel barked in response, turning to face his brother.

"In there, you gettin' all wound up over nothin'."

"Nothing? You said that girl's like your sister, yet you let them speak on her like that?"

"Oh c'mon, Joel. They're idiots I know, but they're harmless. What's it to you, anyhow?"

"I just thought you were better than that, Tommy."

"You're being crazy. Go home, Joel."

"Where d'you think I'm fuckin' going?"

He waved Tommy away, turning to walk back to his place. However, he didn't want to go home yet. He let his feet take him in the direction of your house, instead.

It wasn't too late, but he still knocked lightly on the front door so as to not wake Mia. He heard some shuffling from inside before the door creaked open.

"Jesus Christ." You breathed.

"Not quite."

"What the fuck do you want, Joel? Why do you keep showing up here?" You demanded, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door softly behind you.

"You know why, we have shit to talk about."

You scoffed and pushed your shoulders back, the smell of alcohol from Joel's breath making the thought process for his surprise visit clear.

"We have nothing to talk about. You. Are. Not. Welcome. Here."

"They were all in the Bison, just know, those pricks from patrol. Greg or whatever, talkin' shit about you. I couldn't stand it."

"Oh, please. What do you want me to do? Get on my knees and thank you for defending my honour?"

"No- not at all. Just don't want you wastin' your time with them when they don't respect you."

"And you do? Respect me?"

Joel couldn't find the words to respond. Everything came flooding over him at once.

"Please, I- I wanna see her."

He surprised even himself at the words that left his mouth, however, you didn't seem surprised. Your eyes narrowed while his widened, watching you take a step toward him, closing the gap between you both.

“Joel, I don’t think you understood at all. Why would I want you near her, when you’re the exact kind of man I'm trying to protect her from?”

taglist: apparently my tags don't always work so fingers crossed these come thru? sorry if i forgot anybody - if you want to be added/removed please lmk! @warm-tea-and-otp @mrsquill @ashleymsnodgrass @bluetattoos @mabermaple @hiroikegawa @casssiopeia @joeldjarin @southernbe @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @cool-iguana @drewharrisonwriter @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @randomhoex @ilovepedro @koshkaj-blog @ejuliet999 @love-the-abyss @jellybeanxc @mabermaple @radsanchez @powellssaturn @ok-boke @phoebe13 @ahintofkiwistrawberry @smexy-bucky-waifu @withasideofmeg @darkroastjoel @willowsvalley @forestfaeriequeen @radsanchez @moonlightdivine @noisynightmarepoetry @mysingularitybts @misshoneypaper @ezzynf @spideyyhoe @runningmom94 @disassociation-daydreams @serendipity22086 @lionlena @shotgun-shelby @daddy-din @dins-riduur-anthe @phoebe13 @bageldaddy

[vesper-tinus]

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 (part 2) Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female ! Reader

Summary: You awake in the hospital, recovering from your injuries, and find that you have not been alone. A continuation of a request that you can read here. Keywords: Minor mentions of hospital equipment (if one is squeamish), happy end, a continuation. I hope you guys enjoy it 😊 Wordcount: 1668. Tags: (my firsts, wow!) @srjksr — @nicoleoeoeoe 🖤

Simon’s eyes stay locked onto yours as he, with hardened yet wavering voice, begs you to keep your attention on him. The certainty from his lips fading with each second you are unresponsive. He moves closer to you, pulling your bloodied and lifeless body into his arms and holding you there protectively—furious and heartbroken—and so alone. 

You feel a sharp pain somewhere in your head, you’re not certain where—did you just think? There’s a subtle buzzing in your ears, under your skin, crawling over you like weevils. You attempt to grasp at the thin threads of your consciousness, but everything you find is fleeting. Logic and experience tells you that you are in some drug-induced state of exhaustion, one that is coming to its end.

You persist.

You persist despite the pain that awakens with each breath. 

As your mind continues to reassert its existence in the waking world, the past few days come back trickling into focus, dripping into being like the IV attached to your arm. A sensation you’ve felt before, and have been hoping to never feel again, alas, a small price to pay for un-death. Gradually, you become more aware, but it’s a fighting battle. Each light re-lit causing new pains to be discovered. Your eyelids feel heavy, resting would be so easy, but you want to wake up. You need to wake up.

You cease your attempts at movement. 

Someone, or something, is holding onto your hand. 

And there’s a noise—faint, but noticeable—that almost rhythmically accompanies the continuous beeping, steady and quiet, but you hear it. The faint inhale and exhale of breathing—not your own. 

Sleeping?

You attempt to move your palm, wiggle your fingers, but waking up your limbs seems almost an impossible task. You inhale slowly, your weakened lungs taking their fill of assisted-oxygen. The hospital room reeks of disinfectant—there’s a staleness in the air that brings no comfort to its visitors. It’s a weighted silence that feels almost artificial to your awakening state. 

You blink to clear the cobwebs, and you are met with a blurry sight. You grimace as you squeeze your eyes shut once more, attempting to will the world to sharpness. The first thing you manage to carve out is the whirring ceiling fan above you, the movement of the lazy blades doing little to help, and so you avert your eyes to whoever has been holding your hand. 

Simon?

You’ve always known him to be a light sleeper, but the depths of his exhaustion comes as a surprise to you. He has always been strict regarding exhaustion and sleep schedules—going as far as to confiscate caffeine when the situation called for it, with Price’s permission, of course. To see him here, sleeping and unmasked, stirs not only relief in your heart, but worry. 

How you’ve missed him.

“Sh-” Your attempt at speaking his name is barely audible, your voice hoarse and unfamiliar to both your throat and ears. 

He startles awake, his grip on your hand tightening as he springs to life. Shoulders squared and the intensity of his attention is solely focused on you. The dark circles beneath his eyes have worsened since the last time you saw him (though you are unclear how long ago that is). He speaks your name with faint disbelief, with wonder, and oh the love. 

You can almost see the weight lifted off his shoulders. Unburdened by the proof of life—by your life. 

“Took you long enough,” he says, pointedly and honest, but without bitterness. His words are accompanied by a gentle squeeze of your fingers. His eyes dart all over you, as if afraid you were a conjuration of his dreams—as if you could disappear at any moment.

What comes out of your mouth is something between a wheeze and a dry cough, and Simon is quick to rest the cup of water by your lips. The cold water feels unfamiliar to your throat, burning the entire way down, but it helps.   

You lick your lips, and attempt to speak again. 

“Dick.” 

You’re rewarded with the quiet sound of Simon chuckling, all too charming on its own, though it soon quiets down—a bit too soon for your liking—and once more you are feeling the weighted silence of your hospital room. 

He doesn’t speak further. He merely sits back down to watch you as he traces gentle circles over your hand with his thumb. You’re not even certain he knows what he’s doing, but it’s enough to cause your heart to flutter, so you avert your gaze, peering around to exercise the few muscles that have been still for… who knows how long. You crane your neck, attempting to find any hints to your location. “Where am I?”

“The hospital.”

“Thanks, smartass, “ you reply with a wry smile, “which one?”

Simon pauses, glancing down at your intertwined hands. “... The one you’d be the most comfortable in.”

His response is not what you had expected, and the subtle crease between your brows should be telling enough. You wait for further explanation, but receive none. So you take matters into your own hands, glancing around the room again, but this time with intent. You notice the pattern on the far wall, and the familiar colour of the blinds half-drawn. You notice the little print on the corner of your blanket of a logo you’ve seen before. A memory resurface of an incident months ago. 

“They treatin’ you alright here?” Simon asks, tossing you an unopened cup of pudding as he nears your cot. “I don’t see why you couldn’t just have stayed on base. We have medical personnel for a reason, y’know.”

You roll your eyes, expertly catching the little plastic container with ease. “That’s exactly why, Simon,” you respond, peeling off the plastic spoon attached to the side of the cup, ”because they treat me better here.” You pause, smiling at the obvious disbelief on his face. “They’re… I don’t know… friendlier?”

“Sure, “friendlier”. A military wing in a civilian hospital. How nice.”

“It’s an”—you wave the, now stained, spoon in a circular motion—”acquired taste. Plus, I’ve been here before. I like it better here.”

… you’ve been here before, and Simon knew. He knew and he remembered. 

The realisation must be showing on your face, because Simon clears his throat, diverting your attention. “I should probably let the others know you’re awake,” he says quietly, his warm hand still encasing yours.

“Yeah,” you respond with equal gentleness, “you probably should.”

But neither of you make any further effort to act on it.

The silence stretches on. You notice how his jaw is clenched again, and his shoulders seem to have tensed up. You, yourself, are not free of these symptoms either. Neither of you have forgotten why you’re here, yet neither of you are willing to delve into those memories just yet. But you should, right? For answers? For reassurance? You swallow a breath, steadying your thoughts. 

“Help a girl sit up?” you ask with a wry smile, and with subtle hesitation, he does just that. Cautious hands propping up a stack of pillows behind your back for you to rest against. He’s careful not to disturb the IV tubes, nor the nasal cannula you have become annoyingly aware of. You mutter your thanks and receive a nod in response. 

When he retreats, he doesn’t move far, but he doesn’t take your hand again. The lack of his warmth bothers you more than you'd care to admit.

“You’re smart enough to know what comes next, right?” you ask, attempting to keep a light tone. "What I'm about to ask you?"

“I know.”

You press your tongue against the roof of your mouth. 

“... did you mean it? What you said? When I…”

You take a breath, holding it for three seconds, before exhaling.  When you almost died. When he thought you died.

There’s no need to clarify what you are referring to. It’s been weighing on both of you for a long, long time, though neither of you were keen to bring it up. Perhaps out of fear to change what you had, or maybe it was the risk of losing it all together. 

But it was always there.

“I still do,” he says carefully, pausing briefly to gather his thoughts. “And I almost lost you for it.”

“Simon-”

He interrupts you, rising from his chair in a sudden movement. “I don’t know if I can go through that again.” He's not sure of what to do, and that frightens him, but losing you frightens him more.

Muscle pains be damned, you attempt to sit up straighter, reaching for him. You can’t risk losing him, not when he’s this close. “You don’t think it’s worth trying? I love you, Simon, I’d… I’d like for us to try.” Your hand is weakly gripping the sleeve of his hoodie. Should he wish to, he could easily walk out the room… but he doesn’t. Quietly, he settles down again, easing your fingers apart to hold your hand once more. Silence builds between you again, growing so palpable that it almost feels oppressive.

“Alright,” he says.

“Alright?”

“I’d… like for us to try, too.”

You sigh in obvious relief, carefully falling back into the pillows stacked behind your back. “I can’t believe you made me go through that in a hospital cot,” you mutter, “what kind of boyfriend does that?” Your attempts at easing the atmosphere are appreciated, and Simon eagerly takes the hook you’re offering. 

“The ones’ who’s girlfriends die in their arms.”

“We weren’t dating back then, and secondly, I didn’t die fully.”

“You look like it, though,” he quips back with a fuller smile, more than eager to forget the intensity of the previously exchanged words. 

“You’re such a—”

The banter between the two of you comes as natural as breathing, and it’s a welcoming feeling. One you’ve missed. This is not the end of your conversation, of course, but neither of you are ready for it just yet. 

[yxstxrdrxxm]

SYNOPSIS: It was the first day that you came to the country after running away from your home. Although there were mysteries left untold and people you wish to escape, there was one that you never understood—why do these men keep falling for you?!

CW/s: Delusion, lovesickness, yandere behavior, stalking, violence, murder, jealousy, nonconsensual touching. (fem. reader)

NOTE FROM BLACK SWAN: Because the majority voted for the first for the revival of "FLAWED", this is the first dream I delve that focuses on... Oh my. How intriguing... Perhaps all of you will enjoy this one. It's all about you, after all.

Since the start, you never understood the matter of obsession, especially when it comes to 'love'.

Don't misunderstand—of course, you know how bad obsession can be. In your time spent in this world, you have seen so many seemingly getting utterly obsessed with your existence, oftentimes stumbling and trying to get your attention. Try as you might to ward them away, they seemingly can't stop themselves from even fumbling over you.

It was, in all honestly, a mess. Sometimes you even wonder if these people are even normal with how they can't seem to look at you right in the eye.

Though you might find them cute as they seemingly can't understand the message of 'look at me', what is not cute is when they start committing crimes. They say its all because of you, but really, what is it about you that drives them to such a thing?

So when you have a feeling it was going to happen (and you know that it will. You have a knack for such a thing, even when you used to struggle to detect it for a week), you immediately start planning on moving to a different location entirely.

In your flawless logic, it's the only thing that drives them away. They can't find you if you can't find them, no?

Alas! It... Never works.

Each time you seemingly tried, hoping and praying to the Gods above that they'd give you a small respite, a breather, even... They seemingly come back like weed, trying to suffocate you with spouting such nonsense you hear on the daily.

The one thing you can say that it worked for the first few times. In those times, you were able to gather yourself and breathe, perhaps relax as you no longer have to worry about those people follow you.

But when they find out where you went, they never seem to stop from then.

Each time you ran, they followed. They followed and followed, up until you had to uproot your entire life to go to a different country. If only to even get a chance to think clearly.

And here you are, in the country you chose to stay in: Mondstadt. It does seem quite lovely, and the chatter amongst normal people was a nice change to the near screaming you hear almost on the daily. Although you miss your friends back at Fontaine, you can hardly think about coming back.

After all, those obsessive fools may just catch whiff of you and follow you here. You can't have their disgusting hands grab you, right?

As you stayed in Mondstadt, you find out a few things about the residents here. One of them was about Chiori's shop, which was booming in the aspect of textiles, weaving and flowers. There was another one, but you heard that the owner had went missing.

Oh well.

It must not be important.

The next were the two bars— one of them you took little interest in, considering the famous one was run by your two closest friends. You, Aether and Lumine go way back, practically when you three were kids! Although you three grew apart since you got to senior high, all of you stayed in contact.

And besides, the latter must be run by some drab, so you'd rather catch up with your friends than go somewhere unfamiliar.

And finally, the one thing you absolutely adore was the bachelors you see.

You overheard that there was a painter that's globally known in all of Teyvat, especially in the art world. You never knew what his alias is, but there were talk amongst the townsfolk of a good artist that is seen in the town square. And luckily for you, you were already heading there, and you had to stop when you saw him.

Blonde hair tied in a messy short ponytail, the rest of those locks swept carelessly by the wind. Those cyan eyes glimmering in the sun makes it look more like prized gems, and although he only wore a white vest and black jeans, the canvas and paints he has stands him out more than anything.

You can only admire as he was painting the landscape, and when his head rises, both of your eyes meet.

You simply let out a gasp and turn away, unknowing of the look he must have on his face.

Oh, no, you mused, biting your lip. I sure hope I look okay! I must look like garbage in front of such a cute painter!

You simply closed your eyes as the embarrassment settled in, but you did betray your instincts and turned when you hear footsteps walk towards your direction.

Ah. He's walking towards you. He's actually walking to your direction.

"Excuse me," he says, his eyes drifting to your attire from the ground up. Eyeing the dress you wore, the luggage, then to your face and hairdo, his lips seem to quirk to a smile. "Ah, you must be the one the twins mentioned to me about. [Name], yes?"

He knows me?!

"Yes, that's... that's me," you answered, your voice faltering as you began to twiddle your thumbs. Letting out a nervous giggle, you shifted your gaze away from him again, unable to look at him. "I guess you're friends with them, huh...?"

"Mm, I suppose," he answers, the soft sound of his voice echoing and making you feel more hung up on it. "That aside, I do believe introductions are in order. My name is Albedo. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Oh, you know it's a pleasure of mine, you thought dazedly. What a prince. This must be what adoration feels.

Being with Albedo felt akin to a dream, and sometimes, you swear that those days you spent hiding from those insane suitors were all behind you.

After all, if there is one thing they can never attain, it would be what he has. The charm, wit, and his smile.

You were utterly hooked because of that smile of his.

Sure, there were moments that it felt like he were pushing those bounds bit by bit: you would catch him trying to hold your hand (something you always told him to stop), or the times he would give you those eyes. You always thought that he may be trying to hide his obsession for you, too, and he's trying to subvert the blame.

In your mind, you knew you aren't doing anything wrong. Why would you? Were you even expressing those thoughts in hopes that he would notice you?

And yet, even with that in mind, you can only find yourself dumbfounded when you hear from Alice (his companion) that he is away for a month. Something related to his work, she reasoned to you, but you took it as a sign of something sinister.

No... It can't be, you thought, horrified as you paced in your house. Don't tell me...

Now, you hate to suspect people that you liked. You hate the feeling of doing that, of thinking the person you may actually consider normal in your perspective to have fallen like the rest of the buffoons.

You hate to think they became obsessed. That he became obsessed.

So in that regard (and by the stroke of luck as he's gone for a month), you began to cut off contact with him. You began to block him everywhere, delete his number, and make sure to throw away things you suspect that he has tampered with. It was a lot, but it was all for your safety!

After all, why would you bring yourself to trust him if he's gotten obsessed over you? Ah, it'd be a nightmare!

And in your endeavor to cut him off due to the heinous idea, you began to plan out your next moves... That was, until you bumped into him.

Raising your head, your eyes met turquoise—a unique color, you thought, but you realized that it was only one.

"Oh my," you heard the recipient speak with a chuckle. "I wasn't expecting to see a cute lady here. So, you must be [Name] that I hear from Alice, hm?"

You simply squeaked when he said your name, the dulcet tones standing out far more than the soft voice you hear from that wretched blonde.

"I- I am," you stammered, raising a hand to cover your mouth. You free left hand began to fiddle with your hair, twirling a strand before you tucked it behind your ear. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking—"

He seems amused at that as he reached over to hold you from leaving.

"Ah, ah, ah," he tuts. "Not so fast, little lady. What's the hurry? I don't think it's respectful for you to walk out on someone."

Pulling his hand to your arm, he traced his fingers until he grabbed your hand, raising it to graze his lips— such is the behavior of a suitor.

"Call me Kaeya Alberich, miss [Name]," he whispers, his lips curled to a smug grin. "Or shall I call you my darling lily instead?"

Ah, he's going to be the death of me!

Unlike the time you spent with the blonde stalker to be, the time you spent with the casa nova was interesting. He seems to have a lot of fun regaling you with tales of his own, weaving them into elaborate chronicles you find yourself listening to for hours.

He was an avid storyteller, and the things he tells you feels so surreal, and yet when you look into it, it was true. You even found out that he was single too, but you never told him that.

Despite this, however, the red head is the one that catches your eye. You half-expected for him to even meet your gaze the few times you and Kaeya were together in his bar, but when you two do, he seems to look at you in disdain.

You didn't understood why he does. Kaeya tells you he looks like that to everyone, but you find that extremely hard to believe.

Does he knows that I came from Snezhnaya? you thought, pursing your lips as you stared at the busy bartender. Or is he simply playing hard to get?

You weren't with Kaeya today (which is an odd sight, because he's always free), so you decided to come by to the bar. You've been there for hours now, but even when you were staying there for so long, he never seems to bat an eye at you.

It was only when it was closing that you decide to approach the counter. You were obviously annoyed as you slammed the counter, finally catching his attention, and as you open your mouth—

"Leave."

...

"I'm sorry?" you uttered, shocked.

"Leave the bar. We're closing," he answers sharply, his steel gaze hitting you like needles on skin. "I've been ignoring you ever since you came here, miss. Please leave the bar. You've been here since nine in the evening."

The audacity of this man!

"Excuse me? Leave? I've been trying to get your attention—!"

"By what, pray tell?" he scoffs, crossing his arms with a scowl. "By batting your eyes and giggling like a teenager?"

You scoffed.

"I'd never do that!"

"Oh, but you have," you heard him reply, rolling his eyes at you—presumably because you think he has you cornered... Which he doesn't, you justified to yourself. "In fact, the bar has been empty ever since you came. You've been acting eerie enough that the regulars have left."

Hah, the audacity he has. It makes you sick.

"You act like I'm the one that has the problem here, sir," you scowl, reaching over to grab him, but he simply smacks your hand away. Raising his phone, he's now glaring at you outright.

"Don't touch me," he warns. "Miss, I'm warning you, leave. Leave or else I'll call the police."

...

You know what? Perhaps pursuing him isn't a good idea right now.

"Fine! I'll leave, then," you told him, turning on your heels to leave.

...

It was only when the lady left did Diluc sighed in relief, checking his phone once more. He noticed the messages he got from Albedo, the most recent one being something that he found shocking.

[ ALBEDO: I believe we're dealing with a case of lovesickness. ]

The sound of slamming on pavement was the thing that echoes in the room, blood and petals were being torn to shreds as the two individuals fought for dear life.

It was a monstrosity, one may say. And if they walked into the room, they would find out who was it that caused such a gruesome display and who became their victim.

Slamming the head on the floor, you felt sweat drip down your face. After what you experienced since that day, you had to be found out, and you decided that it was simply better to get rid of the weaker ones that got 'too close' to outing your location.

"You— you psycho! You freak!" you yelled at the top of your lungs, bashing the person's head as you did so. The mask they wore simply haunted you as you heard them choke and beg, but you didn't care.

They were all the same. All of them were the same, monstrous beings behind those smiles.

"Why do you keep following me?!" you yelled, raising a hammer as you slammed it on their shoulder, making them holler. "Didn't I tell you to stop?! You drove me out of that town, you freak!"

As you kept on slamming, the bones began to crack, the sound echoing around. You could hardly hear what they have to say as you simply can only see red, your ears hearing the sound of your heartbeat.

After a few more slams, you raised the weapon and bashed the head in, cracking it open like an egg and letting blood pour out.

...

Panting heavily, all you can do was look over at what you've done, and it seems that in your haste, you realized who it was that followed you.

...

Ah.

Ahaha.

Actually, that person you murdered wasn't even the one that followed you.

The blood staining your hands was one of the innocent, the one you decided to take the place of as one of the missing individuals.

Raking your hair, you couldn't help but giggle and laugh, the realization dawning on you. You forgot why you came to this town, didn't you, hm?

You came here not because of those people who became 'obsessed' and would tail you. Those people were ones that accused you for your crimes, some who had evidence as you were involved in their cases.

What a shame, really. Each time they got close, you simply bludgeoned them, making sure their remains were not to be found.

This town was no different, but it's okay, you reasoned to yourself.

Raising the now broken body of the florist, you couldn't help but smile, brain matter seeping out and blood oozing like gallons. The flowers you carelessly pulled in your rage remains by your side, but it was nothing that you can't get rid of.

It's fine now.

All you have to do was wipe everyone's memories, and you'll be in their place.

Sure, those pesky men will remember, but it's fine. In your eyes, they can't say a word when society thinks that the one they're supposed to bond with was you, after all.

You're the main character of this story, and that's how it always should be. ♡

@.yxstxrdrxxm | do not republish or repost my works anywhere | 2024

Happy April fool's!

What, were you expecting for this to be anything you wanted?

Haha, unfortunately, no. Actually, this dream was simply one that I found amusing. You all thought this was a normal yandere fic, yes?

Well... It isn't, I'm afraid. Please take what this was written with a massive grain of salt, because this dream was derived of a non-canon incident. Therefore, this dream never actually happened. Though, the events were quite jarring if it did.

Now, tell me, traliblazer.

Have you noticed anything that stands out? Anything that makes 'you' in this story perhaps... Too perfect?

Hehe. I'd start looking if I were you.

<3

[redahlia-writes]

practical magic. | javier peña x ofc

Abstract: Can love travel back in time and heal a broken heart?

There were some things, after all, that Helena Goode knew for certain:

Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.

Words: 12k

Content: original female character (helena goode); alternative universe, magic, death, ghosts, cursing, mentions of drugs, mentions of an abusive relationship, mildly suggestive language, inspo both from the movie and the book

A/N: it's still halloween, right? i'm sorry for the late late posting but, alas, shit happens. i hope you all enjoy this nevertheless &lt;3

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

also on AO3  - masterlist

He will hear my call a mile away. He will whistle my favorite song. He can ride a pony backwards. He can flip pancakes in the air. He'll be marvellously kind. And his favorite shape will be a star. And he’ll have eyes like chocolate, worthy of honesty.

Helena Goode often thought about the petals blowing in the air after her Amas Veritas, her true love. Years had gone by since then—she’d been just a kid, wishing on her true love, her perfect love. Thinking it could not exist—for how could it, when all those women came crying in her aunts’ kitchen in the middle of the night? She’d wished for what she thought could never come to her.

And then there had been Frankie—her love, definitely not perfect, but good, so good. And gone, gone forever, because she had loved him so much. Or so she had thought—maybe that hadn’t been real, maybe there was no such thing as real love, contrary to what her sister said. After all her aunts had played a part in her marriage, and for so long after Frankie’s death she’d tried to believe none of it had been real, so that it would hurt less. So that she would not die of a broken heart.

But, in spite of everything, in spite of her bitterness, in spite of her pain, in spite of the loss, she knew some things had been real. Like the coffee he made her in the morning before leaving for work, like the dinners she fixed before he came back, like the colour they picked to paint the walls of their house; like all the times she’d listened for his whistling as he came back from work; like his kisses, and like their two beautiful daughters; like the laughter during the day and the nights spent awake; like the normal life they’d began living, and the shop they’d dreamed of opening together that now belonged to her only.

Like the State Investigator who stood in front of her at the front door, asking after her sister’s boyfriend. A boyfriend she knew to be dead and buried right there in the backyard. Fuck, she kept thinking, looking at the man in front of her—his eyebrows arched, lips parted under a neatly trimmed moustache, eyes dark as chocolate, and—

“I’m sorry?” she asked, clearing her throat. Dry throat. Sweaty palms. Tongue-tied.

“Is your sister home?” She knew he’d asked that already, and he was being mighty patient about it. “I’d like to speak with her, ma’am,” and then, because she had not moved an inch, “nothing to worry about, really. Just routine questions.”

“Sure,” again Helena cleared her throat, and willed her legs to move. She stepped back, opening the door fully so that she could let him through. “Come on in, I’ll go get her.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, over and over as the man nodded and stepped in, walking past her into the entrance—he smelled of coffee and tobacco, of the desert he came from. Helena closed the door and wiped her hands down the front of her shirt, which she suddenly realised belonged to one of her daughters, with rhinestones adorning the front. Fuck.

“Kitchen is just on your left, I’ll be right back.”

Phoebe Goode was trying her best. Each night she dreamed about James—his eyes, old and clear, staring at her—and each morning she tried to stop carrying him with her, to forget he ever existed, even though she could still see him on her face, in the bruises around her eye, in the split lip on the point of healing—thanks to her sister salve, the one that smelled of roses. She was trying her best, ignoring the awful fact she felt him still, knowing that the deepest relationship with a man of her whole life was with a dead man.

So she wore blue for protection, and had asked Emma, her niece, to lock her cigarettes away, and tried to sit in silence to meditate and push him away, out of her mind, out of her life for good. She was even back at the house, where she’d sworn she would never go back, because it was safer, because of her sister.

Her sister, running up the stairs, out of breath, in a shirt that did not belong to her and a skirt that must’ve been older than her, so dishevelled-looking Phoebe felt her heart drop for a moment, figured the next words out of her mouth would be James, and honestly anything after that could be awful, because he was. Had been.

“There’s a cop. Agent. Someone,” Helena was gasping, her voice an alarmed whisper. “He’s looking for you. And James—but he asked for you.”

“That’s fine, we can manage,” perhaps the meditation was working, because even after hearing his name she could still think without panic closing her throat. “I’ll tell him I haven’t seen him in days, and I came here because we’re done. And if he asks, you’ll just say—” she stopped, frowning at her sister as she shook her head. “What? You’ll just say you’ve never seen him.”

“Here’s the thing,” Helena reached for her chest, still shaking her head, still out of breath. Her head was spinning, and her heart—God, her heart—felt like it was about to explode. “I don’t think I can lie to him.”

“Of course you can,” Phoebe scoffed—but her sister was still having a hard time breathing, her eyes so wide she looked like a deer spooked half to death. “Get over yourself, Lena. It’s fine. You’re just having a panic attack.”

“I don’t think it’s that. I just—the way he looks at you,” she inhaled sharply, a strangled noise scratching her throat and making her sound like a wounded animal, then exhaled, breath stuttering. “I can’t sit there and just lie to him. I know I can’t.”

“You have to, Lena,” but her sister’s eyes darted around the attic, where Phoebe was staying in. She snapped her fingers in front of her face, making her recoil. “Listen to me, you have to. We know nothing, nothing happened.”

Helena and Phoebe had grown up knowing that something was real because they believed in it. That was what gave things power—magic, words, talismans. But what happened when two people believed two different things? How did the universe cope with that? Was James dead and buried in their backyard, under lilacs that were growing wildly out of season (girls in the neighbourhood had begun to whisper that if you kissed the boy you loved beneath the Goode’s lilacs he’d be yours forever, whether he wanted to be or not), or was he back in Laredo, or off somewhere else, left behind by his girlfriend?

Javier Peña was wondering the same as he stood in the odd kitchen of an odd house, there on Magnolia Street.

There were no clocks and no mirrors, in that house, and the floors creaked anywhere but where he stepped; light came pouring in from big, wide windows, showing an even bigger garden with lilacs out of season and more flowers and plants that he could recognise or count—rosemary and lavender, roses and daisies, carrots and an apple tree that reminded him strangely of home, but all seemed like a dream through the thick glass. Each piece of furniture inside seemed dusty, but when he ran his fingertip across the dark wooden surface of this table or that cabinet, no dust came away—no need for polishing anything in there. It smelled of cherrywood. It smelled familiar.

It was a familiarity Javier had not been ready to face—he touched the pocket of his jacket, felt the paper tucked in there crinkle at the touch, and a moment later, as if summoned by thought alone, Helena Goode came back down the stairs, slightly more dishevelled looking than before.

Helena had clearly been in the kitchen when he first knocked. He knew because he could almost see it, like a ghost moving around the stove, stirring a pot that had since been turned off, its content left forgotten on the back burden. He knew because she’d called Hold on at the third rattle of his knuckles across the door, matter-of-factly, as if she’d been expecting him. The mere sound of her voice had thrown him for a loop, the patio under his feet shifting unsteadily, and he could’ve followed the sound there with his eyes closed.

He thought then he could be in trouble—and when she’d opened the door, he’d known he would. Because he’d looked into crystal clear pools of grey and begun drowning, down and down without anything he could do about it. His father had once told him that witches caught you like that: with a look. If you ever meet a woman like that, you run the other way, no matter what, for your own good. There’s no cowardice in safety. But Javier had no intention of running—he’d rather drown, over and over, if it meant she looked at him like that a little longer.

She stood at the end of the stairs, perfectly still, with that ridiculous shirt with rhinestones across her chest and her dark hair down past her shoulder, brushing the sliver of uncovered skin at her waist. She was beautiful, Javier thought, so ridiculously beautiful he got a lump in his throat just looking at her. For a moment, before her Can I help you? at the door, he’d almost forgotten the reason he was there. He almost forgot it again when he saw her shake her head at the end of the stairs, and had to touch the letter tucked next to his heart again.

“Can I get you anything?” her voice sounded different as she strode into the kitchen. “My sister will be right down. Coffee?” she wasn’t looking at him, and Javier wished she’d just stop and turn to face him, if only to forget himself again in her eyes.

But Helena wouldn’t turn. She wouldn’t look at him. She woldn’t look at his face, and his neatly trimmed moustache, and his lovely dark eyes. She wouldn’t look at the lines on his face he was way too young to have, and the loneliness embedded in each of them she knew could be found in the silver strands of her hair, too. Helena figured he was not a man who hid things, just like he was not hiding the fact he was looking at her—she could feel his eyes burning on the back of her head, and she couldn’t believe the way he was staring at her. Looking at her like that.

It was how dark his eyes were, the problem. The way he could make someone—her—feel seen from the inside out.

“Coffee’s fine,” he said, forcing his gaze away. He looked outside, where in the distance, still filtered like a dream, he could see clouds gathering, a distant storm that seemed to have followed him there. Javier’s father had taught him to predict exactly when a storm would hit just by the location of lightning, so that he could prepare the ranch in time to brace for it.

He’d never been very good at it. He thought that lightning, like love, was never ruled by logic. Accidents happened, and they always would.

He looked at Helena again, her back still to him—she was watching the coffee brew, her arms crossed, fingers tapping nervously against her elbow. Javier looked at her and thought she was familiar to him—he’d thought that ever since getting her letter, the one tucked next to his heart, but to see her there in front of him, flesh and bones and long hair and clear eyes, really settled it for him.

He’d heard about it happening to other men—his friend Steve being one of them. Going about their business one minute and suddenly they found themselves without hope. They fell in love so hard they never got up off their knees again.

He’d never thought it would happen to him. Javier was all business—he always had been. It was his need to figure out the why of things, of people. Money, love, fury—those were the motivations he found usually, in his line of work. James Hawkins fell in the money category, of that he was sure, with perhaps a sprinkle of fury in the shape of his ring marked on the bodies.

Javier had been looking for that ring at Hawkins’ place—he’d seen it in pictures, read it in descriptions, remembered it from the few times his path had trailed along Hawkins’, because Laredo wasn’t that big of a place, and faces grew familiar over time—when the letter had arrived.

Crumpled and torn in one corner, the flap already opened, Javier had looked at it and thought he should’ve taken it directly to the office. But an open letter was hard to resist, even for someone like Javier, who had resisted a whole lot in his life. But that letter was something else, something tempting, and he gave into it.

He never regretted it.

He had just sat there, on the patio of the house of the man he was looking for, and read the letter Helena Goode had written to her sister. When he was done, he’d read it again. And again. And twice more midair, and then while he had his lunch, and once more when he’d settled in his hotel room. Even when the letter was folded back into its envelope and stored in the pocket of his jacket, the words came back to haunt him—whole sentences written by Helena forming in his mind.

Javier had been close to people, and while he didn’t have that many friends he was content—he’d even almost gotten married after high school, although that’s a topic no one ever brought up, not even himself. But he’d never once felt like he’d known anyone the way he felt he knew the woman who had written that letter. It felt like someone had ripped a piece of his soul out of him and formed into words. Words he was so taken by he wouldn’t have heard, seen, or felt a thing as long as he was reading them.

I have this dream of being whole. Of not going to sleep each night, wanting. But still, sometimes, when the wind is warm, or the crickets sing, I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I want to be seen.

Javier wanted to tell her that he saw her. Right there in front of him, and even when she was not there, when he had not the faintest clue what she looked like, he saw her. He saw her standing, moving the coffee pot from the fire. He saw her pouring the coffee in three mismatched cups. He saw her hands shaking as she did so.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and she recoiled as if startled by his voice.

“I think I’m going to sit down,” Helena said, casually, as if she didn’t seem about to collapse.

Still she brought two of the cups over, almost spilling the contents of one, and collapsed onto the chair opposite Javi with a shuddering sigh, her cheeks flushed, her chest fluttering. She wondered if drinking coffee would be a good idea at that moment, still feeling as if her heart might explode, but needed something to keep herself busy, so she brought the cup to her mouth and gulped down the scalding drink, burning the roof of her mouth and her lips.

“Why are you here?” she asked then, bitterness coating her tongue. She was used to sugar in her coffee, most times a dash of milk. “I mean, I understood what you told me—about Phoebe’s boyfriend—but why here?”

She saw the man hesitate—he did not strike her as someone who hesitated in anything, but he was pondering her words and how to best respond to her, his lips shifting to draw in a breath, and then exhale. He reached for his jacket—he still hadn’t taken that off, and with the movement it hugged his shoulders tight, seams pulling uncomfortably—and, from one of the inner pockets, took a piece of paper that he handed to her.

“I mailed that to my sister ages ago,” Helena recognised it immediately—that letter she was so grateful had never reached Phoebe, but also wished it had a little earlier, so she wouldn’t be in that mess. There’s a halo around the moon tonight. I think trouble is coming. I wish you’d get out of there. Come back home. Alone. “You opened it,” she added then, a little baffled.

He hadn’t just opened it. He’d read it. The paper consumed from being folded over and over again, each line marked deeper where it bent, words slightly smudged as if someone had run their fingers over each and every of it.

“It was opened already,” he retorted, justifying. “It must have gotten lost at the post office.”

“But you read it,” the cup was burning her palm, the letter her other hand, her face was burning too under his gaze.

“Maybe a thousand times,” Javier admitted, his voice dropping.

“It was a very personal letter,” she whispered too, feeling the tightness inside her throat and belly and chest grow, and grow, and grow until it was choking her. That had to be what a heart attack felt like. Perhaps she was about to end up on the floor unconscious.

“I know,” the man said, and at last she looked at him.

He saw her but, Javier knew, she saw him too. She could’ve seen how Javier wasn’t sure how far he’d go to cover for someone—he’d never been in that position before, and he despised the way it felt. But he was there, sitting in her kitchen, drinking her coffee, a total stranger on a humid day, wondering if he was going to look the other way because of her. She could see all that—or at least, she hoped.

And then Phoebe came down. Noisy steps down the stairs, announcing her presence to the entire world—she always had that about her, always managed to bring the attention to her, with her lovely strawberry-blonde hair and her long lashes and full lips. Even with the bruises, even with the wounds, even with her fear embedded so deeply into her skin it was painful, Phoebe was beautiful.

Still, Javier focused on Helena, and it wasn’t until her sister stood at her side that he caught a glimpse of her. Night and day, that’s what the aunts called them. He didn’t know, but he would’ve agreed—so starkly different, yet seemingly in tune with each other.

“As I’ve said your sister, I won’t take up much of your time,” Javier cleared his throat, offered his hand to Phoebe as he stood. He missed the feeling of his letter against his body, but Helena was clutching it tight, pressing it against her stomach. “It’s just a couple of questions, routine checks.”

“Of course—agent, is it?” Phoebe’s voice was soft where Helena’s was strong. She took up space just by standing, her arms folded in front of her as she held the third cup that had been on the counter.

“Yes, ma’am—Agent Peña.” Only then did she take his hand, a delicate shake before turning his palm up towards her face, peering down with an interested hum.

“You’ve come a long way just for a couple of routine questions, Agent Peña.” Her thumb ran along one of the lines on his palm, tracing it with a feather-like touch. Her brows knitted for a moment, confusion locking on her features (eyes darting towards her sister) before she shook herself. “I see here it’ll be worth the trip,” she mused, tapping his palm.

“Right.” Again he cleared his throat, and pulled his hand back. “When was the last time you saw James Hawkins?”

“Ah, a man of action,” Phoebe scoffed lightly, then shrugged. “Couple of weeks, just before I came here. It just wasn’t working anymore.”

“Is he responsible for that?” he asked, gesturing towards her face, the bruises.

“As I’ve said, it wasn’t working anymore,” she tipped her chin up, leaned with her hip against Helena’s chair. “I have no idea where he might be. If a man hits me, he only does it once,” Helena’s breath hitched, her grip on both the cup and letter tightening.

“What about the car? The one with the Texas plate—it’s registered in his name,” Javier thought he might as well reveal all his cards from the beginning. Neither sister was stupid, but still Phoebe was lying—he knew she was. He had seen that look before, countless times: people who are guilty of something think they can hide it by not looking at you. Or looking at you too much.

Helena wasn’t looking at him anymore—again. Phoebe was staring him down. But Helena wasn’t looking at him, because she knew, she was certain, that could not lie to the man. She feared her eyes would betray her too, like her heart was doing, like she imagined her words would if she were to say anything more.

“I took it when I ran,” Phoebe said, sighing. “And I know that’s wrong, so you may take it right away—I just needed a way out. That was the fastest.”

She was good, Javier managed to think in that haze-like feeling he’d found himself in since he’d walked into the house. Since he’d seen Helena. Her eyes.

“And you have not heard from him since?” Phoebe shook her head, sipping on her coffee and grimacing—too bitter, too strong. But it helped keep her mind away from the times she had heard from James—in her dreams, nightmares, really; or when she was distracted, and his voice crept into her head; or when she looked in the mirror and his reflection stared back.

“I have not,” she smacked her lips, the taste of the coffee lingering on the tip of her tongue.

“Alright, well,” Javier picked his cup and drank most of the coffee that remained—he liked it that way, black and strong, it reminded him of his father—then went to the sink to rinse the cup. Helena watched him while his back was turned, and almost smiled at the way he let the water slosh from side to side enough to get any residue off before settling it upside down. “If anything comes to mind, I’ll be around a couple of days longer—I’m staying at the Hide-A-Way Motel.”

“Really?” was the first thing Helena said in what felt like ages. Javier turned around—he was just stalling then. He wanted to remain there, with her. He wanted to keep on looking into Helena’s eyes and drown, drown, drown for days. He saw nothing else but her eyes.

“Lady at the car rental desk suggested it—it isn’t half bad,” he shrugged, and smoothed his jacket down. He felt the absence of the letter when he ran his hand across his chest, and the paper did not crinkle under his touch. Helena curled her fingers around her words. “Nice area.”

“It is,” she should know—her shop was one street away from the motel. She’d picked the area with Frankie because of how nice it was, close enough to the park it gave the impression of being around nature, but not so far from town that nobody would walk by the shop.

Phoebe watched the agent and her sister look at each other and frowned—for a moment, what she’d seen on Peña’s palm flashed before her eyes again. A new beginning, a line cut through by something, someone he could not escape. It had been written on his skin since the beginning. Some fates were just guaranteed.

“If I happen to remember anything else, I’ll come around,” Phoebe said, cutting through the crackle of energy that passed from one to the other. It was as if she’d woken them up from a dream, a dream made of only looks and silence. “You can have the car taken away.”

“Great,” he cleared his throat, and forced himself to back away. He knew that if he lingered any longer, he’d never want to leave. It was hard enough already. “Thanks.”

Helena felt like she was losing her mind.

The night before, a ring had appeared around the moon. A halo around the moon was always a sign of disruption—but it was a double ring, all tangled up, anything could happen. Helena didn’t like the thought, and she hadn’t been able to sleep all night.

The sparrow that used to fly each midsummer’s eve into the house on Magnolia Street had come back, out of season, round and round the dining room—her daughters had counted each circle: three. Three meant trouble, it always had. She’d chased it out with her sister, both of them on edge.

And it rained. All night and through the morning, one of her daughters standing by the window looking at the lilacs being hit by drop after drop, tapping her fingers nervously. Emma was looking at the man in their backyard, who stared back at them like from a vision, a nightmare rather than a dream. She was hoping he would go away, but the bad weather did not bother him—he seemed to relish in the black skies and the wild wind, and the rain passed through him. Emma thought—she knew—it was his fault that things were going amiss in the house, even though she didn’t know the extent of it: pipes rusting and the tile floor of the basement turning to dust, nothing in the refrigerator would stay fresh.

Both sets of sisters fought, loud and mean and just like he wanted them to. Emma would’ve liked them all to stop. Helena thought of chopping the lilacs all night long, but had to go to work.

And then there was Javier. Agent Peña, who walked around town and talked to everyone and was always there when she turned around from the counter. Javier, with a cigarette hanging from his lips at every street corner. Always there, always there, always there.

“Fuck!” Helena exclaimed, when the jar she was trying to place on the shelf fell and shattered on the ground, shards of glass flying around her ankles and the contents—curled dried leaves—spilling across the clean floor. “God, give me a break.”

“Are you okay, Lena?” a voice called from the other side of the shop. Helena didn’t have many friends—it came with the Goode name, being shunned away. But Crystal was one of the few who did not shy away, besides being a good employee. “Let me help you.”

“It’s alright, I just haven’t been sleeping well,” she went to gather the glass and leaves, both crunching as she moved the broom across them. “But could you put the kettle on? Maybe some tea will do me good,” even though she craved coffee desperately.

She’d craved coffee ever since she’d met with the agent. Black and bitter. She could smell it in the air around her, no matter which room she walked in, or which street—along with tobacco and more. She’d never smoked a cigarette in her life but now felt her fingers itch as if reaching for one.

Crystal obliged without question—she’d learned early on that many things around Helena Goode just did not make sense, and there was no point in prying. It had been that way since they were children. Her mother liked the Goode aunts, said that it was not their fault for more than two hundred years their family had been blamed for everything that went wrong in town.

Some people are just different. Most people are just stupid to be afraid of it.

She remembered their classmates being terrified of the day a bunch of cats followed Helena to school—witchery, they called it. A witch and her familiars. Nasty, nasty creatures, the whole lot of them. But Crystal remembered Helena being kind and poised, she remembered her balanced lunches, and the way she always looked out for her sister. She still did. Why people would think Helena and Phoebe had any evil in them escaped her.

Goode women ignored convention; they were headstrong and willful, and meant to be that way.

“Thank you, Crystal,” Helena said from the kitchenette, throwing away the spoiled merchandise..

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go home? I can look after the shop,” but even as she asked, Helena was shaking her head, lips trembling with her deep inhale. “Lena, did something happen?”

“It’s not—” a bell. The shop’s bell. Helena looked up from her mug, the smell of lavender easing her headache a little, and then turned. “I’ll get it.”

He was everywhere, always there, always there, in her shop, too. Helena stood frozen next to the counter and looked at the agent who was looking around—a feeble attempt at not immediately turning towards her, not falling into her eyes right away.

“Yes?” she managed to ask, her throat dry once again. Just by his mere presence.

“I’m afraid I forgot to bring enough toothpaste,” Javier lied. He’d thrown an almost full tube in the bin just that morning—still wasn’t sure why. Maybe because so many people had told him about Helena’s shop, just around the corner. How the woman was the way she was, but her products were amazing.

“You could’ve gone to the market,” she said, but placed her mug down and moved to the shelf anyway. Once she wasn’t looking at him, she managed to exhale again, but still his eyes burned on the back of her head, and she suddenly felt conscious of the fact she probably had forgotten to brush her hair in the morning.

“Yes,” he retorted, and didn’t add anything else. He knew he could’ve, but he didn’t want to. And he could’ve told her it was because so many people had recommended her stuff, or because the shop was closer to his motel. But he didn’t.

“Any allergies?” she asked, moving the stool closer to the shelf.

“No, ma’am.” She paused, one foot up the step as she bit her tongue—just a moment, then she climbed and grabbed a jar, the label scribbled so hurriedly it was unreadable, the dark paste inside a stark contrast with the white paper.

“Charcoal—whitens the teeth,” she moved back down, the counter between them as she handed the product to him—her eyes flickered towards the cigarette that he’d tucked over his ear, shaking her head lightly. “Nasty habit,” she muttered, lowering her gaze.

“I’m aware,” Javier chuckled—as he took the jar, he grazed her fingers. Helena pulled back as if she’d been burned, fingertips curling into her palm and pressing harshly. “Does this stuff actually work?” he cleared his throat, turning it in his palm to glance at the label again.

He knew her handwriting. He could read it like the back of his hand. I have this dream of being whole.

“It does,” Crystal called as she walked in from the kitchenette, and Helena leaned over the counter and reached for her mug—anything to keep her hands busy. “See for yourself. On the house.”

“He can’t accept it on the house, Crystal,” she said, moving back. “There’s an investigation ongoing—isn’t that right?” it looked as if she might turn to him while she addressed him, but didn’t. Again.

“That’s right,” Javier cleared his throat, shuffling a little. He was so close to the counter he could feel the edge of it dig into his stomach, and forced himself to look at the other woman. “But are you giving me your word? That it works.”

He was a charmer. Helena knew already—Crystal was just finding out. She wanted to ask what investigation Helena was talking about, what was happening at the house on Magnolia Street that she desperately did not want to go back, and what was happening with the agent so desperately trying to meet her eyes.

“Cross my heart,” she said instead, because she knew this would be another inexplicable moment. She’d made her peace with it. “Swear to God, this woman is a magician. Let me ring you up.”

Helena hid her face with the mug, the dwindling steam turning her cheeks a soft shade of red. At the same time, Javier scoffed lightly.

“Right,” he muttered, reaching for his wallet. “Heard that one before. Thanks.”

It took a moment for Helena to register his words—she was trying so hard to not hear him, to not focus on him, that she didn’t understand what he was saying until he was out of the door, an echo of the bell ringing in her mind.

“Wait, what?” she placed the mug down, looking up at his back behind the glass. “Hold on.”

She shouldn’t have gone after him. She should’ve known better. Helena spent her whole life being vigilant, she spent her whole life relying on logic and common sense, she’d taken care of everything from the moment her parents had died, and then again when Frankie had died—she thought about everything.

She had to, because otherwise how would her kids have made it to fourteen and fifteen?

She had to, because if she stopped thinking about everything, what exactly was she left with? Her thoughts and worries are the only reason she continued to exist, of that she was certain.

Never look back, never change direction, that’s what she had to tell herself. Don’t think about being alone in the dark, or storms or lightning and thunder, or the true love you won’t ever have. Life, she knew, was brushing her teeth and making breakfast for her kids and not letting her mind wander.

But that was a lie—from the beginning Helena had been lying to herself, telling herself she could handle anything: her parents dying, her sister relying on her, her aunts’ reputation, Frankie, Frankie’s death, the spell, the year where everything went grey, her children, and now this. She’d grown tired—she didn’t want to lie anymore. One more lie and she’d be lost. One more lie and she’d never find her way back through the woods.

And it’s all because of him.

“What did you mean?” she stopped abruptly when he did, taking a step back when he turned to look at her. She tugged her cardigan close, the wind whipping the ends around along with her hair, and tipped her chin up with her arms crossed, finally, finally looking back at him. “Heard that one before?” she echoed. “Is that why you were at my shop?”

“No,” he shook his head. “It’s because I needed toothpaste, and I’m just around the corner,” she scoffed lightly, shuffling her feet. “But actually, yes, I heard a bunch of stuff that doesn’t make sense at all, so I’d like to understand.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my job,” he retorted. “Because, seriously, I have heard it all. A family of witches, a curse, your own husband—”

“Don’t,” she snapped, and for a moment Javier recoiled, saw the truth in the words of all the people who had warned him off Helena Goode. With her hair dancing in the wind, and her cheeks still red, and her eyes oh-so-clear, like a storm incoming, he understood. “Do not bring Frankie into this.”

“Hard not to, when it’s everything this town talks about,” he took a step forward, her whole body seizing up. “Do you have any idea how strange this all sounds to me? People tell me you’re here cooking up placenta bars, that you’re into devil worship.”

“You think I don’t know that?” her voice was lower, and pulled him closer. “All my life, this town—I know what they say about me, I know what everybody thinks.” She wanted to move away—she wanted to lean in. She remained still. “All my life I wanted nothing more than to be seen as normal, but that’s just not the way it is. I don’t have a ranch house or a white picket fence, I don’t have a husband that’s alive anymore, I don’t have—” she cut herself off, unsure as to why she was so ready to pour her heart out to a stranger in the middle of the street. “I don’t see how that’s my fault.”

“I never said it was,” Javier spoke softly, a gentleness that felt foreign on his tongue but rolled off easily when he looked at her.

“Then why are you here?” her chin was still up, but she was looking down at her nose, careful to avoid his gaze—it made him believe that she, too, felt that tug in the pit of her stomach. She was just better at controlling it.

Your letter, he almost said. You.

“James Hawkins,” he replied instead. “A guy like that doesn’t simply vanish.”

“And would that be such a big loss?” she scoffed, tightening her arms around herself. “A guy like that—wouldn’t it be so much better if he did just vanish?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, and felt his hands move before he could control himself. “But I made a vow, and I have a job—” his fingertips grazed her arm, and at that she pulled back.

“As do I,” one hand moved to the point he’d brushed, holding the spot as if it hurt, tight against her chest. “So unless you have something you want to ask me, Agent Peña, I’d rather get back to it.”

“Are you or your sister hiding James Hawkins?”

“He’s not here, no.”

“Did you or your sister kill James Hawkins?” he asked, and her eyebrows arched.

“Oh, yeah. Couple of times,” Javier sighed, and forced himself back, his hand now itching for his cigarette. “Is that all?” he put it between his lips, ignoring the frown forming on her brow.

“Yeah, sure,” he didn’t light it up just yet, but reached for the lighter nevertheless—he missed the letter in his pocket whenever he touched it. “Bye, Helena.”

He watched her go back inside the shop with her shoulders pulled back tight, steps unsteady, and only when the door was closed, the echo of the bell ringing in his ears, did he light up the cigarette.

She watched him go away from inside the shop, with his steps matching the thundering of her heart.

“What is wrong with you?” Phoebe watched her sister kneel on the ground, pruning shears in hand and purple flowers all around her, on her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m tired of seeing these every time I look out of the window,” her breath was short—the flowers seemed endless, she cut and cut and cut and still they were there. “And the smell—I hate it. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Lena—Lena! It’s just flowers!” although Phoebe knew it was not entirely true. Mostly, she ignored the lilacs, and everything that was underneath it. Especially what was underneath it. “Stop it, before you hurt yourself.”

“Oh, now you’re thinking about that?” Helena dropped the shears and stood, the soil on her jeans already a stain she wouldn’t manage to remove. “Now that there’s a cop after us? Now you think I might hurt myself?”

“So what? We stick to our story. No body, no crime,” she gestured towards the lilacs. “There is not a single reason why he should think we’ve done something, unless you give him one.”

“But we did, Phoebe. You understand that, don’t you?” she hissed, walking up to her sister. “We fucked up, and somehow I’m still the one who’s cleaning up your messes,” Phoebe’s eyes widened, mouth set in a thin line. “I’m sick of this.”

“I never asked you to, I never—”

“Enough lies, Pheebs. Aren’t you tired?” Helena smelled like the lilacs, and her headache was back, stronger and stronger as the storm approached from the horizon. “I know I am. I’m so tired of lying.”

“What are you talking about?” Phoebe had lowered her voice, and was looking at her sister as if she could not recognise her. “Lena—you can’t do that,” even as she said it, Helena walked past her, brushing her hands down the front of her jeans. “You can’t go to him,” she said, following her. “We’ll both be sitting in jail if you do. What about the girls? Why are you even thinking about it now?”

Helena wasn’t sure why. She knew she’d woken up smelling cigarettes and coffee again, and the lilacs, and the nightmare still clinging to her eyelids, making her feel unrested as she had for the past days. Weeks. She wasn’t sure anymore. All she knew is that her throat hurt from all the lies she’d told Javier, and she wanted to come clean, to tell all—she wanted someone to listen to what she had to say and really hear her, the way no one ever had before. So she’d gone to work, and back home to cut the flowers, and as sundown approached she would go out for Javier.

“Don’t tell me about the girls now, when I spent half my life thinking only about them,” she said loudly, marching in and out of room after room of the house, grabbing things she wasn’t even sure she needed. “And you? You only ever thought about yourself. You left me here. You lived your life. And you dragged me back in just to save your ass.”

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” Phoebe screamed too, from the middle of the house, following the noises of her sister as she stomped around. “I lived my life and you hate me for it!”

“I don’t hate you, Phoebe.”

“No, no, sure—you’re unbelievable. You spent all your life trying to be normal and fit in, but you never will! You know we’re different, and so are your girls,” Helena stopped abruptly to look at her.

“That’s twice now—you leave them out of this,” she said with a scowl so similar to that of their mother’s, if only either of them could remember her.

“All my life I’ve wished I had half your talent—you’re wasting yourself, Lena,” Phoebe cried, and for a moment she sounded just like the little girl who had just gotten to the aunts’ house. “And now you—what? You’re gonna turn yourself in? Or get down on your knees and beg for mercy?”

“If I’ll have to, yes,” Helena said without a second thought, fixing her sister with a look. “I’m done.”

They both measured themselves harshly, always had, as if they had never been anything but those two plain little girls, waiting at the airport for someone to claim them.

If you go against what you believe in, you’re nothing. That was another thing his father liked to say—and Javier knew he was right. So he was going to stick to his plan: fly back home and give up the case to the poor bastard who was supposed to get it from the beginning, had it not been for the letter. He was going to go back to work as usual, forget about the whole ordeal, forget about grey eyes and dark hair and his own heart.

Heart, heart, heart beating to the sound of the knocking on his door, that for a moment he’d thought to be rain pattering on the ground and the roof, such the strength of the storm was. But he heard it, and when he opened the door, Helena was there, shivering and looking up at him.

“You want a confession?”

In his line of work, Javier had been trained to notice things, but he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Part of the reason was that he’d been imagining Helena everywhere he went. So maybe it was just an illusion, a desire of his heart turned into a vision.

“What?” he stepped aside and, water falling from her hair, Helena walked in, trailing mud behind.

“You want a confession, don’t you? It’s why you’re still here,” she was shaking, arms crossed over her chest with wet clothes clinging to her. “We killed James. Technically, I killed James. I used belladonna.”

“I know,” Helena frowned, moved the hair out of her face with trembling hands.

“You know?” she sniffled, part from the cold part from the smell attacking her nostrils—coffee and tobacco and, surprisingly, food.

“I found some in the car—saw the same thing in your shop and had it analyzed,” he closed the door, careful to not turn the lock, leaving her a way out as he moved back towards the kitchenette. “His ring was in there, too. There was blood on it. Have you had any dinner?”

“I—what is this, some sort of joke?” she asked, slightly out of breath, and stepped in his direction. Javier scoffed, his back to her as he shook his head a little.

“Far from it,” he muttered, turning the stove off. Still, he didn’t move to look at her—if he did, he wouldn’t be able to say what he had to. He could feel her shiver, just a few steps from him, and it took everything in him to not reach over and grab her and hold her close. “But I have no idea what to do from here. I can’t say that I’m sorry Hawkins is gone, and I can’t—”

“Javier—” he exhaled—it was the first time she said his name, and he gripped the counter with both hands as he closed his eyes. Through the rain, and the soil, and the smoke in his room, he could smell lilacs and that same scent that had clung to the letter, which had bled onto his fingers each time he reread it.

“I was gonna turn over the case,” she held her breath at his words—he heard the light hiccup as her lips sealed, and slowly turned, though his gaze remained lowered. “I can’t say I’m impartial anymore—I can pretend, but I’m not. I no longer can tell what’s right and what’s wrong and you—you came here, and what did you think would happen?”

“I don��t know,” her voice was small, and Javier knew she was looking at him—the roles had switched, he could feel her gaze burning across his skin. “That’s the thing, I don’t know. I’m tired—of lying, of hiding, of those fucking flowers,” she sniffled, and from the corner of his eyes he could see her rubbing her arms. “The thing is, I’m pretty sure it’s because of you, and I can’t stand it—because I know I’ll get hurt, and my sister will get hurt, and my children, too.”

“Then why,” his voice had dropped slightly, and he took one more step forward, looking up at last—they were standing so close now, heat radiating off of him and clinging to her chilling bones, “are you here, Helena?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her hands seeking him before she could even realise. “Maybe this,” her letter was almost destroyed, wet and crumpled as she held it between them.

Fear or loneliness—she wasn’t sure she could distinguish them anymore. When the deathwatch beetle had started ticking for Frankie, then she’d been afraid. When she’d stopped speaking and seeing colours for a year, and her children had been by themselves, then she’d been afraid. When she was young, and she sneaked down the stairs with her sister to see what the aunts where up to, then she’d been afraid. In that moment, she was terrified.

And lonely. She’d never felt more alone or lonely before in her life. She wished she could’ve believed in love’s salvation, but truth was desire had been ruined for her. She wished she’d never spied on the aunts’ and seen their customers crying and begging and making fools of themselves. She’d become love-resistant because of that and, with her sister, sitting on the roof of the house, they’d wished to look up at the stars and not be afraid of it.

But, just like trouble, love came in unannounced and took over before she’d had a chance to reconsider or even think about it—Frankie first, and now—

Amas Veritas—she thought about it again, looking into Javier’s dark eyes. He will hear my call a mile away—she’d been just a child, so stupid, thinking that love was a toy, something easy and sweet, to play with. But real love, she’d learned, she was learning, was dangerous, it got you from inside and held on tight, and if you didn’t let go fast enough you might be willing to do anything for its sake.

She’d learned that with Frankie, and now—

“Oh, don’t,” she whispered when Javier’s hand brushed along her arms, foregoing the letter—and moved closer to him, pulled by gravity, by forces she couldn’t begin to control. “Javi—”

He believed he was going to cry—because she was saying his name again, soft and gentle and like she’d known it all her life, and his hands were tracing a path up her arms like he knew exactly the shape of her, and trying to learn it by memory all over again.

He wasn’t even sure that was not the case. Perhaps a part of him knew her already, always had.

He had stumbled into love, of that he was certain, and was stuck there. Javier was used to not getting what he wanted, he’d learned to deal with it, but with Helena in front of him he couldn’t help but wonder if that had only been because he’d never wanted anything too badly. He did now.

“I just do this,” he said, voice sad and deep and causing the hair at the nape of her neck to stand on edge as he leaned closer, towards the hand she was offering to him like in prayer, and she brushed his cheek as he sighed. “Pay no attention,” he said, but she did. How could she not?

He was there, and she shifted toward him as if to brush her hand along his face, but instead ended up with her arms looped around his neck, his own wrapped around her, holding her closer.

And Helena was terrified, because suddenly she wanted whatever he was promising her, with his lips so close and words so soft she told herself don’t listen, but she couldn’t, because whispers of I’ve been looking for you forever inched their way underneath her skin, warmed by his hands. She wanted to get lost—she, who couldn’t function without directions, needed it. Him.

Everything she did those days was so unlike her usual self that when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window behind Javier’s shoulder, she couldn’t recognise herself. Looking back at her was a woman who could’ve fallen in love if she’d let herself, a woman who didn’t stop, not even when Javier moved her hair from her neck, the wet locks sending a shiver down her spine that only intensified as the man bowed his head a pressed his mouth to the hollow of her throat.

What good would it do her to get involved with someone like him? She wondered—because the last time she did, she loved so much she got hurt to the point a part of her had forever vanished. Or so she had thought, because with Javier’s lips brushing her skin, the light tickle from his moustache making her eyelids droop, she could’ve believed something had come back alive behind her ribs. She suddenly felt like she had to press a hand down against her chest to make sure her heart wouldn’t escape her body.

“Helena—” he whispered, his arms tight around her—the droplets of rain clung to his lips, the taste of her flooding his senses, overpowering everything else. She sighed again, a shudder running down her spine, unsure if it was from his voice or the cold settling in her bones.

Although, if she were to be honest with herself, she’d say she wasn’t cold. She was burning, really, Javier’s body so close she could memorise it by touch alone.

“Maybe I’m letting you do this so you’ll stop the investigation, even with my confession,” she said, his head straightening—his nose brushed along her jaw, her cheek, and her eyes remained closed. “Have you thought about that? Maybe I’m so desperate I’d fuck anyone, including you.”

There was a sour taste in her mouth with each cruel word, but she didn’t care—she forced herself to open her eyes, she knew she needed to see the wounded look on his face with each bitter word. She needed to stop it—whatever it was—before she no longer had the option to. Before the freedom she had longed for forever slipped through her fingers, and she was trapped again in pain, just like the women who used to come at the aunts’ back door.

“Helena,” Javier said again, mournful, and she could almost taste her own name falling from his lips. The tobacco, too. Her mouth parted on instinct, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw down towards her chin, brushing her bottom lip. “You’re not like that.”

“Really?” she scoffed lightly, the noise remaining trapped in her throat when she lifted her gaze to his eyes. “You don’t know me. You just think you do.”

“That’s right,” he nodded, and the tip of his nose brushed hers—one tilt of his chin, one tip of her head, and the agony would be over for both of them. But for the moment they were just suspended in time. “I think I do. I do.”

“Let go,” she told Javier, and it sounded almost like a plea. “Let go of me.”

He did. He would’ve done anything she asked of him. Let go, hold tighter, kneel, jump into a fire. All of it. So he let go of her, even if it hurt, both of them taking one step back—her arms immediately wrapped around her middle (an attempt to trap his warmth close to her skin), his hands tingling with the loss of her.

“Helena—” he said once more, her name more and more familiar on his tongue.

“You have your confession, and you have your proof,” each word felt like shreds of glass in her throat, while she looked away forcefully—in the window, her reflection was almost familiar again, still a little wild, but recognisable. “It’s up to you. You know where to find me, once you make a decision.”

“I do,” he repeated, somewhat stunned, his mind reeling. She took one step to the side, heading for the door. “It’s still pouring outside.”

“I know,” she only said, and went nevertheless.

For hours her perfume remained in the room, clinging to him for so long he didn’t even notice the smell of his burned dinner. So long the letter had dried on the floor where it had slipped, enough for him to reread it, again and again until he’d managed to fall asleep.

Helena couldn’t stop thinking about Javier. From the moment she’d walked out of the motel room, he had been all she could think about—on the drive home through the storm, in the warm bath to wash the cold away, doing the dishes, in bed, unable to sleep, dreaming about him while wide awake and in the few hours she’d managed to close her eyes, too. Haunted, just like her sister.

She dreamed of the desert, an apple tree in a yard that wasn’t hers and bloomed without water, and horses that ate apples from that tree and ran faster than all the others, and a man who was taking a bite from a pie she’d made, bound to be hers for life. She’d woken up smelling apple pie and cinnamon, coffee and tobacco.

So it was no surprise when Javier showed up that same morning. She almost heard him coming. Yet she couldn’t face him right away, so she hid inside, behind her sister, still skittish, behind her daughters, still confused, behind the pretence of making breakfast.

“He’s staying!” Sophia, the eldest of her daughters, announced, running from the garden to somewhere past the living room—Helena sighed, eyes closing. “Aunt Pheebs! He says he’s staying!”

Helena wondered if, without the feeling of Javier’s hands still on her, she would’ve wondered why Phoebe would care whether or not the man investigating them was staying at their place for breakfast. She wasn’t even sure whether she was glad he was staying or just nauseated.

“Can I help?” Emma, much quieter than her sister, stepped at her mother’s side and pointed at the stove, a half-burned pancake smoking on the pan. Helena threw the failed attempt away and nodded, forcing a smile onto her face—she knew the man was in the room with them, she could feel him watching the two of them from the entrance, could see him in her mind as he leaned against the doorway.

“Be careful,” she murmured, taking one step aside, then another, and more, her own steps echoed by Javier’s. They met halfway across the kitchen, her still not looking at him while his eyes never once left her.

“’Morning,” he hummed, shoulders brushing—Helena moved aside, ignoring the sharp pain in her hip when she bumped into the table.

“Good morning,” she cleared her throat, brushing her hands down the front of her shirt—and then lowered her voice. “Why are you here?”

“You told me I knew where to find you once I’d made my decision,” he replied, matching her tone.

“And have you?” her hands began going numb as she clenched them in fists at her sides. She could still feel Javier looking at her.

“I’m going back to Laredo,” her gaze snapped in his direction, so fast the whole room spun as she inhaled sharply, holding her breath. “I thought you should have this. After all, it belongs to you.”

It took her a moment to manage to focus on the paper he was handing her—her letter, now ruined, a half-destroyed piece of paper she’d poured her heart over, more than once. When she picked it up, their fingers brushed just like the first time, and Helena almost cried out in pain.

“Now, something smells like it’s burning,” she could see the strain in his neck as he turned away from her, looking at Emma. One more moment and then he walked ahead. “Need a hand?”

“I was trying to flip it,” Emma mumbled, a pout forming on her lips that made her look more like her mother. Javier chuckled, settling at her side. “Do you know how?” she asked suddenly, a hopeful note in her voice Helena hadn’t heard in a while. Her chest constricted, watching the man smirk and roll up his sleeves.

“I absolutely know how to,” he nodded with a theatrical gesture. “Step aside and observe.”

Amas Veritas, dancing in Helena’s head as she watched Javier, fitting so well in her kitchen, flip pancakes in the air and making the young girl laugh. It had been a while since Emma had laughed like that, and for a moment she was her soft-voiced and shy 14-year-old again, who liked to look at the stars and sleep with her head on Helena’s lap.

But then her shoulders tensed, her whole position shifting, taking one step away from Javier to turn towards her mother, even though her eyes went past her. Helena knew, without having to turn right away, that something was terribly wrong.

“Mom,” Sophia came running in, breathless, and immediately clung to her arm, tugging harshly. “Something’s wrong, mom,” the panic in her voice settled in Helena’s bones, mixing with her own, and she was quick to push her daughter behind her back, stepping away from the door. “It’s aunt Pheebs, she—”

“It’s not her,” Emma’s voice was grave, so unfitting for a young woman, and she inched closer to her mother, too. Which left Javier at the stove, looking at the three of them with confusion and alarm. “It’s him, it’s the man of the lilacs.”

“What?” perplexed, Javier took a step forward, only to be stopped by Helena’s extended arm, while she pushed all three of them behind her just as Phoebe walked into the kitchen. Accompanied. “What the hell—” Javier exhaled, reaching for his belt.

“Agent Peña!” James exclaimed, translucent as he came into the light. Javier’s head started spinning as he stared at him, then at Phoebe Goode, her arm trapped in his vice grip made of fingers of smoke, then back at him. “Long time no see. How’s Laredo? I think I’m starting to feel homesick.”

As James spoke, Helena had started stepping backwards, her gaze never leaving Phoebe—the two sisters were looking at each other, guilt and fear and resolution in their gazes that no one but the younger girls could notice, the familiarity an ache on the palms of their hands as they held each others’, keeping close, keeping behind their mother.

“Helena,” Javier called, his gaze unwavering as he took hold of his gun. “You said he was dead.”

“Yes,” she nodded, and for a split second, Phoebe’s eyes showed surprise.

“Doesn’t look like it,” he retorted, and James scoffed.

“You’ve all spent weeks pretending I’m not here—well, almost all,” he tilted his head, gaze settling onto Emma, and smiled. Helena pushed her daughter into her back, the girl hiding her face against her shoulder, clinging tighter onto her sister’s hand—Sophia held her chin high, squeezing back. “It’s gotten boring.”

“Then leave,” in Phoebe’s voice there was all the rage of the Goode women before her. But then James turned, his grip tighter on her arm, and Helena watched her sister’s legs tremble. “Just leave us alone,” she pleaded, eyes widening.

“No,” James chuckled, pulling her closer—Javier could see the strain in the woman’s shoulder, her face contorting in pain, and could not wrap his head around it. James Hawkins did not look real, or at least not real enough to hurt them. Still, he felt uneasy, even more so when he spoke again, his head lowered next to Phoebe’s. “I’m feeling very into sisters right now,” his gaze flickered towards Helena, too, a grin taking over his pale face.

Javier wasn’t looking at her, but he felt Helena straighten her back, look at him, and then turn. He heard her whisper to her daughters, possibly holding them closer, to run into their aunts’ room and be mindful of the salt. He heard two sets of steps backtrack, and watched James’ face shift into disappointment.

“Oh, Lena, Lena, Lena—you really do take the fun out of anything, don’t you?” he took one step forward, dragging Phoebe with him—the woman cried weakly, trying and failing to escape his hold.

“Hey,” only now that the kids weren’t in the room did Javier lift his gun—although he was sure it would do nothing to stop the man, and his widened grin only confirmed it. “Let go of her.”

“And you,” James groaned, even as Javier placed himself between him and Helena, “you never, ever learned when to just give up,” the two men looked at each other—Javier’s gun lifting, James’ hand reaching out for him. “You should let the adults—”

Before the sentence was over, James screamed, letting go of Phoebe. Helena ignored Javier’s surprised gasp in favour of her sister tumbling to the side, quick to reach her before she could even touch the floor.

The same floor where a star shimmered, catching the sunlight. Javier carried it with him everywhere he went, in remembrance of his father, the star-shaped badge he’d lived by for ages before retiring. Javier did not believe in luck, good or bad that it was, but he did believe in reminders: of doing the right thing, always. Of never losing sight of who he was.

He picked it up right as James straightened, a hole in his near-invisible hand that echoed its shape. Without thinking, without considering, Javier held it up right as the other man—or whatever was left of him—screamed in his direction, unintelligible words that probably would’ve resounded like threats, had Javier been able to hear a single one.

Instead, he stared as the figure vanished, with one longer scream and a curse, the air darkening in front of his eyes and then dissipated into nothing, leaving him to look at the corridor that brought to the stairs, a ringing in his ears.

“It’s okay, Pheebs,” Helena’s voice slowly brought him back, words repeated soothingly as she still held her sister. “It’s okay, it’s alright,” reassuring, in spite of her trembling voice. “I need you to call the aunts, Phoebe. I need you to tell them what happened. Can you do that?”

“I’m sorry,” Phoebe was still saying, her eyes unfocused though she looked up to Helena.

“I know, I know—but can you?” Javier could almost see it—nights spent with Helena reassuring her sister, hidden under thick blankets or on the rooftop of the house beneath a sky full of stars. “Please, I need to go to the girls.”

“Oh, the girls,” Phoebe exhaled, and released the grip on her arm. “Of course. Of course. I’m sorry.”

Helena didn’t wait, though she lingered enough to rest a kiss to Phoebe’s temple, before standing and walking out of the kitchen. It took Javier a moment to come to his senses, and then he went straight after her.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his mind still reeling, forgetting for a moment the effect he had on her. “Was that him? Did I kill him?”

“Yes, and no—technically,” Helena didn’t stop, heading for the stairs she used to sit on when she was a kid to spy on the aunts. “It was his spirit, which you banished. But I told you, I killed him. And you can do whatever with this information after, but right now—”

“Hold on just a goddamn second, all right?” Javier grabbed her arm, pulling her right back against him. A split second in which they looked each other in the eyes, and all that had happened the night before came back, all that had been left unsaid before hit them square in the chest, and in that split second, they could’ve almost forgotten all else. “What are you talking about? His spirit? I came here to bring in the bad guy—generally, that’s what I do, and now you’re telling me about spirits?”

“Is that why you came here, Javier?” she stood her ground, her arm still in his hold. “Be honest.”

“Honesty,” he scoffed. “I thought I did—and then you were here, and your letter—maybe that’s what brought me here. Maybe it was you. And I’m all mixed-up about that.”

Helena was looking at him with that storm still brewing in her eyes, and Javier felt his knees threaten to give out underneath him. His hand fell from her upper arm, down her elbow and wrist, brushing the palm of her hand. She took a slow breath in, lips trembling.

“The reason you’re here and you don’t know why is because I sent for you,” she said, quietly.

“I know why—”

“You don’t,” she interrupted him. “When I was a little girl, I worked a spell so I would never fall in love. I asked for qualities in a man that I knew couldn’t possibly exist,” she shook her head, while his fingers wrapped around her limp hand. “But you do.”

“So,” he scoffed, “you’re saying that what I’m feeling is just one of your spells?”

“Yes, it’s not real,” it sounded like it pained her to say, even though Javier knew she was telling the truth. Or at least thought she was. “And if you stay, I wouldn’t know if it was because of the spell, and you wouldn’t know if it was because I don’t want to go to prison.”

“All relationships have problems,” he muttered, and she gave a small, unamused laugh.

“I thought I loved Frankie, but that was another spell too,” for a split second, she held his hand back, squeezing her fingers around his to the point it hurt. “Still, you don’t want to know what happens if you stay. We’re all cursed. You saw that,” and just like that, she let go of him.

“Curses only have power when you believe in them, Helena, and I don’t,” clenching his fists, Javier stepped back from her. “You know what? I wished for you too.”

Helena knew. He’d told her the night before, his lips etching each word onto her skin.

But she watched him go nevertheless, glad he managed to take the steps she couldn’t.

Helena was tired. She had been tired since lying on the floor next to her sister, watching as she was being consumed from inside. But all of that was over. She’d stared at the letter from Laredo for days after that, keeping it stored with the other one written in her own hand that carried the mark of both her touch and his.

She did her best to not think of him. It was near impossible.

James Hawkins’ cause of death was accidental, read the letter. His body was identified by jewellery in the ashes of a body found in Laredo, right by his property. The same ring he’d told her was in his car, the car she’d driven, the car she’d spilt belladonna in.

Sincerely, Javier Peña, special investigator.

“I don’t think you’ll find him there, Lena,” Phoebe said softly, when she caught her reading the letter once more. “But somewhere else, perhaps.”

For days, she let the words linger. Days turned into weeks turned into months, his absence like an emptiness into her chest. She’d almost convinced herself it would pass. That, with time, that too would pass—just another pain, just another absence. She could deal with it. She could.

And then Javier was there, in her backyard, or at least that was what she thought she was seeing, because it couldn’t be. How could he be there, when he was in her dreams just that night?

“What would you do, Pheebs?” she whispered, her heart beating so loud she wouldn’t be surprised if everybody else could hear.

“What wouldn’t I do, for the right man?” Phoebe whispered in return, gently pushing her forward with a wide smile. “This is not the aunts’, this is the two of you.”

All the while, Javier looked at them, standing perfectly still like a deer in headlights, unsure of what to do, one of his hands half-raised as if in greeting but without waving, the other buried deep within his pocket. He looked at them, and watched Phoebe quickly lead the girls away even when they tried to run to him, and then Helena walk in his direction.

“A love that even time will lie down and be still for,” he said as a way of greeting, once they were standing one in front of the other. “Ever since I went back, time hasn’t felt real, because you weren’t there. And maybe you still believe it’s for a spell you did as a child, or your aunts’ fault—”

“How do you know about the aunts?” it was hard not to smile when he fidgeted like that.

“Your sister told me,” he returned, softly. “Your sister called.”

“And you’re here,” she said, a half-step forward in his direction.

“I’m here,” he nodded, moving the hand out of his pocket and reaching for her tentatively. “I’m here because I know this is real. No gimmick, just—”

“Love?” she suggested, and the glint in her eyes reminded him of the moon itself.

“Love,” he repeated, their fingers interlocking. “Helena, I mean all of it. I’ll even quit smokin’ if—”

She kissed him, plain and simple. Pulled his hands so that he was stumbling forward and caught his lips with hers, gentle, slow. She kissed him, and as Javier held her, he felt like he’d finally gone home. She kissed him, and felt that empty space in her chest filling with the taste of coffee and tobacco.

Can love travel back in time and heal a broken heart?

There were some things, after all, that Helena Goode knew for certain:

Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.

[mrstraffy]

Well i was playing character AI and suddenly boom...i feel like writing a fanfiction😭✌️as always, I'm so sorry if there's some grammar errors and I hope you guys enjoyed reading this story of mine😘.

DISCLAIMER: ONE PIECE IS NOT MINE AND THIS IS ONLY FOR FUN🫰

WARNING: SLIGHT AGE GAP. DON'T WORRY IT'S 6 YEARS ONLY<3 PLUS LAW IS A BIT OUT OF CHARACTER BUT...ITS FANFICTION SO....YEAHH🤣

History Teacher

Trafalgar Law x reader

It was the second week of September. The month you dreaded the most as it would also mean that the final exam are nearing. Yet you still can't seem to focus in your history classes that you're in right now. The teacher kept on talking about the world war and your country's history but all of that doesn't matter to you at all. Well, how can you pay attention to what he is saying when his existence alone make you fall into the state of a daze?

Mr. Trafalgar, or his full name Trafalgar D Water Law, the first time you lay your eyes on him you can't help but fell so hard for him. In your eyes he was stunning and perfect in every way despite his cold behaviour.

His name send shiver down to your spine and the way his voice sounded like a melody in your ears, or the way his eyes seemed to be your favourite mirror. Just looking at his hand make you knew that those arm gonna be your favourite places and you long for his love. Damn, you adore him too much. However, deep down you knew that it's impossible for the two of you. You know that he won't consider you as a partner. But a little bit of plot twists won't hurt right? Alas, its fate's nature to play with people.

"Does anyone have a question?" His voice makes you wake up from your daydream. You look around and no one seems to have a question. Either they understand the lesson well enough or they just don't know anything at all, who knows?. And it seems that you're the latter one. That's what you get when you don't pay attention in class. Despite this ,you don't know what possessed you when your raised you hand. "Yes Y/N?" Instantly you regretted your decision. " Sir I have a very important question." You said with determination. "Go ahead Y/N". As you gather all you courage, you ask, " what is the difference between history and you?" You know that your question is stupid but you wanted to take the opportunity to flirt with him✨. Well, you need to make the first move if you want to chase your dream, right?

"What an absurd question you've got there Y/N. Well, as far as I'm concerned, history is something that happened in the past. As for me, I'm a person, a living thing that need shelter,water, food, and air to breathe in order to survive." Law said, trying to answer your question the best that he could. "I can't say your answer is wrong sir, but there is a shorter and simpler answer to that question." You replied to him with a hint of mischievousness in your tone. "Why don't you lighten me up then, dear Y/N." He retorted. The moment you heard him call you dear, you swear that you felt like you're not touching the ground anymore. But you need to focus on the task in your hand. "History is in the past. But you sir, you are my future" you said with a small smile grazing you lips. Upon hearing your statement the whole class was turned into a chaos. Teasing both you and Law. You even hear some of your classmates saying things like, " brave girl" and " so, they're into older man huh?" But you could careless about what they're saying as your teacher's reaction is more important. If you don't look carefully you might not notice that there is a hint of blush on his cheek. But amusement is clear on his face that its surpassed the blush.

"Alright class, that's enough" hearing this, your classmates shut up almost in an instant. "As for you Y/N, I admit it that's a good answer. And i don't mind making it a dream come true for you." And once again the classroom erupted into another chaos. Unbeknownst to you, your teacher have always put you in a special place in his heart. The first time the both of you lock eyes, the cupid has played his part. Shooting the both of you with his arrow. However, the hesitation from both sides makes it hard for the two of you to unite. The role as a teacher and student makes it a challenge for the both of you as it is forbidden for a teacher to have relationship with their students to avoid unfairness between students.

Law could careless about that as he can quit being a teacher for you. Since you've made your first move, well he might as well work on his plan now that he know you're attracted to him. That's how the two of you started your journey together. How the two of you faces challenges and judgement from other people together. You guys would always have each other back no matter what the obstacles is. After all, what kind of future it is if one of you is not in the picture.

A.N: a little bit cringe but pls bare with me.

Also, I think law as our daddy...(you know what kind of daddy) is *cough* HOTT🥵

Btw that's all from me byeee👋

[rainystarters]

๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪🗡ྀ࿔ 〖 stories and songs . . . 〗 a collection of sentence starters inspired by various codex entries from the dragon age rpg series. some prompts usfw. adjust details as necessary.

the wind that stirs their shallow graves carries their song.

heed our words, hear our cry.

oh, fair damsel of the garden!

surely your work is far too vital to be interrupted by one like me.

i was a fool to pluck that flower.

you are not a man known for your honor.

you allowed me to live once, and so now i do the same for you.

i am humbled by your words.

but some things cannot be repent.

there is something in here with us.

death is certain, either way.

you have been my rock and my shield.

strike true, do not waver. and let not your prey suffer.

as the sapling bends, so must you.

you are lost, and soon you will fade.

go forth and claim the empty throne of heaven.

you have brought doom upon the world.

magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.

they shall find no rest in this world or beyond.

there is but one truth.

all things in this world are finite.

each night in dreams you may always remember me.

the light shall lead you safely.

i am but your faithful servant.

if blood must be shed and used, so be it.

step away from this folly, before it consumes us all.

i long to dance with you beneath the moonlight.

do not despair. for it is not you, it is of me.

my most heartfelt apologies for the ripped bodice.

such depravity i have never been forced to suffer!

let them hunt, and dread finding me.

truth will hold you for that is what truth does.

i shouldn't have doubted your resolve.

please accept my humble apologies.

in truth, it is i who has been most vulnerable.

the seals are already weakening.

it must be protected at all costs.

of unknown metal and magic keen, a finer blade there's never been.

any army is only as good as its equipment.

blessed by the vine in spring, i shall not fear the winter's sting.

only fools ignore the history of the ground they walk and the people they meet.

i could use an extra pair of eyes to keep watch at night.

i hope they found peace.

blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.

in blood, my will is written.

we are forever in your graces.

the oath you have taken is all but broken.

can you be forgiven when the cold grave has come?

once we raised up our chalice in victory.

why change the past when you can own this day?

the wolves are our allies.

always keep an eye out for the noble owl.

nothing burns like the first cup.

gallows master, hold they hand. hold it back awhile.

look away, look into the sun.

you know we all are dying.

alas, i cannot stay.

we'll beat down the bastard, and then we'll get plastered!

what of the old secrets the burn in our hearts?

now we pray for a dawn that will never arrive.

but it is our blood he seeks.

you will realize the smiles are false, and behind them lies revenge.

for all your fancy intrigue, you have spent your life creating nothing of worth.

it moves on without you, uncaring.

who could bear the weight of a people destroyed by his hand?

what was your vision of our purpose?

so buy the lads a round.

i'm ashore for the night and seeking company.

i'd still rather die.

why be what i am when i can be more?

have you threatened to cut out anyone's tongue today?

for have i not grown in skill and measure?

binding a demon of higher power is dangerous...

let it be my choice to have served and died.

i'm not staying to watch you die like a fool.

the undead you have been fighting are people i killed with my own hands.

here is my soul, trapped in a cage of bone.

turn around, face the shadows. don't blink.

just going to lie here for a while.

chopping off their heads should do the trick.

i am empty, filled with nothing.

arrogance becomes our end.

i'm here to die. but i won't go quietly.

i don't want to die like this.

cry for the past; only there does glory dwell.

so the forest grows, a reflection of our might.

mourn the past and all that was left there.

mastery of the self is mastery of the world.

suffering is choice and we can refuse it.

pride disguises itself in its surety.

[softie00]

Healing

pairing; yeonjun x reader

warnings; fluff, insecurities, angst, reader feeling not good about themselves, physical appearance, boyfriend yeonjun being cute, words of affirmations, comforting, showering, negative thoughts, cuteness!

words; 1k

a/n: for myself and everyone else who feels the same way and need comforting. ❣ likes/comments/reblogs are appreciated ☺

summary; you've been neglecting yourself, crippled by insecurities which causes you to distance yourself a little from your boyfriend yeonjun. but for how long?

You don't remember when your own thoughts started to consume you. Little by little, a staggering gush of water that carried each of your insecurities forming a tremendous flooding.

A flooding that doesn't require people to let notice of prior nor detects its danger. Why?

Because it's made way to your vessels, the comfort of your body, building it's way up until it feels uneasy. Sinking each of your organs and most of your brain. Alas, it's nothing new for you. These types of flooding have always occurred within you many times.

Slowly you've welcomed these moments of floods, some particularly more usual than other days. And today was one of those days too.

I feel ugly

I feel worthless

I'm not good enough

I'm never pretty enough

I don't fit the standards of beauty

Do I deserve to feel happy

Ugly

Your mind is corrupted by these thoughts so often. Some of your own and some of others. Growing up, always experiencing the rough side of things which includes your appearance. Attacked constantly for how you looked, being told you're not good enough and you'd never find anyone to be with you.

Although it's been years, they still visit you. Sometimes when you just admire your boyfriend Yeonjun, they creep up and deliver whispers inside of you. It doesn't help with your boyfriend is the most gorgeous man you've ever laid your eyes on.

The one that steals everyone's attention by just simply existing, whereas you were the one who people acted like didn't exist.

It's not his fault, no. As much as he's attractive as ever, he has his moments of insecurities too which you've always kissed away.

You haven't realised you've slowly neglected yourself. Sure, you still get up and do certain things in the day but it feels burdensome. Though, you may have unknowingly distanced yourself from the one you truly loved.

Yeonjun

"Yeonjunie wants cuddles," Yeonjun babbled with his soft voice. His arms already making it's way to your waist, pushing his warmth on to you your back. He moves his face on your neck, trying to get a reaction out of you.

It's a bit late in the night, with Yeonjun just returning home. He had practice and today he felt so knackered. All he thought of was running back to you and cuddling.

He nozzles his nose further more, hands tightening at your waist, "Y/N, are you sleeping?" He quietly asked.

No response.

"I'm sorry I came home late we had so much to learn today," He explained whilst yawning mid way, "All I kept thinking of was coming home to my princess and giving you a big fat cuddle."

He noticed you gave no movements yet still spoke on, "But seems like you already sleeping," Yeonjun kissed the back of your head, "Good night baby have the sweetest dreams."

After a while, you opened your eyes. A tear escapes as it sinks down your face. You weren't sleeping. You was awake. You felt guilty with a heavy heart. The fact that your boyfriend wanted to cuddle you and you resisted, purely because your stupid mind thinks you don't deserve him.

He's way too good for you.

Even though his touch made you falter for a minute, you froze to talk. And then it all come flooding down.

Your behaviour only becomes apparent as days go by. When he initiates touch, you somehow redraw yourself or make yourself so busy that he doesn't have to ask. And somehow, you thought it'll work.

Not today.

You was walking until you heard Yeonjun calling out your name, "Y/N, I need help." He shouted from the bathroom. So you made your way there thinking what could be happening.

As you entered the room, you saw him in the shower with a hand on his eyes, "What happened?" You asked in concern. Making your way closer to him until he drags you inside with him.

"Yeonjun-"

"I missed you princess." He murmured against your neck, with his body engulfing yours. You almost forgot how nice it felt having him this close. Hearing the words come out of your boyfriend's mouth instantly forming guilt.

You tried to change the subject while you looked to the side, "I thought something serious happened with you-''

He lifted his finger above your chin, making sure your facing him directly. Something you've been avoiding these days too.

"Is you not running away from me serious, Y/N?" He asked, holding your gaze. You felt a sharp pain in your heart hearing these words come out from him.

He wasn't annoyed but more so had a worried look, which softened as he goes on. "What's going on, my beloved? Speak to me, let your thoughts flow like this water, I promise you won't drown, I'm here."

You know you can't escape him for any longer. The soft nature of your boyfriend has yet again made your heart burst. How dare your mind play these tricks on you when someone cares about you so deeply?

"I'm sorry Yeonjun, I'm s-o s-sorry." You stuttered, bursting into tears instantly. You knew this was wrong of you to do yet you listened to your mind all these times. "The thoughts i k-keep having, not feeling good enough, feeling ugly, not deserving of you." You blurt out, letting the flood in your mind out once and for all.

Yeonjun's heart broke hearing your words, knowing you've been carrying this weight all by yourself. He instantly grabbed the shampoo pouring it over his hands, then lightly massaging your scalp.

It felt relaxing, probably the best you've felt for all these days you've had.

"It's okay to have these thoughts," He affirms, continuing to massage in deeper with his bare hands. "But do you know they ain't coming from you but someone else?" He questions, making you confused.

"Coming from who?"

"Donald trump." He replied, making you open your eyes and laugh out loud.

"Babe that makes no sense, how?" You chuckled, seeing the glint in your eyes made him so happy so he continues further.

"Well, think of each negative thought that comes. Imagine Donald trump is the voice in your head saying these things, what would you respond to him?" He asks.

"I'd tell him to fuck off-"

"Exactly! Tell that orange oompa loompa to fuck himself!" He giggles, letting his hands make it way to your body, applying soap all over.

His hands felt so heavenly on your skin, all you could think of was the feeling of comfort and the laughter of what he mentioned surrounding you both.

For once, your worries that were huge waves become quiet. The flow decreases vastly, instead of feeling like a flood it passes you gently like a simple wave in the ocean.

You let the wave pass through your entire body, acknowledging what it is and letting it go.

Yeonjun knows of your insecurities, yet he's never let you feel alone with them. He noticed you've been neglecting yourself with everything being untouched, including your skin products. So he planned this out, to shower you with his gentle comforting and soft kisses he grazes against your skin as the water washes past.

That's how much he loves you.

You both got out and he grabbed a towel, patting you dry before you put your fresh pajamas on.

He sits in front of you as he grabs your moisturiser, rubbing it against his hands before he applied directly on to your face.

What did you do to deserve a sweetheart like him?

His hands delicately touch your face, removing away any tensions or stress within your mind. Almost like his hands have the power of a healer, anything he touches he heals.

This moment he's healing you. He's your healer.

"Thank you so much." You whispered, feeling ever so grateful for having such an attentive boyfriend. "I've been so terrible with you, babe."

But Yeonjon just smiles.

"I love you Y/N, so much that you're all I ever think of day and night. You consume my mind and thoughts even on the lesser brighter days and in those moments, I hold on to them stronger. Because when I see your smile and cute giggles, I instantly feel better." He expresses out loud with joy, his expression becoming softer. "Share your sadness with me Y/N because I'm selfish, I never want you to feel alone. Even in your bad thoughts."

Your eyes began to tear up hearing the confession of your boyfriend. He has a heart of pure gold, whatever he says or touches turns to a positive light. Sending warmth all over your way like a ray of sun.

You immediately leaned over and hugged him. His scent from the shower still lingers radiating comfort. You let yourself embrace fully into him for the days you couldn't, how soft and cute your boyfriend feels.

He pulls back, making you stay seated infront of you as he shares contact with your eyes intensely.

"Look in to my eyes." He orders.

Your expression was confused yet cute to him, he knows how much you struggle to look into his eyes but today he will make sure of it.

"B-but why?" You hesitated.

"Sweetheart just look, come closer." He responds with a small smile, watching you lean in to him but not so much. So his hands grab on to you, pulling you faster against him. Now all you can see is his mesmerising eyes.

"Do you see that?" He asks, patiently waiting.

You felt like you was in a trance, his eyes were extremely magnatising you as each second passes. He was shining, He was so beautiful.

"The way your reflection shines through my eyes, the sparkle of yourself in me that's only visible through my eyes, that's how you look to me. Multiple stars that rush their ways into my eyes just to witness your beauty, because you hold my universe."

You gasped hearing the sweet words laced with honey by your boyfriend. His eyes smiled and grew more in admiration of your beautiful self. All you could see yourself in his eyes was, you.

Feeling butterflies forming already, "Yeonjun, you are so so cute. And adorable and my god I have no words but thank you ever so much for being so kind with me and gentle. For understanding me and taking care of me."

He admires the way you speak, he does this all truly because he loves you. A lot. "You're cuter." He teased, "Y/N you mean the world to me. I'd do anything to make you feel ease." He comforted.

His eyes continue to linger down to your lips, as he places a quick peck on your lip. Then above your nose and to your forehead. Your heart was racing, feeling fuzzy from the gentle kisses.

"I love you, Yeonjunie." You embraced him tightly within your hold, as he did with you too. Never wanting to let him go ever again.

"I love you, Y/N."

do not copy, plagiarise translate my works or ideas. copyright ©2023 softie00

[gyutarling]

CHASING THAT FUZZY FEELING

txt as my favourite shoegaze songs

♯ — txt x gn!reader ⋆ fluff ⋆ angst ⋆ blurbs

warnings! — cringe, cheesy, not proofread, lowercase intended, extremely corny

note — i'm not completely satisfied w soob's n tyun's T-T notes, reblogs, feedback always appreciated!

YEONJUN — lovely crawl by fleeting joys

"i’m looking for something that’s lost in the light"

yeonjun can be considered what some would call a hedonist. always looking for cheap thrills, things that numb and burn, that die out just as quickly as he does come morning time. everyone knows it, they pity him, and they pity you. you, who despite being aware of yeonjun’s ways, fell victim to his never-ending pursuit of pleasure. he’s here for a good time, you’re here for a long time. you thought you’d be content with the superficial affection he provides, but alas, you long for substance. constantly teetering on the edge of nothing and something, yeonjun only wants you at your best, and your best is when you’re igniting his flame of hedonism. it drowns you— the noise, the strobelights, the waiting. you’re always waiting for more, for something. but on fleeting occasions, when yeonjun’s not even conscious, passed out on the floor from the highs of self-indulgence from the night before, when it’s quiet. that’s when you can crawl up next to him, the physical closeness aids in the illusion of there being something more.

SOOBIN — bloom by glare

"your smile blooms one on me"

to say that soobin is the embodiment of a first love is like saying the sky is blue. but it’s not the exciting, puppy love type that people always say it is. falling for him is a slow descend, that budding feeling that grows, a kind of affection that’s been there all along, it just needed to sprout. soobin is a flower. a flower that opens up when the time is right, and when it is, he brings a soft hue of salvation to your bleak world. you may be fooled, because a beautiful flower can be admired by many, but you know that the blossoming emotions that soobin feels are true to only you. delicate but strong, he can withstand all the harsh conditions that the world rains down on him because you’re here, it’s a mutual assurance. it’s a love that’s gentle and nurturing, in the way that he makes you want to grow and become beautiful just like him. he supports you in every step of the way, with a smile, and it’s all you need, really.

BEOMGYU - mellow by whirr

"always between me and you"

beomgyu is aware of the ephemerality of life. he thinks there’s a certain beauty to it, honestly, how nothing lasts forever. that’s why he would consider himself a simple person, taking pleasure in the little things that make up the transience called happiness. but deep down, beomgyu is afraid. he has been loved before, and he has loved, too. he has loved too much, too intensely— but unfortunately, love is not an exception, regardless of how much beomgyu wished otherwise. so when you came into his life, beomgyu desperately hoped that nothing would take you away, that you’re not just a fleeting moment. no one gets him like you do, the way you just know. beomgyu thinks that you might just actually be his soulmate, because your connection transcends anything words can describe. he’s convinced that he must've been surrounded by cardboard cutouts his whole life, as no one but you has ever conveyed so much depth with their existence alone. monotony is beautiful with you— in fact, he would be content with just laying on the floor in your presence for eternity. so just this once, he wishes for you to be the exception.

TAEHYUN — angel by drop nineteens

"and i believe that dreams come true, cause you came when i wished for you"

“larger than life” is a phrase that would encompass taehyun’s existence perfectly. his genuine love for this cruel world impresses many, as if he knows of a transformative secret that is the key to living his life to the fullest. maybe it’s his vast curiosity, to want to know not only of the wonders of life, but also how he can get back up even after it knocks him down. taehyun believes that negativity is too draining, because of that, being with him is like a transformative experience in and of itself. he must be a higher being, an angel, 'cause even at your lowest, just one hint of a smile from him is enough for you to ascend to the clouds. that floating feeling never leaves you when you’re with him, it swallows you whole, and it makes you wonder how you could feel sad ever again. even when the clouds clear, when you two are at your most vulnerable, under the gaze of the stars, you’ll watch the skies in taehyun’s eyes instead, they shine brighter in there anyway.

HUENINGKAI — how fast can you love by pia fraus

"tomorrow, please love me"

kai has been patient his whole life. his passion drives him, he’s been walking a lonely road to achieve his dreams. he had always thought that he grew up too fast, no time for insignificant matters, kai’s world is a world in which he has to fight to survive. of course, that doesn’t mean that he’s completely immune to youthful desires, and kai wishes for nothing more than to turn back time so he could feel like a real person again, even just for a little while. and when you came into his life— a force to be reckoned with, you are, he thinks that letting himself indulge for once wouldn’t hurt. so he lets his passion consume him this time, and only then does he realise how lonely he has been all along. kai is tired of being patient, and it shows through his complete vulnerability when he’s with you. even though it’s hard, he’s so used to locking his emotions away in his heart-shaped box, you can tell he’s really trying. kai puts every ounce of himself in the potential of your love, because then he would finally have something to hope for, no matter how unsure he may be.

[astralartefact]

NieR Reincarnation The People and the World Satellite Spoilers, Feelings and a lot of YoRHa:Dark Apocalypse

Please read this post imagining silent sobbing in the background...

First off, I liked what they did with 10H, just skipping a recap entirely and making her Mama's ally right from the outset while leaving the in-between after the story we already knew for the EX Story.

speaking of which, I loved that they gave that ex story a straightforward happy ending (also, the carnation for reincarnation is just... so cute) I was so afraid that it was going to end with Mama betraying her again, but she didn't q___q And it makes Mama calling her 'our special girl' before the chapter hit so much harder q___q I love you Mama q___q

(also, food for thought, her ex story's name 'copied floral silhouette'... silhouettes are black on white, so it implicates a copied black flower)

I was thinking what the fuck they were going to do with her RoD story in the distant future though... but alas, I only opened Twitter after doing all of that.

So let's talk about it, I didn't expect it to EoS in APRIL. WHAT THE FUCK THAT'S SO SOON!! And I wasn't even expecting them to do another Season or anything, the story is in a perfect place to stop, all I was expecting them to do was drag it out a little bit longer with a skeleton crew only releasing RoDs and Costumes for a year or so until they didn't feel like it anymore - but this soon??? I guess the next NieR game must be closer than I initially thought, why would they just end it, surely they could have kept up the servers for a few more months with how much money and time they've put into the character models and stuff...

I do hope a Offline Version is coming, mainly so I can finally unironically call it the best NieR game without the looming "But it's a Gacha" threating my credibility as a... I don't have credibility, why am I even worried about that

Needless to say, my dream of #AnoggForReincarnation is probably dead in the water... But we'll get to her, because I have thoughts.

Two Big things from the Chapter that I want to talk about:

No.1: It's revealed that Humanity had a plan to "return" (to Reincarnate, if you will) after their Extinction

No.2: The "Earth" we return to is just the Cage again, but whiter and snowier.

I have two theories for what the "Earth" we saw might have been:

a) It's a sort of Meta-Earth where every structure represents every possible parallel Earth in existence - like how we have a Drakengard Earth that's seperate from the Main NieR Earth that's seperate from Hina and Yuzuki's Earth.

b) They don't use Earth meaning planet, but Earth as the place where Humanity is - this is just where the Humans actually are right now, after all they don't just need a place to return to, they also need a place to return from as well.

A notable line here includes 10H confirming to Yuzuki that the Round Egg in the Background (ROUND EGG, ROUND EGG, ROUND EGG!) "must be" the Cage, but that it's "not supposed to be here."

You know another Round Egg that can move around to anywhere it feels like at will and also contains the entirety of Human Memories within it? Well of course, It's time for me to bring up the only thing I ever talk about, YoRHa:Dark Apocalypse!

I've brought up before that there are certain similarities Anogg displays with Noelle's Introductory Chapter and at the time I thought that Noelle's whole deal might be involved in the creation of the Pseudo-Seed from Y:DA. But now that her backstory is fully revealed I actually think it's the other way around.

We now know that Noelle is actually a Human Clone that was created from a human after Humanity disappeared - but that makes it impossible that the Y:DA Pseudo-Seed was based on her if we do consider it to be the same or even just a copy of the Cage, because as we now know the Cage is part of Humanity's plan to Return - which means it must have existed before experimentation on Noelle even started.

Basically I think that Noelle was created using the same technology that was used to create the Cage - a Seed of Destruction. Which - if she actually is one of the pre-established "Dragon Weapons" - is actually pretty likely, because we know Accord had her fingers in making those Weapons happen and we know thanks to countless cameos that the Cage is Accords whole thing - and Accord is really the first and probably only person we know who could even possibly provide a Seed to do that with in the first place.

So while I had thought before that what we see the Red Girls do and what we see Anogg do in Y:DA with and/or caused by the Pseudo-Seed was just from whatever the Red Girls did to it, I think it's now much more likely that that's just how the Cage functions that the Red Girls copied. What if the Cage doesn't just store them, what if it can also Recreate Humanity when the time is right? And they were going to set that in motion after YoRHa defeats the Machine Lifeforms - which just doesn't seem to happen?

Or maybe Humanity's plan was to shoot themselves into space and recreate their entire planet where ever they land, just like the Tower/Cannon the Red Girls create and the Dark Apocalypse they chime in on Norvrandt!

Whatever it turns out being, I think Humanity turned a Seed of Destruction into a literal Seed of Resurrection. And wouldn't that be poetic as fuck. long live optimism, humanity is good sometimes

[call-memissbrightside]

TW: NSFW, yandere!Izuku x Reader, noncon

"Wouldn't it be nice if we were older, than we wouldn't have to wait so long!"

You wake up with a jolt, eyelids heavy still as you let out a groan. The soft glow from the television is the only light source in the living room, windows also dark and telling that you've been asleep for a while. The rom-com playing was bright and rich of color, as the male protagonist realizes he still has a shot of love and returns to his female counterpart.

"Are you tired, we can turn it off and go to bed?" Izuku mumbles against your neck, where he laid behind you on the couch. Yet, his hands move from their place around your stomach to slip in your leggings, cupping your cunt and you feel like throwing up.

"Izuku," You're too tired to keep the bite out of your voice. "You promised you would watch the movie with me."

He groans, but alas his hands move to cup your stomach again, laying back down. "I don't know why you insisted on watching this one, you already know it by heart."

You don't answer him, instead choosing to ignore him and his stupid attitude to pay attention to your favorite part: the declaration.

"You erased me from your memories because you thought you were holding me back from having a full and happy life. But you made a mistake. Being with you is the only way I could have a full and happy life. You’re the girl of my dreams—and apparently, I’m the man of yours.”

The words make your heart squeeze, and the sweetness of the scene makes you stupidly tear up.

Growing up, you use to scrunch up your nose at the cheesiness of these movies. Rom-coms, chick-flicks, whatever you call the movies where boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love, a falling out happens, than the declaration of love towards the end helps secure a happy ending... those types of films were the only thing keeping you sane.

What was it now? Seven months? The days blurred easily when you had no outside contact with the world anymore, Izuku making sure of that by keeping you trapped in his house. There were tears and sore throats from screaming at all hours of the day, disbelief making your senses sharp for any opportunity to outsmart Izuku and get the fuck out. But this was the number one hero you were up against, you never stood a chance.

So, you gave up too quickly for your liking but being angry and scared was just exhausting. Instead, you indulged yourself in these early 2000 movies where love could fix everything wrong and they lived happily ever after.

You weren't sure if you loved Izuku.

You knew you hated him, hated what he did to you and how he just chose to take you away from your life and force you into this new one with him and only him. But love? That feeling was harder to place.

He did force himself on you, making you feel good when you didn't want to and he made you moan his name like a prayer as he fucked you. That wasn't love, no, in the movies where the main characters have sex it's romantic and consensual. Yet, Izuku claims he loves you.

That would make sense, why would he do all that he's done if not for love?

Izuku was a collector, of All Might figurines, movies, books, and you found the box of items he took from you while he was courting: used underwear you hadn't seen in a while, a used tissue, and hundreds of photos of you living your life. It sickened you to find that, and no matter how much you begged for him to throw all of that out, Izuku wouldn't. He encouraged you to find a hobby, maybe look through his vast collection of movies and books to keep you occupied while he left and you stayed, not like you had a choice. That's where you saw them, your light in darkness, a reminder that true love exists: rom-coms.

Everyday, you'd watch as many as you could fit in the wee hours before Izuku came home from hero work. He liked confessions, he wanted to hear you praise him and say you love him, so you learned how to do so from the movies. Sure, the words you spoke sweetly to him weren't original, but they worked. You pretended you were in one of those films, and that Izuku and you were truly happy and in love and getting a happy ending. Right? You'll get your happy ending soon, this is just the climax where it gets bad before it turns good?

The ending scene is happening now, and the main characters kiss passionately on a boat in Alaska or maybe it's Antartica? It's an outrageous ending but you ache for that kind of life, where you're happy and in love and safe and-

"Okay, bedtime," Izuku said, sitting up and clicking off the TV the moment the end credits are shown. You groan in discomfort when he carries your body in his arms like you weigh nothing, your cheek squished against his hard chest.

No words were exchanged as Izuku undressed you, than himself, making your tired body sweaty and drenched in cum as the clock ticks and the night drags on.

Izuku grunts above you, where he slips in and out of your heat as you move higher up on the bed with each thrust. Your arms are loosely wrapped around the back of his neck, and you can't stand to look at him when he's moaning your name so breathlessly.

No, you have the stupid song stuck in your head from the movie to distract you from it all. Where you dream that one day, you'll get your happy ending.

Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up, In the morning when the day is new?

[trashexplorer]

BLCD Review: Tsunaida Koi no Kanaekata

Title: Tsunaida Koi no Kanaekata (繋いだ恋の叶え方)

Release Date: 2021/08/25

Shop: CD + Manga

Author/Artist: Yoshio Akira

Cast:

Shingaki Tarusuke x Eguchi Takuya

Nakajima Yoshiki

Oi Marie

Synopsis: The bane of my existence. Adaptation of the second installment of the same name.

Review Proper

When I was dying of an ear infection back in December, I had the most vivid dream of Morpheus from The Sandman sitting at the foot of my bed telling me that my life was one of his tools that he needed back. In exchange for my life, Morpheus promised me he would go back in time to stop me from making a mistake that I wished I hadn't done.

I chose working on this fucking thing.

Don't get me wrong, Tsunaida had the best plot out of the series and all of Yoshio Akira's works. I'd even go as far as saying it's one of the best releases of its time—it was nominated for Best Series in the 2021 chilchil awards for a reason (it was robbed, I tell you). It's just my life has gone downhill since I picked this up. HAHAHAHAHA Not to mention, older Chesk was bad and cringe. I'm sorry for arguing with you over this series, Kimmy. It wasn't worth it.

This series is still ongoing, only god knows why. I got so sick of it to the point that I started hating Yoshio Akira and forgetting all about the plot, so I didn't expect myself to cry during the climax HAHAHAHAHAHA FUCK WHY WAS THIS STILL SO GOOD???? I'M ANNOYED I still hate it tho

I forgot just how painful this was. I'm at this point in my life where if that would happen to me, I would just LEAVE.

Anyway, onto the topic of the BLCD...

I didn't think it was going to be possible, but Shingaki really changed his Hara-san tone!!! Thank god! This is it! This was exactly the tone I envisioned his Hara-san would be in! I'm not sure if it's 'cause everyone from the producers (except the director) and the sound team was changed, but Tsunaida and Kanawanu are worlds apart. I usually dislike inconsistencies in series with multiple installments, but I'll let this slide. Let's all just pretend that Kanawanu doesn't exist.😌

Egu also went a pitch higher in this. It's still far from what I wanted for Kaoru, but he was able to make the role his own. I'm not sure if it's because of the change in the mixing, but Egu finally sounds like he was recording with everyone here. I said in my review for Kanawanu that he wasn't syncing with his own brother, Kakeru, and it turns out that Egu actually was voicing Kakeru too lmao. How can you not sync with yourself, man? But that just means that the mixing for Kanawanu was that bad. I haven't listened to Tabete mo Oishikuarimasen yet, but I feel like Egu and Shingaki should've been nominated for Tsunaida. I mean, Shingaki is a queen as Yashiro and his nomination is deserved, but let's all put those older series to rest now. 😂

I also missed Nakajiki as Keiji-san!!! He promised to bring Hiro along next time, so if I'm not hearing Saitou Souma in Musunda, I will riot! No, I didn't check the cast list.

The BLCD is pretty accurate to the manga, save for that extra bathroom sex in Track 2. It's quite long, but there isn't any complex dialogue, so I suggest just closing your eyes and absorbing the bathroom bambo. 😌 I actually wished it was longer toward the ending chapter because I felt that it was rushed in the manga, but alas. I've read Renta's license, and it's accurate as well. In conclusion, get this if you like the series. 100% recommend!

[septembersung]

Tagged by @incomingalbatross, thanks!

Are you named after anyone? Relatives.

When was the last time you cried? Sometime recently, idk. Hormones be like that.

Do you have kids? Yes, 6 so far. I've got my fingers crossed for 8.

What sports do you play/have you played? As a tiny thing, soccer and basketball. Survived one year of high school marching band, which ought to count. And a single season of high school tennis, which I loved but was extremely bad at.

Do you use sarcasm? Yes.

What is the first thing you notice about people? Good vibes or bad vibes. Depending on how intense the social anxiety is at that moment, I may not get any further.

What's your eye color? Bluish-grayish.

Scary movies or happy endings? Both, obviously.

Any talents? I can "do" some things but I'm not particularly talented at them, such as, creative writing and playing various string instruments.

Where were you born? USA.

What are your hobbies? I only do hobbies off and on (mostly off). I think about writing novels and poetry and blog posts (but do not ever follow through anymore. It's like a mental block.) Theoretically I do fiber arts (knit, spin, weave. Someday I will master crochet and make those little stuffies.) I used to hike and go camping. I am supposed to be taking up soapmaking and candlemaking this year but I keep putting it off because reasons. A few times a year I remember I used to be a musician and play something. Tumblr probably shouldn't count as a hobby but, here we are. Every once in a while I'll read a dozen or so books in a row (but mostly I read along with my children for homeschool and that's all the bandwidth there is.)

Do you have any pets? We have barn cats and chickens, but my favorite cats are no longer present (I'm not bitter, she said, bitterly) and I do not consider the chickens pets (my children disagree.) Well, okay, there is one exception: the friendliest rooster ever to exist, who thinks he belongs in the house, sitting on your lap or perched on your wrist like a falcon. Alas that he is not house trained.

How tall are you? Average to short.

Favorite subject in school? English, history, theology.

Dream job? World-renowned author. Olympic gymnast.

I won't be tagging people, but if you're interested, you've been tagged. I love these things and reading everyone's answers!