#feels like someones stabbing my bones and squeezing my muscles

[delicate-little-honeysuckle]

Trying my hardest to not worry about the pain I have that has spread from one knee to the hip above, to below my hip and below my knee and above my knee and to my toes, and to my other hip and other knee qnd down my other leg. Like, I'm trying SO HARD to not panic. Kinda failing sometimes, but I'm trying!!

[yandere-sins]

Prisoner #005

a/n: My original idea for this didn’t quite work out how I wanted but what’s new with this project. Anyway please enjoy some insane!Scaramouche because why not lol

Fandom: Genshin Impact Characters: Yandere!Prisoner!Scaramouche x GN!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Violence (Violence towards the reader, Scratching, Intimidation, Threads, Insults, Cornering and intruding on personal space, Mentioning of a hit-and-run, Mentioning of murder), Long Post

[Prison Project Introduction | Pinterest Moodboard]

You always tried to live your life in a way you wouldn't regret it.

That was, until the accident.

Whenever you closed your eyes, your brain forced back memories of it as if it was happening right that second. The feeling of a body colliding with the hood of your car. The shock and surprise that tensed every muscle in your body when a person suddenly jumped in view of your headlights. The sound of bones breaking against the metal and the way crimson blood smeared all over your windshield. Logically you knew back then what to do—call an ambulance, explain yourself to the police, and say it was an accident.

So why did you bail? Swerved your car around and drove home in a panic, the alcohol in your blood screaming at you like a drill sergeant to get a move on. That alone should have been enough regret to carry for the rest of your life, but one evil always followed another.

You had never heard of the Fatui before, something they quite appreciated as they didn't want their identity to be known. But when two people rang your doorbell the next day, intruding in your home and sitting you down for a 'talk', you knew it was over for you.

Now, you were wondering why you ever accepted their 'deal'. They blackmailed you—sure, threatening to go to the police about the car accident if you didn't do as they said. They took care of your car, destroying all that linked you to the accident, but you got caught doing their dirty work anyway. Now it wasn't just one person dead and one in regret. Now it were two dead, and your life was effectively ruined. You'd not see the light of day anymore outside prison walls until you were too old to do anything with your life. If that wasn't bad enough, you were sent to the shittiest prison in the country, so you'd never forget you belonged to the scum of the earth for your doings.

Part of you really wanted to get a grip on yourself and stop the tears from falling endlessly. But no one would have believed the pain you were in. After all, you weren't the two people you killed and the many more families you left behind to mourn them. Still, after all you've been through, you had always held on to the hope that things would get better. That somehow, your life would turn around, and you could at least continue to live out your regrets in peace.

Scaramouche's hand slammed into the cemented wall next to your head, and you flinched—hard. "Stop crying!" he spat in your face, his voice like a jackhammer to your eardrums with how close he was standing. You flinched, squeezing your eyes shut and biting down on your lip to restrain your sobs. That was when you realized things would never calm down as long as you lived. You'd never have the peace you were desperate to achieve.

"I can't stand people like you! Spineless, worthless vermin being so sorry about what they did out there!"

His words, as sarcastic and true as they were, felt like blades to your skin, cutting and stabbing away at your vulnerable heart. You tried so hard to hold back your emotions, your body shaking from the strain to keep your tears contained and the bitter, metallic taste on your tongue revealing you were drawing blood while biting down your fear.

Scaramouche was only a codename; you knew that much. He was from the same organization that forced you to do the unspeakable things, and perhaps out of pity, they convinced the guards to room you with him. At first, you had been glad to have someone who shared your experiences, but by now, you weren't sure if it wasn't a cruel joke. He, at least, couldn't be more displeased with you.

Drawing his hand back, he shook his head, running his fingers through his hair as he cursed the Fatui under his breath. "Man, couldn't they have sent anyone more competent for this job? What am I going to do with someone like you? You're as useful here as you were out there! You didn't even kill that guy."

What?

"He's not dead?" you whimpered, sobs cascading off your tongue when you opened your mouth. You didn't try to hold them back as you looked at your cellmate in surprise. No one had given you any information about your victims since your conviction.

"You didn't know?" Scaramouche asked, his expression as condescending as if you were a child he needed to explain this to. "They found him in time, and he made it. Woke up from the coma today. You're looking really pathetic now. Failed and busted, who even hires people like you?"

His words reached your ears, but it was as if he spoke through noise-canceling headphones. The tears brimming your eyelids finally spilled over as a sudden and chilling relief settled inside you. You had no idea what that person you were sent to kill had done to upset the Fatui, but regardless, you were just so glad he made it. Faintly aware of the change on Scaramouche's face as he watched you realize all of this, lost in your own thoughts, you put a hand over your mouth, sobbing into your palm as you slid down the wall at your back.

Knowing that this person would be okay, that you didn't kill them, made everything fate had in petto endurable. You could go through the bullying and violence awaiting you at this prison, knowing you didn't kill this guy, whoever he was.

"What. The. Fuck."

Unfortunately, the things that made you feel relieved and hopeful only upset Scaramouche more. He made one step forward before squatting down right in front of you, his eyes narrowing in anger as he studied your expression, catching on to the little spark of relief in your eyes. "You're happy, aren't you? Ain't it great that you didn't do your fucking job."

Knowing you were treading on dangerous territory, the despair you felt returned, but you were terrible at hiding your feelings even when fear crept up your body again. "I thought I killed him..." you mumbled, not sounding apologetic at all. Your shoulders sagged as the corners of your mouth jerked upwards, clearly showing how you felt. "I really did."

When you let out your breath, you finally mustered the strength to look into his eyes. Fury glazed his gaze, but for some reason, it was warring with another emotion. Strange as it may be, while Scaramouche studied your body, sagging in relief, hopefulness rejuvenating you, he looked more and more... confused.

When he raised his hand, you flinched but quickly regained your composure and closed your eyes. Whatever he was going to do, you probably deserved it. Even if it hurt and you'd regret not fighting against it later, you'd endure your punishment. That was the resolution you came to as you waited for the inevitable pain.

But it never came.

Instead, a thumb, cold and chapped, pressed to your cheekbone, swiping along the bone even when you scrunched up your face in confused preparation for a strike. "Then why do you still cry?" he asked you, his voice an exasperated breath of incomprehension.

Squeezing your eyelids together, you slowly, hesitantly opened one to look at him. His brows were furrowed, and a disgruntled expression was edged into his face. But a child-like curiosity flared up ever so often in his gaze as he studied you as if he could not understand why you felt this way. For a moment, he didn't look so scary anymore. Nothing did. And perhaps, that made you bold.

"Because I'm glad," you explained, reaching up to wipe your eyes, turning your head, so his finger slipped off your skin. "I'm really glad he didn't die. I didn't kill him. Isn't that great?"

When you looked up at Scaramouche, he was staring at his thumb, dampened by the tears he touched. You could see the gears turning in his head as if he had a hard time following your emotional response, and eventually, his glare returned, fixating on you.

"You're so fucking weird. You took a job and didn't finish it. What's so great about that?" he hissed, rising into a stand suddenly. Swinging his foot over you, and for a moment, you expected him to kick you. You closed your eyes, preparing for an impact that didn't come. You heard his steps rather than noticed him walking away, and now it was your turn to be confused by his actions as you watched his back disappear in the distance, the cell door being slammed shut as Scaramouche stalked away angrily, holding his thumb in front of him, separate from his other fingers as if it was offending him.

"Fucking useless... Can't do anything right," he muttered as he departed, looking severely annoyed but never looking back.

Leaving you behind all alone for the first and last time ever since you were brought to this personal hell of yours.

«──────── 🗡♡ ︎𓍝 ────────»

Peace never came.

Scaramouche made himself a bit rarer, sneering and cursing you out when he did acknowledge your presence. However, there were still enough other prisoners and guards to make your life hell. As much as you tried to avoid conflict, it was impossible to tiptoe around every angry person in this prison. Being the newbie didn't help. Things often escalated above the typical bullying that you tried to endure quietly. You could never catch your breath between incidents. Every day you woke up to a new challenge emerging for you. Strangely enough, though, you ended up fine every time, aside from the stress and fear permanently induced into you.

The reason for that? The very same cellmate that tried to avoid you like the plague.

You didn't realize it at first, but whenever a situation grew violent, he'd show up and put people into their place. You never saw someone break bones without weapons, but Scaramouche didn't seem to care that he wasn't as tall or bulky as others, bones breaking under his feet as he stomped down on every finger with glee after he brought the prisoners to their knees. He'd always turn around and bark at you, call you useless and pathetic, but saved you in the end regardless, no one coming near you after that.

Even when others began approaching you with seemingly good intentions, Scaramouche showed up. One person—another prisoner named Childe—seemed to take pleasure in interacting with you, asking you to hang out or do favors that you never got to accept or decline because Scaramouche would immediately show up and pick a fight while yelling at you to screw off now. It took a while to find out that Childe was also from the Fatui and the two of them had some shady business going on in which Childe tried to rope you in, given your connection to the organization. He swore it was just petty things like doing errands, but Scaramouche would undoubtedly shoo you away if he caught you two talking. Every. Single. Time.

Just like this, things could have been good. At least you weren't in constant pain or strung into things that would worsen your sentence. But despite having your cellmate looking out for you, you still felt lonely and scared every day. When someone wasn't activating your flight instinct or raised your blood pressure as they bullied and humiliated you, you usually withdrew yourself from prison life. You didn't fit in, and it was almost impossible to make acquaintances with Scaramouche watching over you like a hawk. No one wanted to get close to you except if they meant harm or loved your scaredy-cat attitude. Even time didn't make things better.

While you knew you deserved this punishment for what you did, it still took its toll on you. Your nights were spent crying while you muffled yourself in your pillow, hiding from your cellmate's fury. You had come to terms with not being suited for this place. Still, Scaramouche hated any sign of vulnerability as if you were trying to harm him with it on purpose.

Unfortunately, your relationship never got better, and the scowl on his face whenever he saw you never disappeared. If not for him, maybe your life could have been a bit easier, but at the same time, it was unfair to blame him when he was protecting you—willingly or not—almost every day.

However, his barely existing patience with you ended abruptly and violently when he caught you crying one evening, only just returning from god-knows-what. "Why are you still crying?!" he asked, sounding absolutely void of sympathy. Then again, why should he have compassion for you? He didn't even think of you as a person worth living.

"Sorry," you mumbled, apologizing for reasons you didn't need to apologize for. "It just happened! I- I can't stop it."

You felt like on your first day when he cornered you in your cell, all ways out blocked off by the menacingly approaching anger he radiated. When you were backed against the wall, you felt a sense of deja vu. But this time, there would be no news that could give you hope, and you were pretty sure that after all you had witnessed, this was the day Scaramouche would snap.

Just like you always did, you turned your head, readying yourself for impact, convinced that your luck had run out now that his anger was directed back at you. But instead of a slap or the sound of your bones breaking, two hands wrapped around your face, cradling your cheeks as they turned your head to face forward.

"Who hurt you this time?" he asked, and you slowly began shaking your head in his hold, unable to answer. More and more tears dripped from your closed eyes, sliding along his hands that warmed against your skin.

"Just... stop! Please!" you heard Scaramouche plead, and your eyes fluttered open, staring at him in disbelief. Pain was edged in his youthful expression, and you couldn't trust your ears to hear this right. You stared into his eyes, trying to find the usual anger and annoyance in them, feeling almost desperate to see them instead of this woeful look he gave you.

"I've been trying so hard to make you stop crying! I forced everyone to leave you alone! Why can't you stop crying finally?!"

His voice started out as a tremble, turning into agonized yelling accompanied by his fingers curling on top of your face, nails raking over your skin like a cat's claws. However, as much as you should have hurt from his nails, his touch was too gentle to harm you. Scaramouche breathed out heavily, his head falling forward, staring at the floor for a moment.

Somehow, he succeeded in making you stop crying. The confusion you felt about his behavior was enough to override the dark thoughts you'd been dealing with before, causing you to sob in the first place. You were still scared and traumatized after everything, but seeing Scaramouche vulnerable for the first time instead of yourself made you want to help him instead.

Raising your hands to his face, he caught your wrists first, hands wrapping around them in a bone-crushing grip that you didn't dare to struggle out from. When he looked up, there was so much desperation edged into every inch of his being, it was hard to look back at him. But you forced yourself, reminding yourself that you caused this.

"I tried to fix it. They roped you into this life, and I tried to fix the mess they made of you. So I made it right. Ever since you came here, I've been questioning everything! I was constantly punished for failing, but you come here and behave like it's okay to fail. And then you cry and cry and cry, no matter what I do to help you! I don't understand you! You're driving me nuts!"

Scaramouche's voice was so brittle he sounded close to tears himself. Somehow, it felt like you had changed something in him. As if your display of guilt and relief had chipped away on his years of doing this awful, dirty work that must have made him into the monster he was. But all you knew for sure was that, all this time, he had actually tried to help you—unthankful as you had been for his interferences. Now, it was your turn. You owed him that.

"I'm sorry..." you mumbled. "I won't do it again."

You meant it more broadly, not just as an 'I won't cry again'. It didn't seem to be the core of Scaramouche's problems. Instead, his unresolved doubts about his loyalty to the organization seemed to plague him after you showed him it was okay to feel differently. But if it helped him, you'd try to be a bit stronger.

His hands slid up higher until they were gripping your upper arms. All of a sudden, Scaramouche tensed up, his head shaking as you heard the hints of laughter escape, the volume increasing as did the pressure on your body, forcing you down to your knees.

"No..." he chuckled, and as you slid down, you caught his gaze, a mischievous shine having returned to them as a crooked grin crept over his lips. He looked neither as hurt as he had moments ago nor was he the same angry cellmate you came to know. The look in his eyes told a very different story. The story of someone that was beyond saving.

"No, you will do it again. You will cry, and I can't let you continue to drive me absolutely insane. So you will cry. Always. Forever."

His palms resting around your face again, he pulled at your head. You had to crane your neck to accommodate the strain as he brought your foreheads together, with him still standing above you. It hurt, your muscles tensing and trying to wiggle out of his grip, but it was unyielding.

"What?! But--”

You wanted to argue, tell him he was contradicting himself, but you could only gurgle as he pulled you upwards towards him, not high enough for you to stand up, so your weight dangled from your neck as gravity dragged you down.

"I thought you hated me crying! I thought you were trying to make it stop."

"Yes," he purred, delight spreading over his expression. "And we know it didn't work."

Fingers digging back into your skin, there was no gentleness like before. You squirmed, closing your eyes only to snap them back open when you felt his breath on your skin, the panic bringing tears to your eyes again as you felt trapped. Scaramouche looked surprised as he saw the wetness welling up again, then his grin widened, showing teeth as a delighted chuckle fell off his lips.

Any doubts about his intentions faded as you heard this, your struggle ceasing as you stared at him with a feeling akin to betrayal. For a moment, you believed him when he said he was trying to help. You believed that he, too, wasn't as rotten as everyone was trying to make him out to be. That deep down, he knew it was wrong and regretted his actions.

But not anymore.

"Why?" you whispered, slowly giving up on any fantasy you had that you'd ever have the peace you desired to repent for your wrongdoings.

"If you need a reason to cry anyway..."

His smile grew diabolically as he took great pleasure in seeing the color drain from your face, any hope or contentment you had felt disappearing into the unknown darkness your mind was thrown into. One only filled with despair. The only thing you knew was that you would never get the life you wanted, and yet... you pitied Scaramouche, who was just another victim of yours. One, you drove insane without even noticing.

"I will be the reason," he revealed, and your body went limp in his grasp.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Grumpy villain who for some reason has to save sunshine hero, who is badly injured, almost dying. Then when they're safe villain has a break down in front of hero?

Idk if i explained myself well, english is not my first language, sorry.

Have a lovely day/night! I love your writing. <3

“Are you alright?” the villain asked. They felt the shaking in their fingers, how the blood shot through their veins and this oh so familiar feeling of being crushed to death.

They wished they had some power to control their state of panic. They wished there was something they could do, some neat mind controlling trick they could use on themselves to bring their heart rate back to healthy 80 beats per minute.

“I’m still alright, yep!” the hero answered, grinning at the villain, their face still decorated with their own blood. “Just like five minutes ago!”

“Good, good,” the villain said but their body didn’t make any efforts to reduce their own miserable state. They were gasping for air right now.

They could’ve lost the hero.

The villain had recently thought about when losing to the hero had become losing the hero and why the latter was the bigger fear out of the two. But honestly, the villain couldn’t tell. Everything blurred together. It had happened a few months ago, maybe even last year…

“Are you alright, though?” the hero asked cautiously from the (villain’s) big desk chair in which they were sitting. “You look pale.”

“I’m good.” The villain tried to sound as cold as always but their voice seemed to break. “I’m alright. Do you need more painkillers? Do you want to take a nap? You must be exhausted. I can arrange something…my henchmen could…”

They looked at the bloody cloth on the desk, soaked in red soup. They hadn’t finished cleaning up the hero’s face…they knew they had to…

The villain felt their head spin, their muscles tense. They grabbed their desk so they wouldn’t fall over.

“Hey—” The hero made a motion as if they were going to get up.

“Don’t,” the villain warned. They squeezed their eyes shut. “Please don’t move. You’re hurt.”

“You are hurt,” the hero protested. They were still wrapped in all the blankets the villain could find in their basement an hour ago. “What is going on? Should I call someone?”

“No,” the villain gasped. They closed their eyes again, trying to blink the white shapes out of their vision.

“Are you freaking out right now?”

“Kinda,” the villain admitted and then there it was.

They started crying. They didn’t sob. They didn’t contort their face. They simply started zoning out, tears streaming down their face.

And all of it because the nasty nightmares they had tried to fight for the last hours came back into their mind and manifested as too real, too terrifying pictures in their mind.

The hero dead, beaten with blood all over them on their bed.

The hero dead, poisoned with vomit all over them on the ground.

The hero dead, burnt with nothing but ashes all over them in their own house.

“Hey,” the hero said softly, snapping the villain out of their little horror show. “You were great back then, I appreciate what you did.”

“Please stop talking,” the villain said even though this wasn’t what they wanted.

“I mean it.” The hero stood up and to watch them hold their wounds made the villain’s stomach turn.

They could only imagine the pain the hero was going through: their flesh torn apart, one gunshot wound, stab wounds, broken bones, countless bruises…

“It’s okay. I’m okay. You’re okay,” the hero whispered. They took the villain’s hand and squeezed it lightly. They pulled the arm that wasn’t in a sling out of the many blankets and let their fingers comb through the villain’s hair.

“Thank you for saving me,” they said as their fingers pushed hair out of the villain’s eyes, as they scratches lovingly their scalp, as they travelled down to the villain’s jaw and wiped the tears away. “I don’t know what to do without you.”

The villain felt themselves calming down. The hero was there. They were touching them. They weren’t dead.

“That’s a lie,” the villain said, a small smile on their face. Their hands were still shaking though. “You’re good.”

“I wouldn’t have survived without you.” Suddenly, the hero stood up on tiptoes and pressed a kiss to the villain’s cheek. “This is the least I can do. Let me help you calm down, okay? We can help each other?”

The now blushing villain nodded slowly, eyes lost in the hero’s.

[dee-writes-smut]

MY OWN PERSONAL FURNACE

FEATURING boyfriend!Steve Harrington x reader

CONTENT WARNING fluff, mentions the kids riding in the trunk, Steve being a dad 😭

SUMMARY you’re cold and Steve helps you out (unwillingly)

AUTHORS NOTE This is so cute I almost stabbed my own eye out.

In the frigid embrace of Hawkins, Indiana's winter, the bitter chill is an unwelcome surprise, cutting through layers of insulation like a relentless adversary. Even bundled in four coats, a scarf wound tightly around your neck, and snow pants hugging your legs, the cold seeps through, penetrating to the bone with every icy gust.

As you step out into the frosty morning, the biting air slaps against your skin, igniting a fierce battle against the elements. The sharp wind whips around you, carrying flecks of snow that dance in the air like tiny ice crystals, leaving your cheeks flushed and your breath crystallizing in the frigid air with each exhale. The ground beneath your boots groans under the weight of compacted snow, the sound reverberating through the stillness of the silent street, a stark contrast to the sweltering summers the town is more accustomed to.

In this frozen landscape, Steve's car becomes a sanctuary, a haven of warmth amidst the winter's wrath. His smile, like a ray of sunshine on a cold day, offers solace as he leans over to press a tender kiss on your cheek, his breath a comforting contrast to the frigid air surrounding you.

"Hey," Steve smiles warmly, his voice a gentle breeze against the biting cold, as he greets you with affection.

"Hi," you reply, your voice a soft murmur, a whisper of warmth amidst the icy atmosphere. You seek refuge in his embrace, the touch of his lips against yours a brief respite from the biting cold.

"Christ! Honey, you’re freezing," Steve curses softly, his concern evident as he envelops your frozen hands in his warm grasp.

"I hate winter," you confess, the words a lament against the unyielding cold, as you seek shelter between your thighs, desperate for reprieve from the biting frost.

With a gentle touch, Steve adjusts the heater, a small gesture of comfort amidst the wintry onslaught, before guiding the car towards the Wheeler residence. The promise of indoor activities offers a beacon of hope, a chance to escape the clutches of winter's icy grip.

"We gotta go get the kids; they’re all at Mike’s," Steve says, his voice a reassuring presence as he navigates the icy roads.

"Who’s all going?" you ask, seeking distraction from the biting cold as you banter about the logistics of fitting everyone into the car.

"Uhh, I think it’s Robin, Eddie, Henderson, Sinclair, and Mike," he responds, his words a brief distraction from the frosty ache in your muscles.

You chuckle softly, the sound muffled by the layers of clothing wrapped around your body. "Are you sure they’re all going to fit?"

"Of course they will; two of them can sit in the trunk," Steve says casually, his easy confidence in the face of practicality bringing a smile to your lips.

"I hope you haven’t been doing that consistently," you scold, giving him a stern look. "You could get a ticket for that, Stevie."

"Don’t worry about me, sweetheart," he smiles, affectionately squeezing your thigh before pulling up in front of the Wheelers’ house. "C’mon," he says, pulling you from the warmth of the car and back into the biting cold.

"Baby, you’re turning me into a popsicle," you whine, trailing after him towards the front door. The frosty air nips at your exposed skin, leaving trails of goosebumps in its wake.

"Sorry," he mutters, knocking on the door and waiting patiently for someone to answer. Meanwhile, your teeth chatter aggressively, and your hands feel like ice blocks. You've barely been standing outside for two minutes, but Steve, your loving boyfriend, seems unfazed by the freezing temperatures of Hawkins. Annoyed by the contrast, you decide not to suffer alone any longer and shove your hands up under his hoodie, relishing in the warmth of his bare skin.

Steve's skin erupts into goosebumps, and he lets out a surprised squeal. “Baby!”

“I’m cold,” you sigh, snuggling into him. Your face finds its way to the crook of his neck as you press a kiss against his skin. Your hands, still icy cold, loop around his waist, caressing his warm back. Pressed tightly against Steve, you hope his body will shield you from the cold, and he doesn't mind at all. In fact, Steve has never felt more loved in his life than with you shivering in his embrace. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you even closer and pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“I love you,” he whispers, facing the door and patiently waiting for it to open. Steve loves the idea of someone opening the door to see you pressed so tightly against him that you seem fused to his skin.

“Love you,” you mumble into his neck, snuggling closer and reveling in the warmth radiating from your perfect boyfriend, your own personal furnace.

The anticipation builds as you wait at the door, the warmth of the house seeming like a distant dream amidst the biting cold. But in Steve's embrace, surrounded by the chill of winter, you find a sanctuary, a haven of warmth and love that transcends the icy grip of Hawkins' winter.

[crappymixtape]

chasing myself

when the full moon comes the light is so bright, not even hiding in the shadows can save you | ( 1k, remus lupin • TW: bodily changes, graphic language, angst ) – NOTE: reblogs are SO appreciated! my first stab at remus outside of RPing.

C H A S I N G M Y S E L F 🎵 die alone, FINNEAS

Cool light fell through the cracks in the old wooden siding, slivers of the moon slipping across the floor and up the walls. Tiny specks of dust playing in the breeze as it swept through the shack and giving an air of peace. Of quiet. Of night and drifting off to sleep and for some, for most, it might have been but not for Remus.

Not now.

The silence was broken with a slam. The door of the master bedroom clattering in its hinges as Remus flung it open. Chest heaving and breaths stuttering, his knuckles turned white as he grabbed hold of the frame on the four post bed ahead of him, trying so hard to let go. To not fight against the pressure filling his body and spilling over at the edges.

He knew it was useless, painful even to try and push away from it, but it was instinctual to resist. To try and stop his body from turning into something out of the pages of his Defense Against Dark Arts text book. It wasn’t him, not like this, and yet he found himself bending and falling servant to the night sky with every single full moon.

This night was no different.

Swallowing thickly he sucked in gasps of air, loosened the tie around his neck as it choked him and blinked hard against the pressure building behind his eyes, watching as the world around him blurred. Body adjusting and shifting to become more acclimated with the dark, the shadows, the night. There were beads of sweat creeping across his skin now, hair swept and messy and stuck across his forehead and his frame shook as he felt the creature inside him begin to emerge.

“Argh!” he cried out, doubling over like someone had just punched him in the gut, the corners of his eyes stinging with tears. Angry. Frustrated. Scared.

Head flinging back he gripped the wooden bed frame so hard it cracked, splintered in his hands as he loosed a cry that stretched out long and painful. Animalistic. Not human.

Howling.

“Fucking hell!” he sobbed, squeezing his eyes shut, tears chasing down the curve of his cheeks, the slope of his jaw, his neck as it strained. Muscles tensing and stretching as the wolf began to claw its way out

Where were James, Sirius and Peter? Gods let them come soon, please let them come soon! he prayed to no one.

Another convulsion ripped through him, much stronger this time and he stumbled sideways. Collapsing to the floor on his hands and knees. The noises coming from him now were constant. Jaw clenched against the gasps and groans falling from his lips, teeth grinding as they deepened into low growls.

“It will end,” he breathed to himself, “It will end. It will end. It will–”

A sharp inhale, another convulsion, a painful wail. Cracks filled the air as his bones finally gave way to the transformation he was helpless to prevent and a howl ripped from his throat as he heaved up on his knees. Back arching his shirt split open across his chest as his ribs and spine snapped, the hair on his arms and legs lengthening, fingers stretching out and giving way to sharp claws made for tearing.

Words had no meaning anymore, all he knew now were the sounds that were pushing themselves from his snout. His head felt like it was going to split open as his jaw popped, grew big enough to hold a mouthful of canine teeth and they clicked together as he snapped it open and shut.

He could feel it was almost over, felt his trousers tear at the legs as his limbs lengthened, loosed a bloodcurdling scream into the air that could be heard across the Black Lake. Could be heard in Gryffindor Tower, the greenhouses, Dumbledore’s office.

Remus Lupin, now werewolf, was a hollow shell of himself as he finally collapsed to the floor of the shack. He sucked in labored breaths, tried to center himself, acclimating to what would be his new form that night until his ears pricked up at a sound. Three distinct sounds.

A dog black as night, a regal pronged buck and a shy skittering rat scrambling up the stairs and throwing themselves through the same doorway Remus had not ten minutes prior and his mind was flooded with their voices.

Moony! Christ, Remmy. Are you okay? M’sorry, Moony. M’so sorry. We came as fast as we could!

Finally, the only thread of sanity he could hang onto through all of it had come. Finally, their warmth wrapped around him safe and steady Finally, he could heave a sigh from his lungs.

Not better off alone. Not better off dead. Loved. Held. A hand in the dark to cling to through the temporary madness and when he opened his eyes he felt himself grasp the monster within, taming it through the other sets of eyes that were looking back at him.

Moony, we're here.

[anystalker707]

#138 - A long dream (SNK ending rewriting) [Part 1/?]

Summary: In another reality, Ymir isn't mesmerized by Eren. Mikasa and her feelings are the ones to get her attention. At the same time, Mikasa has came to a limit.

A/N: My friends and I didn't like the official manga ending for Shingeki no Kyojin, so they suggested I'd rewrite it. This chapted is based off the chapter #138, with dialogues inspired on it as well. The adaptation is different (mainly) through the approach of themes of the story and the characters' feelings, in special, Mikasa's.

The heavy footsteps of the army of titans faded away, resulting in a silence that was comforting even with the deafening ringing in their ears resulting from the loud noise. The calmness that had been brought with it along with Eren’s fall was disturbed by a nuisance in the chests of the Survey Corps when something shiny, similar to an insect, showed up in his place; alive and squirming on the ground.

“The bones are disappearing,” Jean said. Steam went up in the distance according to how the bones of what was once one of Eren’s forms slowly vanished. “Is Eren dead?”

Mikasa was shaking, taken over by a trance that ceased as she pressed her eyes shut and brought a hand to her in an attempt of stopping the words that resounded in her mind and triggered her headache once more. Eren’s eyes were so dark that day, prived from any light that one day reflected hope, and the words escaped his lips as if it were nothing. As if Mikasa was anyone, not even one of the new recruits with whom he had exchanged some words a long time ago.

“An Ackerman with their powers tends to have headaches quite often. Only a slave without free will. I always...”

“It can’t be,” her muttering was muffled, carrying warm tears that she refused to let go. “The last thing I heard...”

“I always hated you.”

“No way,” Mikasa complained cryingly while Falco landed over the hill, raising dust with his wings.

It was like ground was put under their feets again, with a momentary relief that took over when they saw their loved ones there. Gabi, Pieck, Falco. Even Annie looked for someone. Mikasa’s muscles trembled while they looked for something—someone—who she could do the same with, even if she knew there wasn’t.

“We do have regrets,” Connie’s voice almost cut through Mikasa’s dense thoughts, “but we surely... stopped the rumbling.”

Annie had already disappeared when a scream asking for Reiner made Mikasa return to reality, with a breath caught in her throat, while she observed Armin in the distance, getting up from the crater created by the explosion that finally made itself visible. Reiner got up from the sand, still with the spears from the War Hammer titans stabbed into his back.

“That’s still alive even after the explosion?” Jean asked, twisting the corners of his lips. What was that? Where was it the whole time? What was that shape?

Connie shook his head, unconsciously squeezing his fingers around Levi’s forearm that was around his neck until he complained. “What the hell is that thing?”

“I don’t know, but it’s dangerous to leave it alive.”

The lull that had taken over with Eren’s fall faded away with the same speed it had shown up. Armin and Reiner froze on their spots when hearing the characteristic sound that was always followed by a bright flash of light. Of course his end couldn’t be that simple, but the idea that the confrontation with Eren hadn’t met an end was more than exhausting. The feelings it generated were confusing. Eren’s death would bring calmness, and meant they’d finally be able to rest, but killing someone they had known so closely and that they considered so much wasn’t something easy to swallow.

Defeat sounded heavy in Jean’s voice while he talked with Connie, but his words still were very distant to Mikasa’s mind even with the two right in front of her. Eren was there, on his feet.

That form wasn’t anything like they had seen Eren before. His eyes were emptier than before, weirdly suiting that new appearance. It was surprising at the same time it was terrifying. Hange would have had fun with that. Damn, Hange.

“That’s bad!” Gabi shouted with a trembling voice. She didn’t look like the same person that minutes ago cried and hugged her parents with a smile from ear to ear. “We don’t know what can happen! You need to keep Eren away from that thing! What if the rumbling starts again?”

“That’s it...” Connie contemplated before turning to the others. “We need to kill the centipede!”

“But that thing survived the explosion.” Levi clicked his tongue. “It’s easier to go after Eren than killing it. This won’t be over until he’s dead.”

Things weren’t over. It couldn’t. The words of reunion were soon replaced by farewells, in changes that happened in a that Mikasa just couldn’t keep up with.

“Why?” Mikasa breathed heavily, shaking. “Why do things have to end this way?” Her thoughts aligned with Armin’s, though in different tones.

The ‘centipede’, that looked like a fish out of the water so far, started to show some action. What extricated from it wasn’t steam like the Colossal titan emanated or something similar, but it also wasn’t something unknown.

“Is it dead?” Mikasa asked, kneeling down next to the edge of the hill along with the others.

Connie could feel his throat closing and his eyes widen. “No, it doesn’t smell like dead titans... This is the same thing...” It couldn’t be. “...that happened in Ragako?” No, no, no. Still, that made sense. It was the origin of the titans, so it was its job.

The atmosphere seemed to grow heavier. It was a fate they couldn’t run away from.

“Mikasa! Pieck!” Levi shouted. “Get on Falco! We have to get out of here! Where’s Annie?”

“What?” Falco looked around in search of an explanation.

Pieck had barely caught her breath. “What are you talking about?”

Levi sighed. “You know the Ackermans and the Nine Titans are an exception.” Pieck tried to argue, only to be interrupted. “Fast!!!”

Everything happened in a second. Levi, Pieck and Mikasa barely took off with Falco when the momentary dream returned to be a nightmare.

“That bastard...” Reiner turned to the shiny creature, striking a fight pose. “Convoked a fucking army, but it won’t get past me!”

It was literally an army. Dozens of freshly turned titans now runned in his direction while the creature got up. It was bigger than him, but it wouldn’t be a problem—he would destroy it anyway, whatever it took. It was a matter of seconds until he wasn’t alone anymore with all of those titans and whatever that was. Annie jumped as high as she could before throwing herself over the creature.

The fight would be a lot easier if it was only physical, if those thoughts and feelings wouldn’t attack him whenever he looked at the titans. Things weren’t supposed to be like that. He wasn’t supposed to fight against Connie, Jean. Not anymore. Neither against Gabi, nor his mother. Fuck. That was too much. At least he wasn’t alone—Annie, now along with Pieck, attacked the creature with the same determination.

This was a whole hell created by a single person, almost. Eren made it up to the demon title granted to the Eldians.

“You really love this, huh?” Armin asked. Eren could hear him, he knew his thoughts, and that made the lack of answer be quite frightening to think about. “Then so it is! I’ll follow you to the end!”

If that had happened 5 or 6 years ago, Levi and Mikasa would have been afraid. They would have accepted their defeat, given up, but now, seeing two titans in colossal size fighting wasn’t anything more than an everyday event. The feeling was of tiredness.

The pain which bothered Mikasa from the beginning grew in an enormous proportion—she screamed in a fruitless attempt of relief.

“Mikasa! Pull yourself together!” Levi shouted, each syllable acting like a hammer blow into her head. “We are the only ones that can kill Eren!”

Kill Eren. Shit. Kill. The fucking enemy was the one who had always been by her side. She still offered to defend him even when he already knew everything that was going to happen. What an irony.

It was impossible to continue with it. That was the limit. No way. Wasn’t it easier to just return to how everything once was? Go back home? Only go back...

“Mikasa. Wake up. You’ll get sick like this,” Eren sighed, his eyebrows furrowed while he touched Mikasa’s shoulder with his free hand.

“Eren?” Mikasa yawned, observing him. It was as if everything had been a long dream, and in a distant reality. Eren’s words only went in through one of her ears and left through the other.

“Mikasa? Why are you crying?” He wasn’t worried about grabbing the firewood anymore. When had he let go of his fishing rod, in the first place?

Crying? The cold breeze of the end of the day hit her face, chilling up the wet trails made by her once warm tears. She had the sensation of having left something undone. A nuisance in her chest that grew bigger with each breath.

Mikasa looked at her own hands, opening and closing them before squeezing the tip of her thumbs against the tip of the other fingers. The feeling was... different. She could still feel her muscles burning, even, like she had just ran for miles. Eren also didn’t look the same. His short hair was a cut she hadn’t been used to in a long time, same as her own long hair.

“I feel like I shouldn’t be here.”

Eren’s eyes darkened while his gaze fell to the ground. “Well, we can’t do anything about this. Since we abandoned everything and ran away to this place... Since the war against Marley...”

Why did Eren explain everything that way? As if she had hit her head and lost her memory.

“I’m sorry. I promised I wouldn’t talk about this.”

Getting on her feet, Mikasa stepped close to Eren. That was a perfect reality, right? Eren was a good person and was spending the rest of his life with her. Paradis would face the tragic destiny it was fated to at some point. She only nodded, unable to help herself.

“Promise me,” Eren whispered, “that you’ll throw away that scarf when I die. That you will forget me. Be free. Forget me. Forget.”

It was a good dream. An utopia, Mikasa’s private heaven, but it wasn’t reality. She had lived enough time in the shadows to accept that.

A strong and loud scream coming from Mikasa startled even Levi, who watched the confrontation between the two titans so far.

Something bubbling under Mikasa’s skin motivated her to move, to get the scarf from inside her jacket and prepare herself to battle at least one last time.

“In the mouth,” she informed, “Eren’s in the mouth. Cover me.”

Falco overflied Eren in a way Levi and Mikasa fell exactly in front of his face. A spear was enough. Only one thunder spear was what MIkasa needed.

This thing that burned inside her—what was it? Love? Hate? Hate. Eren simply didn’t have any right to choose that things would be that way, and that wasn’t only about the genocide. His last words to her couldn’t have been ‘I always hated you’ and even if that was one of Mikasa’s stupid whims, she was motivated to solve that situation in some way. In any way. Eren knew how much he meant to her and she wouldn’t let his selfishness prevail.

Inside that enormous titan’s mouth, Eren seemed nothing like what he once was. His head hung from a long exposed spine, already with physical marks due to remaining in his titan form for so long. His empty eyes looked at her, waiting for the final strike that never came. Instead, Mikasa felt a touch on her back before showing up in an unknown place face to face with a girl. Ymir, the ancestor.

Continues...

[envihellbender]

Helping them wash off the blood from their body + MaDe

OCs: Mathias & Declan

Content: blood, germophobia

—

Mathias clung to the bottle of antibacterial hand gel as he sat in the bath. That was the compromise him and Declan had come up with. It was open and he could smell it whenever he needed to cover the sensation of the blood that clung to his body. The sweet apple and harsh chemical scent covered the iron or blood and helped him forget he was covered in the filthy, repulsive red liquid. Declan’s small, warm hands gently rubbed the hot soapy sponge against his back. Most of the blood wasn’t Mathias’, but that made it worse. He tried to ignore his brain that listed off all of the diseases he could contract from contact with someone else’s blood. Originally he’d only wanted to ask Declan to help make sure his back was clean, but he knew as soon as he opened that door Declan would want to be there to make sure Mathias didn’t scrub his skin raw. The water was thick with soap and bubble bath, it almost made Mathias feel like he was being cleansed. Almost.

“Wanna talk about what happened?” Declan asked, Mathias’ forced his shoulders to relax as he could feel from the sharp stabbing pains from the contact Declan made with his muscles how tense they were.

“It’s not mine,” Mathias answered quickly. “Mostly, anyway.”

“I know. That’s not what I asked,” Declan pressed.

“The guy I went to meet. He came up behind me and he had a knife against my throat,” Mathias began, the cut on his collarbone twinging as he remembered the feeling of the metal against his skin. “And erm, well, the guy who was doing the job with me… he shot them. His blood was… everywhere. Fuck. Everywhere. Gonna need to throw out that shirt,” Mathias rambled.

“Wait, he shot him whilst he was-” Declan stammered, pausing as his breath quickened and his voice shook. “That- that was lucky. He could’ve… he must have been- you could’ve-”

“Dec relax,” Mathias interrupted before Declan could start hyperventilating. “He’s… he was a sharp shooter. Never misses.” He felt Declan’s fingers relax, and heard him take a deep breath.

“So it was- it was Victor then,” Declan said quietly. Personally he found Victor terrifying, but he trusted him with Mathias at the very least.

“Well, I wanted you to have plausible deniability but… yeah.” Mathias had deliberately kept it quiet that he was with Victor that night, if Declan knew they were doing a job together he’d only panic.

“You worry too much,” Declan teased, Mathias cracked a smile, hearing that from his agoraphobic anxiety ridden boyfriend felt a bit surreal. “That’s a relief, he’d never put you in danger… right?”

“He is difficult to predict but… no he wouldn’t. He’d just coat me in fucking blood,” Mathias scowled, he’d already yelled at Victor for doing so that night and strained his throat doing so. “The guy nicked my neck with the knife. But Victor stitched it up.”

“I noticed,” Declan admitted. Mathias sighed, he knew that voice. Declan had probably been panicking and fixating on the fresh stitches ever since he got home.

“I tried to grab some antibacterial cleaner from his place but he caught me,” Mathias admitted. He felt Declan scrub at his back a little harder but when he began cleaning his chest his expression was focused rather than angry. His thick black eyebrows furrowed as his bright green eyes searched for every speck of blood. Mathias had to admit Declan didn’t scrub hard enough but he had a remarkable attention to detail. He gently rubbed his collar bones and chest, he squeezed the sponge covering Mathias in suds. Mathias closed his silver eyes, squirming and scowling - he saw the blood fill the bath water and it made him want to claw his skin from his body.

“Nearly done, Mads,” Declan assured. “Just this then your hair, and we’re done.” His hands gently scrubbed at Mathias’ small belly, paying a little bit more attention to where the blood had dried.

“I- I can do this bit,” Mathias said, but his eyes were still screwed shut. He held the antibacterial hand gel closer to his nose, almost inhaling it. He knew Declan would worry but less than if he was rubbing cleaning products into his skin.

“I want to help,” Declan said being deliberately evasive. He then stood up grabbing the shower head, and Mathias ignored how small he felt. He tried not to focus on the red bath water. He kept telling himself how nice it felt having Declan massage his scalp and the smell of the coconut shampoo. He definitely didn’t focus on how the water dripping down his back would’ve been red like the blood that stained his nearly white blonde hair.

[professorspork]

superhell fic prompt: RB+J reunite with Yang

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4]

Let no one ever doubt that Yang can be a champion whiner when she wants to be.

She was on her best behavior before, listening intently as Weiss caught her up on just how badly the fight with Cinder went, and brainstorming up next steps (get to the Tree; send up a flare with Ember Celica because if there were Grimm they needed to worry about, they would have run into some by now; wait). Only there wasn’t much to talk about after that that wasn’t wildly depressing, and they’d fallen into an uneasy silence-- Yang watching Weiss hunch tighter and tighter in on herself with every step.

So she’d filled the quiet: complaining about how they’d be there by now if only she still had Bumblebee; bitching about how unfair it is that they can’t seem to get their Semblances to work; grumbling over how she has no idea how long they’ve been walking because the light never seems to change here. And Weiss snaps back, of course, but Yang can tell the annoyance is feigned-- the more irritated Weiss’s answers are, the more relaxed her body language becomes. Normalcy’s thin on the ground, here; Yang will provide it anywhere she can.

Except-- 

-- except also something on the ground here, it seems-- 

-- is Gambol Shroud.

“Oh,” Yang breathes, in a tone of voice she’s not entirely sure she’s ever produced before. Weiss runs ahead and drops to her knees, but hesitates when she goes to scoop up the weapon-- her hand hovering over it, shaking.

“I-- sorry. It’s not my-- you should--”

“You should give it back to her,” Yang says, keeping her distance and a soft smile on her face.

Weiss looks up at her with wide eyes. “But you--” 

“--didn’t have to see her fall. You did. And you-- you did really good, Weiss. You should give it back to her.” It seems a small concession to make, in the grand scheme of things. She’s going to have plenty of Blake, and soon. She knows it-- she’s sure of that down to her bones, now. So what is there to be possessive of? She waits until Weiss nods, and slips the katana through one of her scabbard loops. It’s not exactly meant to be carried that way, but whatever. It looks pretty badass. “C’mon,” she says, helping Weiss to her feet. “We’re close. I can feel it.”

Weiss roasts her mercilessly when it’s a good age and a half of walking before they even hit the tree’s roots (“Oh, are we close, Yang? Can you feel it?”), but they don’t come across any other surprises. When the roots start to twist and rise above them, Yang clambers up to a decent plateau and sets off two charges-- shooting them high into the air and watching them explode like fireworks. Yang smirks, tucking her arms behind her head as she prepares to settle in and wait--

-- and promptly slips and falls out of the tree when a trio of familiar voices happily cry “Yang?!” only seconds after the flare’s report.

(It’s not her fault, okay? She wasn’t expecting them to be this close, or together; wasn’t expecting Jaune to be down here at all; it’s whatever--)

By the time she’s picked herself up and dusted herself off, Ruby, Jaune and Blake have come into view, just across the clearing. 

“Ruby!” Weiss cries, sprinting towards them, and that’s-- she’s Yang’s sister, she should get dibs on first hug, what gives, only then Weiss actually throws a thumbs up behind her as she runs and that’s just-- that’s just rude, honestly, as if--

“Yang,” Blake says, close enough to touch, and when did that happen?

“Blake, I--”

She has no idea how that sentence was supposed to end. Luckily, Blake relieves her of the burden, busying her mouth and bringing her thoughts to a grinding halt by pulling her into a swift, determined kiss. Yang’s struck so dumb by the shock of it that for a moment she forgets to kiss back-- hands hanging limply at her sides as she tries to process the intent pressure of Blake’s lips against hers; the swell of body heat where they’re pressed together, chest to chest; the tender way Blake cradles her jaw, all fingertips, the way you touch something precious and fragile. Every muscle in Yang’s body relaxes in an instant-- at last, finally, thank you-- and a needy, wanting noise tears itself from her throat, entirely without her volition.

It’s possible she goes a bit overboard when she finally gets control of her limbs again, wrapping her arms around Blake’s sides and dipping her into the kind of kiss she’s only seen on the covers of Blake’s novels, but it’s hard to care about how it looks-- not when Blake’s laughing into her mouth, and Ruby’s wolf-whistling (Yang releases her hold on Blake for that, briefly, only because she has to prioritize flipping Ruby the bird) and has she mentioned that she’s kissing Blake Belladonna? 

She’s kissing Blake Belladonna.

She might never stop kissing Blake Belladonna.

Or, okay, maybe she will; her back kind of hurts holding this weird position so long. But when she pulls Blake back to standing, she suddenly registers wetness on her own cheeks, and she wouldn’t be surprised she’s crying only she’s-- she’s really pretty sure she’s not, so that means--

“Don’t cry,” she whispers, reaching up to brush the tears from Blake’s lashes. “If you cry I’m gonna cry, and--”

“I love you,” Blake breathes, and the words lay Yang out faster than any punch, knocking the wind right out of her lungs. The look on Blake’s face is beatific-- elated and adoring and thrilled. Like she’s proud of herself for being brave enough to say it; like she wasn’t sure she was going to know how. Only then the tears well up again; her voice hitches as she stutters: “I promised; I couldn’t get to you in time, you can’t-- I’ll follow you anywhere, I promised, I swear it, but you have to let me, I thought I lost you--”

This time it’s Yang’s turn to quiet Blake with a kiss, and she lets herself savor it. She clocks every sensation, every touch, every sigh, every brush of their lips. This isn’t about utility, or merely silencing Blake’s fears. It’s reassurance, and devotion, and a promise all its own: we’re okay. We can have this, now.

When she pulls back, she takes a deep breath, determined to find words that will mean as much as Blake’s just did, to make it clear just how much she feels--

-- only it’s a little hard to concentrate over how loudly Weiss is crying, a few yards away where Ruby and Jaune have her sandwiched between them.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to-- I just-- you did promise, all of you, you said you’d never leave my side and I was-- I was alone, I was the only one left, and I--”

Yang takes Blake’s hand, gratified when she gets an understanding squeeze and a nod in return-- to be continued. Whatever confessions of love Yang’s got scratching at the walls of her insides, they can wait a little longer; right now, they need to be with their team.

Together, they join the group huddle, saying nothing as collectively they abandon any attempts at soothing words and instead finally let themselves fall apart. Ruby all but crawls into Yang’s lap, and a thread of tension deep within Yang finally, finally relaxes, knowing that her sister is safe. Jaune cries loudest and hardest of all, and Yang buries a hand in his hair, wishing she could make it better. She knows what it feels like, to stab down and feel the life leave someone’s body, but that was-- she’d hated Adam. To have to do it to an ally, a friend, to have that responsibility on you, for someone you love--

--kill me, and I can make sure the power goes to you--

-- she shakes off the stubborn image of Raven’s scarlet eyes filling her vision and focuses on the people in her arms.

“Not to be super morbid, but maybe...” She pauses and chews on her words, wanting to make sure she says what she means to. “We might be a little past promises, now. All of us. I don’t know where we go from here, and the choices are only going to get harder. But-- we’ve always found our way back to each other before. Even here, and-- and I don’t even really know where here is. So maybe we can just... trust that. See where it takes us.”

She doesn’t realize she’s closed her eyes in a wince, unsure of how she’ll be received, until she cautiously squints them open again and sees half her universe staring back at her with nothing but love.

“I think that sounds good,” Blake says, 

but her eyes say so much more. 

[thora-jane]

Twin-Way Mirror (pt vi)

(a/n): Hey everyone. My mental health's getting a little bit better. These past few weeks I've had some depression/anxiety episodes but I think I might be on the better end of it now? I will say that the stories I post may be more spread out over time (I had a lot of this already written before I made the tumblr account, and I haven't had the time/energy to write more of the story. So like...idk thank you for your patience and understanding? anyway, I hope you enjoy this :)

Summary: Thanks to the Weasleys, you start to recover from the attack at the world cup

Word Count: 2,229

Warnings: mentions of blood and injuries, reader has a bit of a ptsd attack, also things get a little bit spicy but nothing nsfw.

TAGS!: @aliiiyyaaah @superblyspeedydragon @bamboozledflamplant

***

Someone was moving you. Everything was spinning. Mudblood. Mood. Blood. Mud and blood filled your mouth, swirling with bile and spit. Spit. Something smelled terrible, you smelled terrible. Reeking.

You felt a hand on your cheek. The pain stabbed across your face like a knife.

You bolted upright.

And screamed.

“Hey, hey hey hey it’s alright,” you heard George’s (or was it Fred’s?) voice through your ragged and panicked breaths, his hand placed gently on your back, “(y/n), we’re safe now, we’ve made it home.”

You finally looked around, you were on the couch in the burrow’s living room.

“Home?” You asked. You looked up, George was rubbing your back and Fred was sitting on the arm of the seat, eyes flitting back and forth between looking at you and down at his hands with what appeared to be shame. You looked back at the rest of the room, where the others had managed to find room standing and watching you, Harry and Ron stone-faced, Ginny with her jaw clenched, Hermione appeared to be on the brink of tears, Mr. Weasley looked awfully serious, and Mrs. Weasely was holding her muddied and bloodied hand to her chest, a damp rag in the hand at her side and fear on her face.

You felt your face gingerly, most of the caked on mud and blood had been smudged off, except for the grime around the large bruised and scarred lump on your face.

“Yeah, home,” George nodded again with a smile, “How are you feeling?”

You held your head in your hands, “Who was that?” You felt your eyes well up as you sat up more and looked down at the rest of your body, you were still covered in mud, and there appeared to be a boot print right in the middle of your shirt.

“Death Eaters,” Harry piped up from the back, “Voldemort’s followers. They stormed the campgrounds and-” He stopped, looking at you, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have…” His voice trailed off, and it took you a second to realize you were crying, the salty tears stinging the wound on your face.

“Oh it’s alright Harry,” you interrupted yourself with a shaky breath, “I don’t mind, keep talking-”

But Mrs. Weasley interrupted you, “Alright everyone, I think it’s best we give her some space. I’ll come back in a bit to help clean you up more, sweetie. Get some rest.”

The others filed out of the room quietly, but Fred and Geroge stayed beside you in silence, after a moment you sighed and bit back a smile. “I don’t suppose I look any better than either of you now, eh?” You chuckled, but it came out more like a twisted sob. George’s arm wrapped around your shoulder as he pulled you into a gentle sideways hug, “I wouldn’t say that. Why, look at Freddy over there, you could hardly believe we shared the same womb! He’s hideous!” He chuckled softly, squeezing your shoulder. You let out a wince at the pressure and he frowned, turning to you, “you’re in pretty bad shape, (y/n), but I doubt it will last. Is there anything we could do to help?

You looked back down at your crusted and soiled shirt, “A change of clothes would be helpful. And cleaning up doesn’t sound like the worst idea either.” you smiled, or at least offered what you could manage of a smile without hurting your face, “I’ll go get my clothes-” You started trying to get off the couch with a long and pained groan. Everything hurt, your stomach, your legs, your hand. And Merlin, you could barely move your wrist without tears pricking at the corner of your eyes.

George seemed to catch on, and he carefully eased you back onto the couch, “I’ll go get you a change of clothes. Stay here, alright?” he stroked the back of your head for a moment before getting up and leaving.

You and Fred sat in silence for a moment before nuding him with your foot, “Oi, I don’t think I’ve seen you this quiet since...well, I can’t remember.”

“(y/n)...I’m so sorry this happened.” He said, looking up at you hesitantly.

“Hey, it’s alright. We’re both here now, yeah?” you shifted in your spot on the couch, leaning forward as you tried to maintain eye contact, but he only looked away again.

“No, no (y/n) it’s not alright. I shouldn’t have let you out of my reach. I shouldn’t have let the crowd separate us, I should have forced my way back sooner-” his voice was dead serious, something that you hadn’t thought was possible before now.

“I don’t want you blaming yourself for this,” your voice was a little uneasy, you could feel it as you tried to keep your breathing steady, “Because I’m fine now. We’re home, you heard your brother-”

“No, but (y/n) you’re not fine!” he snapped, standing up and gesturing to your body in one big sweep of his arm, “They were going to kill you! And whose fault would that have been? It wouldn’t have been yours I can tell you that!”

“Freddie,” George’s voice was stern as he returned to the room, a change of clothes in hand, “Go get some things to clean up. What’s done is done and we can only start moving forward. I don’t think either of you are in a state to start pointing fingers,” He walked towards you on the couch as Fred went off to the kitchen, his hands balled into fists.

George knelt down beside you, brushing the hair from your forehead and dabbing at your lingering tears with the edge of his sleeve. “How are you feeling?” he asked, holding his hand under your chin carefully and examining your face.

“A bit banged up, surprisingly,” you quipped. You paused, looking down at the clothes in his hand, “So...should I change?” You looked back up at him, a bit embarrassed by your current lack of mobility.

“Oh! Yeah,” he agreed with a bit of a start, “You can’t quite be up and about right now, huh?” He glanced around the room before snatching the blanket off the back of the couch and holding it up in front of him as a curtain between you two, “I swear on Fred’s life I’m not going to move this until you say you’re done, and I will scream bloody murder if anyone walks in,” He delcared in what you assumed was a mock-stoic voice from the other side of the blanket.

You began to peel off your muddied pants and slide your sore legs into the new pair. It wasn’t until after you had them on that you realized how this unfamiliar stripey pair fit quite loose, “These aren’t mine?” you mumbled to yourself, and from the other side of the blanket you could hear George clear his throat.

“I uh...couldn’t figure out how to open your trunk so I..grabbed a pair of my pajamas. I promise they’re clean. I can get you yours later it was just...short notice and I didn’t want to be a bother-”

“It’s alright,” you assured him as you started to lift your shirt over your head, “At least they're clean- OW!” you felt a screaming pain stab it’s way through your wrist after you had managed to get one arm out of your sleeve.

“Are you ok?” His voice was nervous, and you saw the blanket shift beside your head-

“Oi!” You almost shouted, “Watch the blanket!”

“Sorry! Sorry,” you heard him mumble as the blanket lifted up a little bit, “I guess we’ll call it even from this morning.”

You had managed to carefully wrangle your way out of your shirt and pull one of the sleeves of George’s shirt before it dawned on you, “Oh Merlin, did you see me? Just now?” Your stomach twisted as you shrugged on the second sleeve and looked at the open front of the shirt, “Damn buttons.”

“If it’s any comfort, I only saw your shoulder. And I looked away as soon as I saw-” He stammered out nervously, as you gave the buttons down your front a calculated stare.

“Just...never bring this up again, yeah?” You muttered mostly to yourself before your first attempt at buttoning up your shirt. But your try was unsuccessful, pain twisting the muscles and bone in your wrist as your right hand went to try and help the button through the hole. You let out a faint gasp of pain, and from the other side of the blanket you heard George shift his stance awkwardly.

“Do you need any help?” he piped up from his side.

You paused, sighing as you carefully moved the shirt to cover your front without buttoning it, “If I must. But if you try to pull something then so help me Godric the second I get my wand back you’re dead.” He let the blanket fall to the floor and his hands flew up to his face, squinting through his fingers. It was clear he was trying to lighten the mood as he perched himself on the edge of the couch. You chuckled at his efforts and reached for one of his hands with your good one, placing his fingertips on the buttons of his shirt, “You don’t have to do it with your eyes closed, dimwit.”

George smirked, opening his eyes slightly and making it clear he was staring directly at the buttons he was fastening, “Y’know, I don’t usually do this for folks,” he smiled looking back up at you with a dramatic wink. His eyes stayed latched to yours as he worked his way up the trail of buttons, making a point to not stare at your chest.

“Oh? This isn’t a regular occurrence between you and your roommates? You don’t sit in a circle helping each other tie your ties each morning? You don’t fix Fred’s hair and make sure Lee’s robes are nice and straight?”

George laughed, “Keeping Lee’s robes straight is Fred’s job.”

“Well someone ought to tell him he’s not doing a very good job of it, Lee’s robes wouldn’t stay smooth unless he used a charm,” you sighed, a weak smile lingering on your face.

“Oh! That reminds me,” George reached into his pocket and pulled out your wand, “managed to get it out without a scratch!” He tucked it into your messed-up hair and smiled, “Good as new!” His hand lingered on the side of your face, carefully touching the area around the swollen and bruised gash for just a moment, “You don’t look that bad, really. A little roughed up but give it some soap, water, magic, and time, you’ll be back to your wonderfully-faced self,” his voice was encouraging, but your thoughts had drifted off to elsewhere.

“Oh my god, you took on a Death Eater.” You blurted out, eyes widening, “Are you ok? Did he get you at all? Are you alright?” Your hand reached for his face, there was a scratch just below his cheek bone but other than that and a few smudges of mud he appeared fine,

“I’m alright, (y/n), really,” he patted your hand.

“Oi, I got you out of there too, y’know.” Fred interrupted from the doorway, “Where’s the worry for me?”

“Oh my god, Fred!” Your voice was startled as you scrambled off the couch and stumbled across the floor over to him. He had just barely managed to set down the bowl of water and sponge before you practically collapsed in his arms, “are you alright? What on earth were you two thinking? Running into danger like that? You could have gotten yourselves killed!” You winced at the pain pulsing through your body, but you only hugged Fred tighter. After a second you let out a muffled sob into his chest and you could feel his arms wrap around you, patting your back.

“But it’s alright,” you heard him whisper, “You said it yourself, we’re home,” He placed a kiss on the top of your head, and you could feel another body hug you from behind.

“We’re here, (y/n). Now c’mon, it’s late and you should get some sleep,” You felt George lean down and kiss your cheek before helping you shuffle back to the couch and wipe the last bit of mud from your face.

***

You woke up the next morning feeling sore, but minimal agony in comparison to the night before. As you opened your eyes, you realized you were face-to-chest with one of the twins. You figured the two of you had slept on the couch the night before. As you poked your head out from behind his shoulder, you saw the other twin asleep in the chair. Neither of the boys had changed their clothes from yesterday, and you looked down to see the large gold “G” against a green sweater, with its sleeves wrapped around your waist, pulling you close.

“Mmm, (y/n), are you up?” George murmured, his eyes not opening.

You smiled softly at his warm embrace, “No George, go back to sleep,” you whispered, laying down again with your head against his shoulder.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he nodded, barely awake as he pulled you closer and nuzzled his face into your hair with a sleepy sigh.

[donutloverxo]

Want you back

Note - this is for @holylulusworlds 10k follower challenge! My trope was hurt/comfort Congrats I hope you like it😘

Beautiful mood board by my girl @ballyhoobarnes

Summary - You want Steve to be more than just your sugar daddy. He breaks your heart. Will he be able to make it upto?

Themes - CEO au, sugar daddy/baby relationship, implied age gap, smut, unprotect sex, loss of virginity, daddy kink

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - almost 4k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

You squealed as you grabbed the deep red box from Steve’s hand, the words ‘cartier' written on it in golden cursive. You could see Steve watching in amazement from the corner of your eye. You gasped as you opened it, the prettiest and shiniest diamonds you had ever seen. “For me?” You looked at him with hopeful eyes. If he said no it would break your heart.

“Who else would it be for?” He chuckled and you gave him a smile embarrassed at your own silly thoughts. “Let me” He said pulling you by your hips to place you on his lap, taking the necklace out of the box and clasping it around your neck.

Such an act shouldn’t feel so intimate, but it really did. Steve was the most generous man you had ever met. He met you in a very difficult time in your life. Paying off your student loans, buying you a new very comfortable apartment, and so many gifts all the while never expecting anything in return.

All he wanted was quality time with you and complete honestly. He reserved a lot of disdain for dishonest people. Which is why maybe he liked having you around. You were the most honest person you knew, always wearing your heart on your sleeve, never having a filter. You understood now what Steve meant when he said ‘you're a breathe of fresh air' having met his friends. You didn’t know who to trust, all those parties seemed so glitzy on the surface but you did feel a certain darkness lingering underneath on some level.

You looked down at your new diamond necklace. Since your little arrangement with Steve started, over six months ago now, this would be the tenth diamond necklace he gave you, among a few diamond pendants and bracelets. “It’s so pretty” you said in awe of it to which he replied “It looks pretty because it’s on you doll”

“You didn’t have to daddy” You shifted on his lap to get comfortable putting your arms around his neck to look into his cerulean blue eyes, the prettiest eyes in the whole wide world.

“I just felt like spoiling my princess. It’s been a while since I got you anything. Jarvis told me you haven’t used the platinum card in weeks” He quirked a brow at you.

Well you hadn’t. You weren’t surprised Steve’s secretary Jarvis noticed. He always delivered messages, gifts to you whenever Steve wasn’t available. You started a part time job at a library just so you wouldn’t have to use it. “I’ve been thinking a lot” You murmur looking down at your lap to avoid his intense gaze. If you did look at his face you wouldn’t be able to articulate your thoughts “and I don’t want your money daddy. I just want you. I don’t want you to feel like that’s all I’m looking for”

“Hey look at me” He said propping your chin up to make you look at his face. He looked so worried you wanted to kiss away his frown. “I have a lot of money. What I do with it is up to me. And I want to take care of my princess. I don’t feel like you take advantage of me. In fact you do a lot more for me than I for you” He placed a couple of soft kisses on your knuckles while maintaining eye contact with you.

You scoffed at that. You didn’t really do anything for Steve. Not in the way women did for men. When Steve asked to be your sugar daddy, you were more than nervous. How would someone as inexperienced as you please a man like him? But until now you had only had few heavy make out sessions. Steve would feel your breasts through your shirt, and you were sure you felt his hard on that one time, but other than that you hadn’t really done anything together. “I want – “ you trailed off. What if you did tell him how you felt, that you loved him more than the word love can say it, and he rejects you, breaks your heart. You could probably take rejection from anyone else, but if it came from Steve you’d never recover.

“What is it?” He probed.

“I want you. All of you. Why can’t – I don’t know how to say this” You shook your head trying think of the best words. “Why can’t we be boyfriend and girlfriend like most people are? I –“ you paused as he stared at you intently “I love you. I know I’m not the best girl out there but I try my best” You inwardly cringed at your pathetic-ness. Not really the best way to ask to be someone’s girlfriend.

He took a deep breathe “I was afraid of this. I don’t do that doll. If I wanted a girlfriend I would have one. I don’t have space for that.”

You felt as if he stabbed you in your heart. You quickly got up, abandoning the comfort of his lap. You took the necklace off putting it on the abandoned open box. “I want more. I can’t ignore my feelings. I can live without diamonds or bags but I can’t live without –“ you choked a sob. “I think I’ll go home now”

You collected your chanel bag, which he gave you, you grimaced as you looked at it, when he got it for you were over the moon but now it just gives you pain, just like every gift he got for you would. You put on your shoes somewhat leisurely expecting him to get up try to talk you out of leaving, compromise, something! But he just sat there staring at the necklace you rejected. “Goodbye” you said and left.

You had never been to a ball. Any party you ever attended were frat parties that were well trashy for the lack of a better word. You were so amazed at the tall champagne flutes passing through, the exotic hors doers, people dressed in the most lavish gowns and suits. Everything was so pretty you knew you didn’t fit in here.

But Steve was so considerate with you. His hand never left your side the whole night. He kept you close to him, including you in any conversation he had with others. It was that kindness that you fell in love with.

But then she approached you both. She looked really talk in her sleek stilletos, her sharp cheek bones were complimented by her short brown curls. You felt a tinge of jealousy when she hugged Steve kissing his cheek as if she had known him forever. “This is Margaret” He introduced her.

You were later told that she was Steve’s ex girlfriend.

She had a posh British accent. With her classic black dress, she looked like she belonged here. You hurt yourself by thinking about how Steve and her looked so good together. They looked like they were meant to be standing next to one another. You had to try really hard to hold back tears when she touched Steve’s bicep, laughing at something he said.

You had been ‘together' for over two months at that point. You knew Steve was gorgeous. You didn’t however realise how much other women noticed his that. That night you felt as if everyone had their eyes on him. If you left for even a second to use the ladies room, Steve would be surrounded by women, all so gorgeous they looked other worldly.

You asked to spend the night at his home. He had turned his queen suite into a room for you. Complete with baby pink walls, silk sheets and the softest of stuffies. He told you he would be happy to have you. After kissing you goodbye Steve went back to his room.

You had other plans. You knocked on his door, entering without his permission. You almost considered leaving when you looked at the sight in front of you. He was only sporting his grey sweats. The dim yellow light from the lamp made his skin and hair look golden as if he was a god. He certainly looked like he was carved out by gods. His muscles so taut and his shoulders so broad. He looked like he was photo shopped.

You whimpered when you got a good look at his abs as he sat up straight. You were wearing your satin pale blue nightie, adorned with white lace on the edges. Something you bought when you were out shopping with him. You knew you didn’t look nearly as good as the women at the party.

“You can’t sleep princess?” He asked sitting back against the headboard.

“Hm” You hummed remembering your diabolical plan “I just felt so alone. Can I sleep with you?” You fluttered your lashes at him.

“Of course” He gave you a small smile shifting to his side to make room for you. You quickly skipped over to him and got under the covers with him. Nestling against his chest you nuzzled his neck. “Is everything alright with you?” He asked propping your chin up to look at him.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?” You draped a leg over his hip and started grinding against his thigh. You didn’t know much about seducing but you could only hope you were doing it right.

“Well you were quiet the whole ride home.” He pressed his palm against your hip, firmly but also gently at the same time, to stop your grinding. “What’s going on?”

“I just really really want to make you feel good.” You tried your best to sound classy and sultry at the same time, just like Peggy did.

You didn’t want him to find out just how amazing he was, and how he could do better than you. He was nice to her. Was he too nice? Did he still have feelings for her? Why did you find out from someone else that they were together. You needed to give him everything.

He didn’t try to stop when you rubbed him through his sweats. Gulping down your anxiety you looked up to see him staring at you curiously. He quickly sat back up and leaned against his pillows as you took his cock out of his briefs and sweats. He looked big. Much bigger than normal men probably. How were you supposed to take him?

You tried to recall whatever you had seen in porn or had heard from friends and stroked his length. He seemed to like it since he moaned grabbing a handful of your breast and squeezing it. You stared in awe as the creamy gooey liquid seeped out of his tip. You leaned down taking him in your mouth and going as far as you could until he hit the back of your throat. You moaned around him and swallowed your spit so you wouldn’t make too much of a mess. You were about to bob your up and down as one is supposed to do when giving a blow job but he abruptly pulled you off of him by grabbing the back of your head.

He brought you close to him and crashed his lips onto yours in a kiss which was all teeth and carnal need.

He flipped you over so you were under him and worked on taking off your panties. “I think I should tell you...” You trailed off not being able to concentrate with his lips on your neck. “I’ve never.. done this before.” You whimpered as he sucked a bruise into the crook of your neck.

He immediately stopped looking down at you. “What?” He asked and you felt ashamed and guilty that you ruined the moment. “What did you say?”

“I’ve never-” You curled in on yourself so you were as small as your voice was “I’ve never done this before you know.” You sniffles tears trailing down your cheeks.

“Hey” He shushed you. Collecting you in his arms and rocking you back and forth. You cried into him for a while. His steady heartbeat lulled you and calmed you. “We don’t have to do that any time soon. Your first time should be special. With someone you love.”

Maybe he said those words to comfort you. But he had no idea just how they broke your heart. He never saw you as anyone he could have a serious future with. You weren’t a serious put together girl. Sure he may say he prefers your innocence over the cunning and self absorbed people in his world. But he was one of them.

“Is it because I’m not her.” You spat but you weren’t brave enough to look at him.

“Who are you talking about?” He spoke into your hair.

“Margaret or Peggy. Whatever you call her.” You mumbled afraid that you had let your true feelings be known.

“Is that what this is about?” He shook his head and when you didn’t look at him he sternly called out your name which made you whip your head up. “There’s nothing between me and Peggy. We had our time but it’s over now.” He tried reassuring you.

Even if your arrangement was supposed to be purely financial you were more or less unofficially exclusive. “Then why did I have to find out from Natasha that you were both engaged?” You pouted wiping your nose with the back with the back of your finger.

“I only asked her to marry me because I thought that was how it was supposed to be. That’s what everyone had told us since we were kids. That we were to grow up and get married. But then I realized that I didn’t love her like that. Neither did she. We’re just friends now. I promise.” He kissed your forehead.

You were hurt from being rejected by the only man you ever tried to seduce. He cuddled you and coddled you. Reassuring you again and again that you’re perfect. There’s nothing wrong with you.

Just not perfect enough to actually be his apparently.

Days turned into weeks. You were just drifting through the motions. Steve insisted that you keep your apartment.

‘I gave it to you. It’s yours.’ He said.

And really beggars can’t be choosers. Before being his sugar baby, you cringed at that label now, you were just an intern in his company. But you didn’t last in that harsh environment for even a month. After that you didn’t really need to get another job since he promised to take care of you in exchange for your company.

You had no idea your company was worth that much.

You always had a crush on him. He was this stylish, smart, kind yet distant older man who was your dream guy of sorts. As in you could dream about him, but you can’t actually have him.

Of course you said yes to his proposal. And were more than happy to accompany him to exotic places in first class and private jets for over six months. To wear breath taking dresses which cost more than your tuition. To cuddle with him and make out with him. It didn’t really go far than that.

Yet it wasn’t hard to trick yourself into thinking that it was more. That you could convince him to want more with you. What a dumbass you were.

You applied to at least ten jobs, although you didn’t hear back from a single one. You were determined to get back on your feet and get yourself a new apartment. You’ll have to move back to queens or even New Jersey. There was no way you could afford a home in Manhattan. But you didn’t want Steve to get the idea that he’s any less cruel to you just because he let’s you stay in the condo he brought you.

For now you were happy wallowing in your sadness. Eating tubs of Ben and Jerry’s and watching the notebook. Thinking about how love is a lie fed to people since childhood so they don’t realise just how meaningless life is.

You were half sleep when you jerked awake to your intercom harshly buzzing. Grumbling you walked over to your door and pressed the button “Who is it?” You asked your irritation evident in your tone.

“It’s me.” Said the voice that was all too familiar to you. “Let me in please?” He requested desperately.

You let out a sigh pressing the little buzzer to let him in. As much as you loathed you, you loved him even more. It had been over a month, you were longing to see his voice, to talk to him, to smell him, to even just be around him.

You opened the door and let him into your, or his, home. You tried your best to not let him see just how happy you were that he’s in front of you. Instead you filled your eyes and drawled your voice feigning annoyance. “What do you want?”

“I want you back” He stated stalking towards you. “Please. I made a mistake” You had never seen him beg. This was so uncharacteristic of him. And you were going to thoroughly revel in it. You held his gaze, done being a coward.

“No” You simply said. “It’s too little too late”

“Don’t say that” He bent down invading your personal space. “It’s never too late. I – I love you” your jaw dropped as he stammered over the words leaving you shocked. “I’ve loved you for so long. I thought that I could pretend that I didn’t”

“Why?” You wanted to know.

“Because I’ve lost everyone I ever loved. I can’t lose you.” He kissed your knuckles.

“You already have.” But your body betrayed you as you leaned into his touch. You could already feel your resolve crumbling. “I don’t believe you.” You snatched your hands out of his hold. “You’ll change your mind tomorrow.”

“No no I won’t. I swear.” He scrambled to hold your hands again but you moved them out of his reach. It was almost satisfying to have the upper hand. To have him be the vulnerable one. “I’ll show you how serious I am.” He said removing a little red box from his pocket.

“Is that...”

“Yeah” He gave you a small smile. “This isn’t a spur of the moment thing. I’ve thought about this.” He said kneeling in front of you. He opened the box to reveal a solitaire diamond ring adorned by little diamonds on the band. It was simple enough to be classy but flashy enough to be special. “I fell in love with you the moment I saw you. You’ve always held my heart y/n. Will you marry me?” He asked. His voice slightly shaky.

You didn’t need to think about it. You forgave him as soon as you heard his voice. “Yes” You whimpered. You didn’t even know that you had started crying. He stood up on his feet and slid the ring on your ring finger.

You smiled as he kissed you. After so long. It was just a month but it felt like a thousand years. It was as if he was parched and so needy for you. His hands wandering all over your body. He swooped you up in his arms and carried you over to your bedroom. He made quick work of taking off his sweater his jeans and his underwear.

He pulled your long sleep shirt over your head. You tried to hide your breasts from him. Having never been naked in front of anyone you were shy and felt so exposed. “You’re going to be my wife now.” He purred removing your hands and taking you in. He was awestruck. “You’re so beautiful.” He stated mater of factly.

He trailed kisses down your body. Settling between your legs he stared at your heat. You couldn’t tell if he was unsatisfied or not. You gasped as you felt his hot tongue against your warm folds. You squirmed and thrashed. It was so different from when you played with yourself. So much more intense. You whimpered punching the mattress when he pulled away, you instantly missed his mouth. You gasped as you felt his fingers invade your warmth.

He moved up looming over you pushing his fingers in and out of you. “I want to watch you fall apart” He said. His voice laced with lust.

You came all over them screaming as he captured your lips into a bruising kiss. Swallowing your moans and cries.

You were still coming down from your high when he pushed his tip inside you. You gasped. “Shh it’s okay” He cooed kissing your hair “It’ll be okay. Daddy always care of you. You know that right.” He whispered kissing your tears away “I’ll never hurt you again.” He let out a muffled grunt as he completely sheathed himself into you.

He let you get accustomed to his length for a minute before moving. Thrusting leisurely into you. You closed your eyes, holding onto your shoulders. Giving out little hums and mewls, only focusing on the weight of his cock in you, his tip hitting your cervix, and how he brushed against your pussy every time he slid out halfway, only to slid back in again.

“You’re so tight shit.” He cursed against your lips. “I can’t believe. I. Get. to. have. you. forever.” He grunted each word punctuated with a snap of his hips.

He snaked a hand between your bodies and stroked your clit before ruthlessly rolling it in his fingers. It was already so overworked and sensitive. You came clenching around his cock in no time.

Your orgasm set him off. He quickly pulled out, jerking himself off over your stomach you watched through hooded eyes as spurts of his cum painted your stomach. He slumped next to you. His face and neck flushed. “Have to be careful. I’ll use a rubber next time. I’m not ready to share you with anyone just yet” he muttered wiping his shiny forehead with the back of his hand.

He draped his arm across your stomach nuzzling your neck as you stared at your new rock. “You like it?” He asked kissing your throat.

“I love it. I can’t wait to tell my mom” You replied pecking his forehead. “We have to set a date. When do you want it to be? The theme? So many things.”

He hushed you “You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll just hire a wedding planner.”

“What about your father? What if he doesn’t approve of me?” You worried.

“I don’t give two shits about his opinion.” He grumbled.

And you couldn’t help but giggle at that. It was rare to hear him curse. You couldn’t wait to plan your wedding and your life together.

Tags will be in the reblog. If you want in on the taglist shoot me an ask or click the link in the bio!

me thinks there must be a part two. what do you say?

cute pink dividers by @whimsicalrogers

Please note that my work is NOT to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account. Reblogs are most welcome though.

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Years Past

Summary: Sakura haunts their small home in grief, feeling already a ghost even while surrounded with beautiful raven-haired children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. As she sees each and every one of them over the months that follow, a select few stare back with her own eyes. Most of them are so like her husband's, though, luciform soot flecked with silver, and she feels so sorry when she looks too long and starts to cry. Romance, Character Death, Sad With a Happy Ending, Sakura POV.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: T

A/N: A little late to this prompt, but better late than never, I suppose. This has been sitting in my drafts since June, but reading it made me emotional and I got distracted by writing things for Like Gold. I apologize for the tardiness!

Sasusaku Month 2021, Day 7 Prompt: Years Past @ssskmonth

AO3 Link - FF.net Link

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Sakura passes in her sleep, marcid and weary of a broken heart and missing mismatched eyes, at the age of eighty-two.

It is longer than most Shinobi make it by far, but she doesn't feel very grateful for it, in the last five excruciating months of her life.

Her husband hadn't made it to eighty-two; Sasuke-kun passed in December. It had been peaceful, all three of their children, most of their grandchildren, and even some great grandchildren, the ones not on missions outside of the village, at his bedside.

Sakura had been there, too, old and frail and holding his hand. She'd kissed him goodbye tearily, sensing it was almost time after decades of watching it happen to others inside secluded hospital walls. It had been in front of nearly all of their descendants, family the only thing helping to hold her together in his final moments.

He hadn't complained. He'd kissed her back, for everyone to see, and Sarada and the twins had started crying, then, squeezing their hands around those of their parents, because they knew it really was time.

He had thanked her, said her name one last time, all equanimity even then. Then, so softly, "I love you. I'll see you next time," before he went, bones settling wearily at long last.

There had been melancholy in his expression even in death, wrinkled skin turning glaucous and beginning to sag against old, hardened muscle.

Sasuke-kun was buried next to Itachi’s memorial. There is a plot he saved for her on his other side, his right arm, the hand she held so many times in life.

Sakura haunts their small home in grief, feeling already a ghost even while surrounded with beautiful raven-haired children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. As she sees each and every one of them over the months that follow, a select few stare back with her own eyes. Most of them are so like her husband's, though, luciform soot flecked with silver, and she feels so sorry when she looks too long and starts to cry. Little Satoko, their newest great-grandchild all of eleven months old who she dotes on endlessly, reaches at her wrinkled cheeks to try to wipe them dry, babbling out a garbled version of "Oobasan, no cwy." He is talking earlier than most babies, stormy eyes eerily full of awareness and an endless lineage, just like Sarada at that age. Sakura laughs as she sobs, cradling him close to her heart, and looking out her window at their daughter's visage on the mountain. It is also Satoko's grandmother's image; it is hard to believe their sweet little baby is now old enough to be a grandmother. She remembers the first time Sarada had smiled at Sasuke-kun, the first time he held her at only an hour old, and he broke down sobbing.

She makes the trek to Sasuke-kun's grave every day for 138 days, each step an arduous agony, before stooping down to lay a fresh daffodil atop the soil where her husband's bones rest. She has also planted white lilies around his headstone, the same as those that surround Itachi's and the Uchiha Memorial Stone. Her children help her keep them watered as needed through a short spring drought; she is too old to carry a watering can now without spilling.

She misses him. It hurts worse than Sasori's poison or Madara stabbing her or giving birth or a giant shuriken nearly cleaving her in two.

There is joy to be found in the desolation, too, in her last few months of life. Their progenies throw her a birthday party like none other, and she eats her fill of cake while watching little hands eat some, too. Little Satoko dances, or moreso balters, with Sarada in time to a dramatic song he finds by pressing buttons on the radio; it is not a very appropriate tune for a dance with a toddler, all clumsy crescendo and orchestra, but amusing all the same. Sasuke-kun would have smiled, if he were there.

The white lilies bloom before her eyes one last time, resplendent and perfect. She gets to hear about Haruki making Chunin on the first try, every bit the pride of the Uchiha, reborn anew with Sharingan blazing. She even gets to see Akiko make Jonin in person, ambitious and ingenious with Sharingan and diamond seal on her forehead setting her apart from her adversaries in the arena.

But finally, at long last, it is her culminating day. 138 days doesn't seem like a long time to be without him, compared to the larger number of days he was absent in their youth, but she finds it is worse, following their life together.

She tells them all she loves them and falls asleep for the last time, watches their confluence of family say goodbye from above. Sarada and the twins cry the hardest, clinging to her body as her heart finally pumps for the last time. Satoko is too young to understand, but he pats at her, too, in a sea of dark-haired descendants that she knows will continue to bring honor back to a clan revived at the brink of death. She takes in each and every one of their beautiful faces one last time, faces so similar to Sasuke-kun's; not a single one of them has her nose.

It is a legacy of love they have created, exactly the dream they started willing into color the day they discovered they had made Sarada together.

Then, she is on a dock that has slightly singed edges, looking over a small, familiar pond.

It is a spring evening, the sun just falling beneath the horizon and cherry blossoms abloom, and she thinks that is strange, because it is June and Hanami has already passed them by. Satoko had been so cute in his new outfit; she had made it herself, not much else to do in their empty house filled with aching memories. The tiny uchiwa on the back of his collar was sewn with the utmost care, the kind that came from decades of practice.

Crickets chirp, cicadas buzz, and there are a few fireflies leaking out of the greenery, soft light reflectant in the stillness of the water. It is serene. She had sat on this dock many times with her husband, when he was alive, on his right side so she could hold his hand. He told her she was beautiful during Hanami here, every year. She shifts to begin the process of sitting down, planning on leaving the space he'd taken up in life empty for him, in case his ghost is around. She has felt it, sometimes, tugging at her own spirit; she leaves his side of the bed empty every night, trying to will him back to her.

As Sakura shifts, she looks down, and she is startled to see pink hair instead of white, and no wrinkles. She crouches to analyze herself more closely in water still as glass, and there are no creaking old bones. She is young again, somehow.

She is overjoyed; she will be able to water the white lilies herself again. She can even dance with little Satoko now.

Light footsteps sound behind her, and just as she stands and turns, she is being swept into an unfamiliar yet comforting pair of arms. A woman with long inky hair, black as night, is hugging her tight.

"Thank you for loving my son," she breathes immediately, and Sakura starts crying, because she somehow knew who it was before she even said anything, without even seeing her face. When her eyes focus blearily through tears over Mikoto Uchiha's shoulder, Sasuke-kun's brother is walking up not far behind her.

Itachi Uchiha is smiling at her like she's done something wonderful, like he has been waiting for years to meet her. He is younger, healthier here, flecks of silver dancing in eyes just like her husband's, just like their childrens'. There's an impossible ache in her chest.

He waits patiently for his mother to pull back. When she finally does, Sakura looks into her eyes, and Mikoto is smiling at her so big, like she hung the moon in the sky, beginning to peek out from behind clouds above them.

"I have waited so long to meet you," she says, eyes shining, and her eyes are like Sasuke-kun's, too. "You are so beautiful."

Then Itachi is embracing her, and Sakura cries harder, because his arms feel almost like Sasuke-kun's arm had felt, slipping around her for sixty-one years of marriage, the same height and strong.

"I have waited, too. It's an honor. Thank you, for everything," Itachi says as she sobs.

"They are so beautiful, too, Sakura," Mikoto adds softly, hand at her shoulder, and she knows she means their children, Mikoto's grandchildren that she hasn't gotten to hold yet, Sarada and the twins and their children and all the others. Little Satoko had made twenty-seven blood relatives; including spouses who married into the clan, the number was thirty-eight, and there were two more babies on the way, yet.

Itachi lets her go, smile tender when he pulls away. He directs his gaze momentarily to the path leading up the hill, as if he's looking for someone.

She follows his gaze; Fugaku Uchiha is coming over the top, all stoicism even as a spirit. He stops momentarily and gives her a nod of recognition, not breaking eye contact for a long time.

Then, he glances back over his shoulder, tilts his head as if telling someone to follow him down the hill, and Sakura is running, though she hasn't been able to for years.

Sasuke-kun is all of twenty again, young and strong, too handsome for his own good and every bit the sweet but stoic man she fell in love and grew old with. He's smiling at her, just for her, and she's in his arms - he has both, here - in the blink of mismatched, teary eyes.

His arms feel like home, two spirits together in permanence at long last. It is the same feeling as the little piece of heaven they touched together whenever they made love, souls intertwining, but this time for good. She has missed him. Oh, she has missed him.

"...I told you I'd see you next time," he murmurs against her hair.

[fruitcoops]

could you write a coops getting a piercing or tattoo (one or both of them)?

Part 6 of the Coops wedding fics! Thank you to everyone who has read this series--it’s been so much fun writing these, and hearing everyone’s thoughts made the past week an absolute blast. Hope you enjoy!

Check out the rest of the series on the Series Masterlist!

If someone had told twenty-year-old Sirius that in a few years, he would be walking into a tattoo parlor, hand-in-hand with his husband as they prepared to get their wedding date permanently inked on his skin…well, he probably would have laughed in their face. He had never been a big fan of tattoos—they looked cool, sure, but he never understood the point of going through all that hullabaloo for something that would stretch and fade.

Now, though, he saw the point. Wedding rings were amazing, but they were easy to lose; tattoo ink, on the other hand, was a permanent reminder that he had scored the most wonderful person on the planet as his husband.

“Right this way,” Jaya, the young artist with bright blue hair said, smiling as they waved him and Remus into the back. “Congrats on the wedding, by the way. How long has it been?”

“Three weeks.” Remus squeezed his hand and Sirius smiled, running his thumb over the ring. God, he would never get tired of seeing it there.

“It went well, I assume?” Jaya asked as they began setting up.

“It was perfect.” Sirius felt a jolt of fear in his stomach when he saw the tattoo gun, but quickly quashed it down; they had done their research and worked on the design with Jaya even before the actual wedding. He wanted to do this.

“We talked about the process over the phone, but do you have any questions? I’ll go over aftercare again once we’re done.” Jaya paused for a moment, but neither of them spoke up. “Alright, then, which brave soul wants to go first?”

Best to get it over with, Sirius thought. “I can go,” he said, much quieter than intended. Remus raised his eyebrows and he kissed his forehead quickly in reassurance before settling into the chair. He let go of Remus’ hand for a second to pull his shirt over his head, then took it once again and tried to stop the fluttery nerves in his gut.

“Right in the center, yeah?” Jaya leaned down with a stencil, their silver-lined eyes flicking up to Sirius’ face.

“Yep.”

“Alright.” He swallowed hard at the cold feeling of the paper on his skin, just below the hollow of his throat. His neck felt bare without the necklace, but it would be back soon enough. Jaya held a mirror up to show the small numbers. “Look good?”

Sirius nodded. “Let’s do it.”

His heart hammered in his throat and he let out a shaky breath as Jaya cleaned the area and cleaned up their drawing, then picked up the tattoo gun. “Je t’ai,” Remus murmured as he closed his eyes in a last-ditch attempt at relaxing. “You’re alright.”

“Oh, fuck,” Sirius hissed when the needles touched his skin. He clenched his teeth and tightened his grip on Remus’ hand, breathing slowly as pain prickled all across his chest. It felt like a million bee stings, or the last week of his broken ribs healing.

“Do you need a break?” Jaya asked without looking up.

“Just keep going,” he managed, blinking rapidly at the ceiling. The buzzing sound wasn’t quite as frightening as the strange kind of pain, but it certainly didn’t settle his anxiety.

“You okay, baby?” Remus folded his other hand over Sirius’ and traced a pattern into his wrist.

“Mhmm.”

“Lily and James invited us to dinner next week. Harry’s been asking to see the new baby lions at the zoo with you specifically. He’s also learned the word ‘lame’ and won’t stop using it on James.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Lily says it was her fault, but she told James it was me who taught him to say it.” Remus rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

“It’s karma. You taught him to actually swear, after all.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Remus complained. “The line is, ‘that’s so unfair, sweetheart, and we need to get revenge’.”

“Right, sor—ow.” Sirius blew out a harsh breath as the needle skimmed over a sensitive patch of skin and bit the inside of his lip.

Jaya made a sympathetic noise. “Just a couple more minutes in this area and then we’ll take a break.”

Sirius turned his head toward Remus and quirked an eyebrow. “Were you trying to distract me?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” He moved one hand up to brush the hair off his forehead; Sirius melted into the touch, channeling his attention into the tingly feeling of Remus’ fingers in his hair. “Almost done, love.”

“I’ve got most of it done,” Jaya said, sitting back at last. “Just cleanup work now, and that’ll only take a few minutes. You’re lucky with all the muscle on your chest. It would hurt like a bitch if it was closer to the bone.”

“It already hurts like a bitch,” Sirius laughed, grimacing as Jaya flexed their hand and leaned in again.

“When you two told me your placements at our first appointment, I was a bit surprised,” they murmured, back in the zone already. “Most first-timers don’t choose such sensitive spots.”

“The placement was the important part,” he said, wincing.

“With your necklace, right?”

“Yep.”

“I always like it when people have cute meanings.” Jaya swiped their cloth over the small tattoo before continuing. “I mean, I got most of my ink because I thought it looked cool, but hearing people’s stories is the best part of the job.”

“Would you say the wrist or the chest is more painful?” Remus asked.

Jaya bit their lip. “Depends on the person. The chest area has more bone, but wrists are notorious for hurting.”

Remus hummed, but Sirius heard the edge of tension and kissed the side of his hand. “You’ll be fine.”

“You’re one in the chair,” he laughed. “I’m supposed to be reassuring you right now.”

Jaya glanced up at him. “Count down from thirty for me?”

Sirius frowned in confusion, but obliged; as soon as he reached ‘zero’, Jaya set the tattoo gun down and stretched their back out. “Was that—is it done?”

“Yep. Congrats, you’ve got a tattoo!” Jaya grinned as he sat up, then handed him a mirror. There, in black ink covering a space the size of a quarter, laid a perfect ‘6/12’. The skin around it was bright, angry red, but Sirius was more focused on the familiar slant to the six and the curl of the two; he had seen it written on the PT room whiteboard countless times and, more recently, their mock-up wedding invitations. “Do you like it?”

Sirius cleared his throat as a lump tightened it. “It’s—I love it. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” Jaya handed him his shirt as he stood. Remus took his place, looking a little pale as he rested his hand on the small table Jaya had set up next to the chair. “Still okay with the inside of your wrist?”

Remus hesitated, then set his jaw and nodded. “All good.”

“Are you sure.”

“A hundred percent,”

“Alright, let’s get that stencil on.” Jaya worked with clear intent and smooth ease—that had been one of the main reasons they decided on this shop above the others in the area. The cleaning was quick, Remus approved the stencil, and then they got to work.

“Holy fuck, you weren’t kidding about the wrist,” he half-laughed, gripping Sirius’ hand in a white-knuckled hold. “Now would be a good time to start talking, baby.”

“Oh! Um, we need to pick up eggs from the grocery store.” Jaya had to sit back as they both burst out laughing; Sirius put his face in his free hand to hide his blush. “Sorry, I panicked.”

“Why don’t you tell me about your day with Tremzy?” Remus suggested, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes as he settled back down.

“Yeah, okay,” Sirius said lamely. “Uh, I kicked his ass in Smash Bros.”

“You’ve got yourself a keeper,” Jaya said as they started working on Remus’ wrist again.

He smiled up at Sirius. “I know.”

The next fifty minutes passed much the same as they had while Sirius was getting his tattoo—he chatted almost nonstop, rambling about Logan’s terrible cooking and the standing invitation to bring Regulus along for a ‘we survived the Dumais house’ party. Remus scrunched his face up every few minutes, but Sirius kept their shoulders pressed together as he toyed with his free hand. Jaya gave him a thirty-second countdown as well before wiping away the last of the stray ink with a smile.

“How’s it look?”

Remus’ breath caught when he looked down, running his thumb along the lower edge. “That’s exactly what I wanted, thank you so much.”

“Any time, dude. Both of you have good pain tolerance.” They slid their cart to the side of the room again and stood, gathering some gauze and plastic wrap.

Remus leaned his head on Sirius’ shoulder with a sigh. “You have the prettiest handwriting.”

“And you have no excuse for forgetting our anniversary,” he teased, kissing his cheek. “How’s it feel?”

“Like I just got stabbed by a bunch of needles.”

Jaya snorted as he held his arm out for the bandages. “This might shock you, but…”

The three of them broke down laughing and Sirius shook his head, fiddling with the edge of the tape that he could feel under his shirt. A dull ache had begun spreading warmth over his skin and he knew the itching would drive him half-crazy over the next two weeks, but it was an easy price to pay for having his husband’s handwriting on him for the rest of his life. A permanent ‘I love you’, he had said the night after they decided on the design. Sirius smiled to himself as Jaya outlined the aftercare procedures. Permanent. Permanent sounded good.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

15x20

Spoilers for Season 15x20 finale

Summary: This is a semi-rewrite of episode 15x20...

Pairing: Dean x reader (reader is treated more like an OC than a typical reader)

Word Count: 2,000ish

Warnings: language, major 15x20 spoilers

A/N: I wrote this for myself honestly. I know it is idealistic and was never going to happen. Again, I’m sharing simply if you’re interested but please feel free to ignore. This picks up from a very obvious point in the episode...

______

Dean POV

“Fuck,” said Dean, his hand over his chest. Something big was stabbing into his back. This felt wrong though. A dull, achy pain trickled up and down his spine and across his chest. His heart was racing up and slowing down when it wanted and Dean shut his eyes as he recognized the feeling in his bones.

He was dying. The kind of dying a doctor can’t fix.

“Jack!” shouted Sam, Dean peeling open his eyes as he realized Sam was besides him, hand covered in blood. A few seconds later Jack appeared in front of them eating a bar of nougat. “Jack fix him. Please.”

“He said he was hands off,” said Dean with a wince, his whole body shaking. Jack cocked his head and walked over, touching Dean’s forehead. The next thing he knew, Dean was sat on the ground and taking a deep breath, the pain gone as he looked up. “You said you were hands off.”

“You’re my dads. Why wouldn’t I help you?” he asked, a confused look on his face. Dean chuckled and nodded, still holding onto his chest. “You seem upset. I’ll pop you guys home.”

“Kid there’s-”

“Those boys are okay,” said Jack, snapping his fingers. Dean was suddenly sat on the steps up into the library, Jack mentioning something about taking some nougat from the pantry before he headed out. 

“You alright?” asked Sam. Dean shook his head and he took a seat. Dean rubbed the heel of his palm against his chest and shuddered. “Jack got there in time.”

“If he hadn’t-”

“Dean-”

“If he hadn’t...because it was bad, Sammy. If he hadn’t...I’m so proud of you and I love you, so fucking much. I couldn’t have asked for a better baby brother, a better best friend. You just gotta tell me something. When the time comes, you’ll be okay without me. Tell me Sam. Please.”

“I’ll be okay,” said Sam quietly. Dean nodded and moved his hand to his lap, Sam scooting closer. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What?”

“Let’s get a house. We can get a big yard for Miracle. Run an operation like Bobby did, do the occasional case. Let’s go live more,” said Sam. Dean paused but rubbed his chest again and smiled.

“Dibs on the master bedroom,” said Dean. Sam chuckled and nodded. “Yeah. This place is home but I wouldn’t mind an upgrade.”

Two Months Later

“Miracle!” called Dean when he ignored the ball Dean had just thrown across the yard and ran around the corner of the house. “Miracle!”

“I think your daddy’s looking for you,” Dean heard a voice giggle. He walked around the house and saw a woman knelt down and ruffling the dog. “You’re so cute. You’re so cute.”

“Yes, I am,” smirked Dean as the woman popped her head up. “So, how can I help you and why are you parked in my driveway?”

“I’m Y/N. Y/N-”

“I heard of you. Hunter out of Alaska right?” he asked as she nodded. “You work a lot of Canada cases.”

“I did,” she said with a shrug. “I was thinking of retiring down south. Wondering if you got any tips on how to adjust.”

“A dog helps,” he said and she smiled, Dean looking her up and down. “You do realize this is Austin, Texas right?”

“This is south to me,” she said. “I know Donna through a friend of a friend. She said it’d be cool if I came and talked to you?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” said Dean, Miracle running over to the ball and rushing back with it. He nudged Dean’s hand and Y/N smiled. “You mind chatting while we do some fetch?”

“Not at all, Winchester.”

“Kinda funny how Eileen and Y/N know each other,” said Sam, Dean looking out the back window to where the girls and Miracle were sat on the back deck after dinner drinking a beer. Dean hummed and dried a plate, Sam nudging his arm. “You like her, don’t you.”

“You like her.”

“Dean.”

“Yeah, I like her. What’s the big deal?”

“Oh, I don’t know. A gorgeous, former hunter with your kind of humor, love for pie, muscle cars and classic rock that’s single just happens to have stuck around long after she got done talking to you.”

“I invited her to dinner.”

“She understands the life Dean. All the shit we carry. You’ve never tried with a hunter. Give her a chance.”

“Tried what?” said Dean, putting the plate in the cupboard. 

“You can have a relationship Dean. I’m pretty sure she likes you too,” said Sam.

“Hello, Dean,” said Castiel, both guys jumping as they spun around. They stared at the angel as Cas looked around. “I enjoy your home. The air is fragrant.”

“It’s a candle,” said Sam, pointing to the flickering light on the countertop. He blew it out and Dean walked around the island, shaking his head. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” said Dean, giving Cas a hug. Sam joined them and Castiel shrugged.

“Rebuilding heaven is labor intensive process,” said Cas before turning to Dean. “I felt you would be coming there soon a few months ago.”

“Why didn’t you pop down when you knew he was dying?” asked Sam.

“You are humans,” said Cas with a pout. “You will die someday. It’s an inevitable fact. Time is very strange in heaven in its relation to earth. I assumed you were an old man.”

“No, not old,” said Dean.

“Would you two like for me to prevent your deaths until a certain age?” asked Cas. 

“No,” they both said, Dean smiling. 

“But if we ask for help, you will help?” asked Dean.

“Always,” said Castiel. He tilted his head and looked out the back window. “Who is the woman with Eileen?”

“Y/N. Hunter from the Yukon area. Dean has a crush,” said Sam. He smirked when Dean whacked his arm, Cas still cocking his head. “You know her?”

“She’s quite drawn to Dean. Metaphysically speaking.”

“Yes cause whatever you just said was very clear. Like I’m five Cas,” said Dean. Cas sighed and pursed his lips.

“Jack has given me some extra power to help assist him better. I can see more of a person now,” said Cas. “Their energy, soul, things of that nature.”

“Okay...so what does that mean?” asked Dean.

“Oh your souls are quite intertwined. She’s your soulmate,” said Cas.

“Really?” said Dean, allowing a brief smile to cross his face.

“She also has a growing inoperable mass in her head that will kill her in the next few years. She suffers from headaches quite frequently,” said Cas. Dean sat down at the counter and stared out the back door, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Why can’t I be happy?” he breathed out. “For a fucking minute I can’t even be happy before the rug gets pulled out.”

“...Did you not want me to heal her?” asked Cas. Dean rolled his eyes and Cas’ glowed blue for a moment. “She’s fine now. You seem...emotional.”

“Well I am Cas,” said Dean. 

“You’ve been off since that hunt and the barn,” said Sam.

“Sam I shouldn’t be alive,” said Dean. “I got lucky.”

“You have sacrificed your entire life for others, Dean,” said Cas, Sam taking a seat next to Dean. “You should take advantage of your powerful friends. Let others care for you now. I will speak to Jack about the remaining monsters and their relocation to somewhere better suited for them, perhaps a new world.”

“Everything alright?” asked Y/N, slipping in through the back door with an empty beer bottle. 

“Yeah, we’re all good,” said Sam.

“Liar,” she said, smiling at Dean. “I’ll be right back.”

She excused herself to the bathroom, Sam and Cas going outside. Dean got another set of beers out just in time for Y/N to return. 

“Can I ask you a question?” she said.

“Shoot,” said Dean, handing her the drink.

“Your friend, the angel, did he just heal me? I’ve had constant headaches for awhile now. Brain tumor. I feel different. You guys wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with that would you?”

“You deserve to enjoy your retirement,” he said. “A very long retirement. You’re fine now.”

“I won’t be mad about that,” she said, leaning against the counter by him. She took a long sip and smiled. “I like you, Dean.”

“I like you,” he said.

“I’m gonna stick around town for a bit, see if things work out,” she said. He nodded and smiled, watching her smirk. “So there’s really no more monsters?”

“Uh, what?”

“I overheard Castiel when I walked in. Guess we’re really out of jobs now,” you said.

“I got an offer for a construction manager,” he said. 

“You gonna take it?” she asked.

“I think so. What do you think?” he asked.

“I think it’s a great idea,” she said. “Gotta keep busy somehow.”

“What’s your retirement look like?” he asked. She shrugged and smiled. “Now that death isn’t imminent.”

“Maybe I’ll find a guy, try the domestic thing,” she said, a soft smile staying on her lips. “Know anyone who might be interested?”

“I’m sure I can think of someone, sweetheart.”

One Year Later

“So what do you think?” asked Sam as he spun around in his suit in the family room.

“What do we think junior?” asked Dean, the baby on his lap clapping his hands. “He says dad’s gonna score tonight.”

“I fear for you teaching my son things when he’s a teenager,” chuckled Sam.

“That’s what Uncles are for,” said Dean as Y/N got up from the couch and started fixing Sam’s tie.

“And what Aunt’s are for to rein them in,” she said, smoothing it out. 

“Thank you,” said Sam. “Hey, when you two gonna have a kid?”

“Who says we aren’t?” smirked Dean. Sam went wide eyed and she rolled hers.

“We’re trying just recently. You will literally be the first to know once we do,” she said. She winked and Sam narrowed his eyes, looking back and forth between them then down to her stomach. 

“You’re so pregnant.”

“Ugh, we were gonna surprise you guys. Let us surprise, Eileen at least,” she said.

“You guys are pregnant!” said Eileen from over the balcony upstairs. Y/N laughed and headed up, Sam taking a seat next to Dean and plucking his son into his arms.

“You’re gonna be a real good dad. You got a lot of practice,” said Sam. Dean shrugged and Sam gave him a side hug. “I’m really happy he gets to know his Uncle, Dean. You’re gonna do great.”

“I’m really happy I get to be here too,” said Dean. He sat back and shut his eyes. “I owe you one.”

“For what?”

“The barn. I thought Jack wouldn’t come. I didn’t even bother. I thought that was gonna be it,” said Dean. “I didn’t want to go yet.”

“You don’t owe me for that,” said Sam, handing the baby back when he heard feet on the stairs. “Be good for Uncle Dean, baby boy.”

“Go have fun on your date, Sammy,” said Dean.

“You have fun on your stay at home date,” chuckled Sam. “See ya later, De.”

“Later, Sammy.”

_________

[megumi-stan]

|Soothe Me | M.F x Reader

A/N: It’s Soft Megumi hours! This was supposed to be a NSFW piece, but it was just so sweet i didn’t want to take the story there and distract from his loving and overall caring energy! 

All characters are aged up in this story! Also, quick reminder that I’m open for requests :) 

Dedication: Thank you so much @timewehad​ for sending such a sweet ask! You definitely motivated me to finish this thing i started a few days ago and completely forgot in my drafts! 

Fighting curses for a living had a price. Besides the constant endangerment of your life.

Sore muscles.

Every time you bent down to tie your shoes, seven different muscles pulled painfully and at least ten vertebrae locked in place, forcing your body into a struggle to straighten itself. If you could walk just looking at the floor without it being weird, you wouldn’t bother to endure the hell that came with a straight spine. If only you had eyes in the top of your head like some of those slimy creatures you fought regularly, your life would be ten times easier.

After one particular busy night, your bed was calling your name. Busy in the sense that little weak curses kept popping around every corner nonstop, like a wicked game of whack-a-mole, only without the hammer. If you had one of those at hand, you surely would feel a lot less stressed. Something about smashing things was an exceptional way to relieve pent-up frustrations.

Walking up to your bed proved to be an arduous task, with your stiff legs and trembling muscles, but slowly you made progress. Your chest felt like it was about to cave in from exhaustion as you were slightly aware of the shower running and Megumi’s soft voice mumbling the lyrics of some cheesy 80’s love song he unexpectedly knew the lyrics of.

The soft comforter brushed your legs when you got to the bedside, and with no grace flopped down face first into it. You tried to kick off your slippers, but failed terribly as they refused to let go of your feet, so giving up you just left your legs dangling off the side.

Megumi’s sweet singing and the storm outside was a perfect recipe for sleeping, and right at that moment sleeping was all you could manage. Lulled, you drifted off into the place between dream and reality, still slightly aware of everything going around you but too busy making up fictional scenarios where you were laying on Megumi’s chest as a soft warm breeze ruffled your hair and the smell of ocean drowned the smell of coffee that lingered in your bedroom.

“What are you doing?” The fog dissipated, and suddenly you were face to face with your boyfriend.

Megumi had gotten out of the shower and was crouching down on the floor. A soft smile curved the tip of his full lips and amusement glinted in his eyes. Your eyes scanned his face and traveled lower, to the sharp curve of his jaw and the smooth skin of his throat. Drops of water still clung to his bare chest and glistened under the warm light of lamp resting on your bedside table. He looked like one of those greek gods you often appreciated in old paintings, all hard muscle but with a peaceful aura surrounding him, looking like he was a minute away from growing wings and taking off into the sunlight.

You hummed in acknowledgment and turned to your side, ten different vertebrae and a shoulder blade popping in the process. You winced, eyes drifting shut at the sharp spike of pain followed by the bliss of relieved pressure off of your nerves.

“Well, that sounded painful...” His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair out of your eyes and they lingered on your cheekbone, tracing idle circles on your skin.  “I’m assuming work was a pain on your ass, huh?” Leaning in, his mouth lingered above your brow for a millisecond before pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead. His breath tickled you and warmth blossomed in your heart.

He got up and walked to the pile of clothes resting stop of a chair in the room’s corner. Your eyes followed his figure and never once blinked as you took in his graceful strides and the patch of pale skin often hidden by his pants, but now on full display because of the towel that hung dangerously low on his hips. He always complain about the word “beautiful” every time you used it next to the “you are”. He would argue non stop, stating you were just trying to boost his ego, but you never once found another word to describe him, and somehow you still felt that Beautiful wasn’t enough.

Not even the other girls gawking at him in the streets and shamelessly flirting while you, obviously his partner, stood next to him seemed to prove your point to Megumi. You couldn’t even be angry at the flirts. He was a sight worth of painting, framing, even adoring. He could be a god disguised as a mere mortal for all you knew, and even that would make more sense. It shouldn’t be possible for someone to be as breathtakingly beautiful as he was.

Even casually standing and just roaming through the pile of clothes, he made your stomach curl with something hot and heavy. The muscles on his arms flexed and his shoulder blades moved underneath his skin, doing very interesting things under the dim lights that had you hypnotized, eyes glued to his back and taking in everything they could, committing every single dip and crevice to memory. You could barely breathe while looking at him.

As if he could have felt your eyes on him like a caress, Megumi looked at you from the corner of his eye, a smirk tilted his mouth and a small barely noticeable dimple appeared on his cheek. Your muscles tensed at the sigh, suddenly too hot and bothered to relax when it was obvious he was evening something. The glint in his forest green irises was a dead giveaway.

Sighing intently while his eyes never once left your form, he loosened his grip on the towel. The white fabric slipped across his legs as it came undone and landed at his feet. Traveling the distance your fingers twitched to travel as well. He was sideways, showing you his profile as he grabbed a pair of loose black sweatpants. His well-defined thighs were teasing you, seemingly mocking you along with the deep V on his hip. His position was so that nothing too inappropriate could peek, and you were never awakened as fast as in that moment.

He slipped the pants on, managing not to flash you in the process and came right by your side, the smell of spice and pine from his deodorant enveloped you in a hug as he, in a sweet action that had your belly feeling funny from the amount of butterflies fluttering around, took off your slippers, his fingers casually brushing the arc of your feet and triggering chills down your arms.

“Thank you...” You muttered, turning to lie on your back. Another joint popped, but you couldn’t feel which one it was. Megumi Chuckled at this and shook his head while circling the bed. He sat down with his back against the headboard, going through his phone. His hip bone was leveled with your head and the temptation to just press your lips against it was poking your brain, but your body refused to move a few inches to do so. You were so exhausted and even tho it was worth it you couldn’t for the love of god lift your head from the mattress.

“Tired?” he questioned, while his fingers made their way to your head and sunk into your hair. With knowledge he had from years of dating and even before that when you two were just friends, Megumi’s fingers stroke your scalp, earning a soft hum of approbation from you. You looked up and found his eyes already on you, phone long forgotten because of the new task he had at hands.

“Yeah, a little…” You said, with your eyes fluttering close to enjoy the attention he was giving you.

Megumi patted your head a few times to catch your attention, and when you looked at him, he extended his arms towards you, asking you to get in between them. “Come here…” He invited, a sigh laced in his words.

You tried to push yourself up from the bed, but your treacherous arms failed you, giving up under your weight and sending you face first into your bed.

“Your helpless… You know?” Megumi chuckled under his breath before one of his arms snaked around your waist, his bicep flexing and pulling you onto his lap. Once he had you where he wanted, with your back pressed against his chest and his hands resting on your midriff, he kissed your cheek. Your eyes drifted shut simply enjoying his presence, letting the even rais and fall of his chest calm your mind. “Can i have a kiss?” he muttered, resting his chin on your shoulder, and peering at you with those forest green eyes that seemed to shine, and when he was so tender towards you, how could you deny?

Your chest soared with his words, so you turned your head to meet his awaiting lips, you could almost feel the softness of his mouth when a sharp searing pain stabbed your spine halting your movements as you squeezed your eyes tight. “Shit,” You cursed, pressing your palm against the ache in the back of your neck, hoping it would do something to soothe it.

“Oh, god… Baby, let me see?” Megumi’s fingers pried yours away and then brushed your hair away. His fingers thumb brushed your skin two times over the spot you were holding, and even though it still hurt, his concern seemed to tone the pain down a little.. “Does this hurts?” He applied a little more pressure and when you didn’t wince he kept going, tracing circles and working to erase the knots and kinks that bothered you. “Lean forwards for me…”

Doing just what Fushiguro instructed, you leaned forwards as he shifted underneath you. Suddenly you were no longer sitting on top of his legs but instead sitting in the mattress while his thighs circled yours, pressing against them and allowing his warmth to seep into your legs through the fabric of your jeans.

His other hand soon joined, and his fingers massaged your shoulders and neck intently. You could still feel the burn and sometimes when he pressed a little to hard on a specially sore spot you would yelp and try to get away from him, but he was fast to apologizes and land a kiss on the side of your neck.

You two spent fifteen minutes in that comfortable silence, until he perked up and and halted his movements

“I know what to do… Hold on a minute.” He shuffled behind you and leaped out of the bed, walking away into the bathroom without any explanation.

You just sat there, waiting, and wondering if he had some kind of lotion or cream to help you. You couldn’t recall ever seeing one in the shelves, but he often bought things and forget about them hours later.

The sound of running water rushed out and drowned the silence. You counted on your head, one minute, two, three… Still no signs of Megumi coming back to bed.

“Megumi?” Your answer came in the form of footsteps. Coming out of the room, he smiled at you as he approached. “What are you doing…?”

“Come here…” He said, not answering your question and scooping you up in his arms. On instinct your legs circled his waist while he supported your weight with his hands underneath your thighs.

“Megumi!” You laughed, surprised, clinging to his shoulders while he walked you two back into the steamed filled bathroom. The scent of flowers was what hit you first, closely followed by the sight of a filled tub with bubbles. “What?… Did you do this?” You asked in wonder, feeling cupid just shot another dozen arrows into your already pierced heart.

“Of course… You’re not feeling well, and a warm bath is a wonderful solution.” Pride shone in his eyes. He lowered you on the edge and took a step back. “Get in, and I’ll be right back.” He moved towards the door but hesitated before exiting the room. “Can you take off your clothes? Because I wouldn’t mind helping you out with that…”

“Oh god…” Embarrassment hit you like a wave and you covered your heated face with your hands. “That won’t be necessary, thank you. “

“Just looking out for my girl.” the dimple appeared again, and you almost wanted to crawl under the water to hide from the embarrassment. Even after all this time, he still earned a reaction from you.

“I’m sure you do.”

His laugh lingered in the air as he exited, and with shaky fingers you unbuttoned your jeans and slipped them off. The muscles on your back pulled as your pulled the hem of your shirt over your head, but you endured it. The sweet call of the warm water had you stripped down and inside the tub in no time.

Bubbles covered your chest as the heat from the water seeped into your body, the water brushed your chin as you just felt all the exhaustion from the day drain out of your body. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you lounged in the water like a tea bag without a care in the world.

“Comfortable?” Looking up, he was next to you once again.

“Very...”

He tapped something on his phone, and a soft guitar strummed. He placed it on the mirror shelf before grabbing the elastic of his pants. Noticing he was actually pulling them down, you turned away, covering your eyes.

“What are you doing!?” You asked, startled.

“Well... You seriously don’t expect me to get in with my pants on, do you?” He said matter-of-factly. And a shiver raced down your arms, while a heated wave pooled at the pit of your stomach.

“Are you getting in? You just showered! ” You stole a glance at him, forcing your gaze to stay on his face.

“Yes, but then you weren’t sitting in the bathroom with this much skin exposed... are you really embarrassed?” Laughing kicked the garment off. “You just watched me change a few minutes ago.”

“Shut up, Megumi.” You whined, fighting the urge to let your eyes roam.

“Come on, scoot over.” He laughed. “ I’m worried your might combust from embarrassment.”

Sighing, you moved forwards on the tub, letting enough space for him to sit behind you. The water rippled around you before you felt his soft skin brushing your bare back. His hands found yours and laced your fingers together.

“Better?”

“Yes, thank you, love...” You whispered, bringing your joined hands to your mouth and kissing his knuckles. Scars from past battles scattered the surface but you could only a testimony of his strength.

“Of course.” He squeezed you against his chest for a few heartbeats before asking. “Do you mid if I wash your hair?”

A heat that had nothing to do with the water temperature and all with the rumble of his words crept from your toes to your neck.

“I think I’d like that.”

Grabbing the bottle of shampoo, he dropped some of it on his palm and then he started robbing your scalp in lazy circles, his nails gently scraping it. You could feel his head swinging to the beat of the song sounding in the bathroom, before his voiced joined in.

Lyrics about love and happiness tumbled out of his mouth with a subtle rasp to them. And suddenly you were back to thinking about your dream, the one with beaches and warmth. Maybe a vacation wouldn’t hurt... You considered bringing it up, but the atmosphere was too serene to disrupt it with questions about his schedule. If you asked, it meant he had to stop singing in order to answer you, and that was the last thing you wanted at the moment.

Surely it was the warm water and his fingers, but sitting there listening to his voice and feeling his breath brushing your face, you concluded that Megumi’s mere presence was all you needed to feel better.

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Together 3: Her name.

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CW: torture, captivity, wounds, broken bones, cauterization mention, strangulation, choking, implied conditioning, implied dehumanization, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, whumpee as caretaker, burns, unconscious, blacking out

It’s been hotter than usual for the past few days, even in our damp basement room. The other room is even worse, with dry, unyielding heat, as oppressive as the hands that strangled me until I saw stars over and over a few hours ago. We’ve spent the whole day lying around, rewetting rags from the first aid supplies at the cool tap. It’s been running with less pressure now which is the only reason we’re not just sitting with our feet under it all the time. Neither of us was out of the room for very long today, like all of our captors just want to go off to some pool or find somewhere air-conditioned to drink a cold beer. 

“I’d kill for an Icee right now,” I say, rolling onto my side to see if she knows what I’m talking about. 

She only turns her head, to show me her furrowed brow. I wonder if that means she’s been in this hole long enough she’s never had one or if she’s just from someplace where they have a different name. 

I explain, “It's like a slushy, you know grated ice and syrup. My favorite used to be these white cherry-flavored ones, but they were rare, so every time I saw it in a machine, I’d get the biggest size. It was so good. It would kind of burn in your mouth from whatever was in there, not quite sour but not too sweet either.” 

She raises one eyebrow and grimaces. 

“No, really they were good. I swear, Babe. I’ll—” I stop myself before I offer to buy her one sometime like we’re just new coworkers chatting by the water cooler instead of two people who might never see the light of day again. 

My almost-slip-up wasn’t missed and she rolls onto her back, staring up at the ceiling again. 

I suck at this. 

She’s always falling all over herself trying to help me, give me extra food, and protect me in whatever way she can. It’s not like I can return the favor even when she comes back leaning into the wall for support or looking so dazed I want to rock her in my arms. Even then, she does her best to help me before finally collapsing on her bed or sometimes mine when she knows I can walk to the other. The least I can do is try to distract her but I don’t know the first thing about her. 

One time, I asked if she knew any sign language or had ever played charades. I thought she was going to pass out because she’d frozen and held her breath so long. When she finally let out a breath and opened her eyes, she was blinking past tears. She’d shaken her head once, gaze vacant and dark, jaw still tight. Clearly, she’s not allowed to do anything more than be expressive with her face. Even her nodding has practiced restraint. She never does it more than once. It makes my stomach twist to think of what kind of sicko would reduce another human being to that. My torture makes sense but not hers and I still don’t know what goes on beneath the surface. It makes me wonder if it’s personal. Maybe he has some kind of vendetta. 

We could play twenty questions but I get the sense that might also be crossing the line. I don’t want to risk it. It’s uncomfortable enough without sending her into a panic or whatever it is that happens every time she gets cornered by her conditioning. She’s also still stuck wearing the long-sleeved turtleneck and leggings, while I’m shirtless in ratty shorts, so she must be stifling. They’re clean and soft at least, and I know she gets to shower every day if that’s any kind of comfort. I have no idea, it could be painful in itself for all I know. This is just making me depressed. Her situation is so much worse than mine. I’m sure she’ll be here long after someone messes up and pushes me into a grave sooner than planned. Even if they don’t, I know I have an expiration date, but I get the sense she’s a permanent fixture here. 

I push myself up, catching the lukewarm rag before it falls into my lap. I still have bandages on the cauterized stab wounds but the rest have scabbed over fine. Some of them might not even scar that badly, not that I care. Half my fingers are still taped, which is a pain, but it’s not like I have anything to do anyway. I walk over to stand beside her and hold my hand out for her rag, keeping away until she holds it up so I can grab the opposite hanging end, a good six inches from her fingers. I have enough useable fingers to twist the tap on but I have to wring the fresh water out of the rags between the heels of my hands so they aren’t dripping. I shut off the water and turn around. 

She’s propped herself up on her elbows and quickly looks up at the ceiling, eyes overflowing. I forgot that the burn scar on my back from a while ago sometimes does that to her, even though it’s long-scabbed over by now. I was pretty out of it for a few days after but every time I woke up she was doing that haunting, silent sobbing, like she was feeling every inch of it, too. I hope to god it’s not because she’s covered in similar burns.

I’ve never actually seen it but I can feel that it runs from the top of my left shoulder blade all the way to my right hip and there’s a curve from the hook at some point. When he did it, he wore some kind of fireproof gloves and pressed it into my skin, to get an uninterrupted line the entire length of the poker even with the curves of my spine and my then-present back muscles making it a less-than-flat surface. I’d passed out after a few minutes of screaming and choking on my own spit and snot. I don’t know how long he kept it there after but it took the longest to heal of everything, at least so far. 

I hold the cool rag out to her by one end, letting her grasp it from the other and give her a small smile. She returns it, meekly, and lies back down, eyes following me as I sit on the edge of my bed and stretch my legs out in front of me. 

“Okay, how about I—”

The light goes off. I didn’t realize it was “night” yet… 

She sucks in a breath and I hear her shift on the other side of the room. 

I jump to my feet, feeling the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and blink, trying to adjust to the dark, but I can’t see anything and she’s just shadows wearing all black. I think I see her hovering just beside the door but I can’t be sure and that’s when I notice the red light is also off. 

“Hey—”

Her cool hands grip my wrists and she pulls me down to sit on the floor between the beds. She really is like a cat burglar sneaking around soundlessly. My foot touches her shin so I uncross my legs and put my feet on the ground, pushing myself back until I’m against the metal bed frame. It’s only a few degrees colder than my body in this heat but it still feels nice. I can’t be sure in the dark, but it feels like she’s followed me and closed the distance I just tried to make although, we’re still only touching where she holds onto my wrists. She drops one now and keeps my right hand in both of hers, cradling it palm side up in one hand while the other still grips my wrist. 

“What—”

She lifts my hand with a little tremble to her grasp, brings it up so my middle finger brushes against her chin as she shakes her head. She lowers my hand, still cupped in hers, and presses her finger against my lips for a moment then she taps my ear. 

I nod while she can still feel it. I guess that even if they can’t see us, they can hear us. I trust she knows better than I do since clearly, that would be a keystone to whatever process resulted in this being the closest to a two-sided conversation we’ve ever had. 

She takes a deep breath and brings her shaking finger to my palm. At first, I don’t understand and think maybe she just wants to be near. Then I realize she’s spelling something. I gently shake my hand under her fingertip, like erasing an etch-a-sketch, so she’ll start again. She inhales again, which makes me think she understood. 

The first is E, I think. The next two are the same, following the assumption that the first was oriented to my perspective. One more and it’s unmistakable. I catch her paused, hovering finger in mine, gently, so she can pull away, but she doesn’t. 

E-M-M-A. 

It’s her name. She told me her name. 

I almost speak it out loud before realizing what it would mean if they heard. She effectively broke her silence by doing this and I don’t even know what she is risking or why she decided it was worth it.

I slowly take her whole hand in both of mine, tenderly, like holding a bird. Her breathing hitches up a notch and I can tell she’s already been working to keep it quiet. I bring her hand to my lips. This feels like a long shot and like it might be confusing or dumb, but I have to try. I know she’s likely not a lip reader but maybe for someone locked in silence, it will mean something. 

Emma, I mouth, Emma, Emma, Emma. 

Her hand is trembling by the time she slips it out of mine. She’s intermittently, unsteadily holding her breath.  

By now, I can see her silhouette in the dark and she is as close as possible without touching me. She—Emma—is sitting, curled up tight with her chin on her knees, arms wrapped around her legs in between my legs. My knees must be level with her shoulders and I can smell the scent of soap on her. I reach out slowly and her eyes flash to the side as they register my hand but she doesn’t move. I softly touch the pad of my thumb to her cheekbone, just under the outside of her right eye, and find it damp. I don’t dare lay the rest of my hand on her face but I can feel the air warming between our skin, growing heavy, until it develops its own polarity.

I don’t know how long we stay like that before footsteps in the hall separate us. She takes my hand in both of hers and squeezes my palm before going to stand by the door where a lackey appears with a flashlight and she goes quietly. They don’t come back for me and I eventually fall asleep. When I wake up, the red light is back but Emma is not. 

Previous — Masterlist — Next

[crystalninjaphoenix]

The Winter Solstice

Fantasy Masks AU: Chapter Seven

A JSE Fanfic

Well after last week’s brief foray into writing for a different fandom, we return to the septics once again. The FM!septics to be exact. It’s the winter solstice, meaning there are holidays to celebrate! Chase, Jackie, and Henrik have a great day that totally doesn’t become suddenly serious near the end haha nope just fun times all around with some world building and character development :) Enjoy :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The day dawned cold and snowy, but nobody at Wyvernlair cared. Not when today was the winter solstice. This was a time for celebration! And with all the people in the camp, there was bound to be a big party. Preparations had been ongoing for the past few weeks. Food was made, games were planned, and time was set aside for those honoring the various holy days. When the day itself dawned, normal duties were put on hold so that everyone could join in. 

Chase woke up at sunrise. He had a quick breakfast—light, since there would be a lot of food at the feast planned for that night—and strolled about, taking in the changes. Everyone was bustling about as usual, but now they chattered with excitement. Some people had hung decorations outside their tents: replicas of snowflakes made from white-painted sticks, candles with carved designs set on the ground, pine branches and snippets of other winter-blooming plants scattered about. Combined with the white layer of snow, it was quite beautiful.

Yet, Chase felt a pang somewhere deep in his chest. Last year, he’d spent Longest Night with his family and the rest of the village. There’d been town celebrations in the square. He helped Quentin carve his first candle. And now? Now, he didn’t know where his family was.

“Chase!”

He was snapped out of his melancholy thoughts when he heard someone call his name. In the middle of turning to see who it was, that ‘someone’ barrelled straight into him. “Oof!” He was about to respond, but found he couldn’t, because he’d been wrapped in a tight bear hug.

“Sorry, did I knock the wind out of you? Sorry!” Jackie was too full of energy to notice he apologized twice. He gave Chase one last squeeze before breaking off the hug.

“It’s okay, just give me more warning next time.” Chase took a minute to catch his breath. “Well. Happy Longest Night, then?”

“Happy Longest Night, then!” Jackie repeated. He whirled his cloak around dramatically. It was still red, but slightly nicer, with a fur lining. His wolf mask was pushed back, sitting on his forehead. “You know the plan, right? We’re having games all day. War games, dice games, card games—a few strategy games, too, the ones we have the boards for in storage. Then there’s the feast later, and the Dark Vigil tonight.”

“Yea, I understand,” Chase said, a faint smile on his face. He couldn’t help it; Jackie was contagious. “How many people will be at the Vigil?”

“A fair share. Schneep won’t; he does something at moonrise instead.” Jackie shrugged. “Are you planning to do any of the games? What about archery?!”

Chase laughed. “No, no, I’m not good enough to compete in a war game. I’ll probably just drift around and join in where I can. Do you think anyone will be playing Luck of the Deal? I’m very good at that.”

Jackie rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s good at Luck of the Deal. That’s the whole thing about it, it’s luck.”

“You don’t know that. There’s skill involved, too,” Chase insisted.

Jackie patted his shoulder. “Whatever you say, Hunter. It’ll be some time before everything really gets going. Anything you want to do before that?”

“Umm...” Chase thought about it. “Well, is there anything I can do to help with the feast preparations? That’s usually a community thing, isn’t it?”

“Well we already have a lot of volunteers for cooking. They’ve already gotten started, in fact.” Jackie thought about it. “But if you want to help, you could put your hunting skills to the test in the surrounding woods. Always good to have more food than less, on these occasions. People would eat their plates, if it was possible.”

Chase laughed. “Oh, I know that. Amabel would eat us out of home on Longest Night. She must’ve gotten her appetite from Stacia’s side of the family.” Saying their names, the melancholy threatened to return.

“Honestly? I have a confession.” Jackie leaned closer. “I’m one of those types, too.”

“Oh? Somehow, that makes sense.”

“And somehow I’m offended.” Jackie gave him a playful shove. “If you want to go ahead, you know where the shortbows and arrows are. Oh!” His eyes widened as he remembered something. “But try not to shoot any pigeons. Those are important.”

“Important?” Chase put the pieces together. “You mean...messenger birds?”

Jackie nodded. “I don’t expect anyone to send messages on the solstice except for an emergency, but there might be some arriving that were sent a fews days, or even a week, ago. It takes a while to fly across the island.”

“Got it. I won’t shoot any pigeons.” Chase shook his head, a bit in awe. “Messenger birds.” He’d heard of them, but never seen them in use. Somehow, they seemed almost as magical as actual magic. Getting letters sent across the kingdom in a matter of days? That was amazing. “I’ll just head out, then.”

“Good luck, Chase!” Jackie said cheerfully, waving as he turned to leave. “Be back before noon, that’s when the fun will start!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

If possible, it was even colder out in the forest, away from the magic heat of the dragon bones. Chase clutched his jacket tighter and made sure his hat was securely on his head. He doubted that he’d find any animals out here. By Longest Night, most of them were hibernating. But it was worth a shot.

Snow crunched under his feet, so he slowed down, carefully placing every step so it wouldn’t make too much noise. There wasn’t a lot of foliage to hide behind in the winter, but he had made sure to grab a white jacket from storage to help him blend in. He’d also turned his hat inside out so that the red ribbon around it didn’t show. After a while, he found what he thought was a good spot to wait. So he settled down, nocking an arrow so it would be ready to fly at any moment.

The world became very still. The only sound he heard was his breath, accompanied by the small puffs of mist that breath caused in the cold. He made sure not to move a muscle.

Until there was a sudden sound. Footsteps, very light, being pursued by much heavier ones. His eyes darted towards the sound. The bare branches of a bush rustled, and suddenly a streak of brown fur dashed out in front of him followed by something much larger—

Chase reacted, letting go of the bow string and loosing the arrow. It shot through the air and landed solidly in the brown furry something. Shocked, he laughed in the rush of actually shooting something moving that fast. But then a voice cried, “I knew it!”

“Wh...?” And Chase finally noticed what the large something pursuing the small animal actually was. He looked up from his position near the ground to see...Lukas. It took him a moment to recognize him without his usual fox mask, but once the brown-auburn hair and tall longbow registered, his heart immediately sank with dread. “What are you doing—”

Lukas took an arrow out of the quiver on his back and nocked it, aiming at Chase. “Did you think you could take me out when nobody was looking?! Claim it was an accident?!”

“What in the world?!” Chase stood up. Slowly, of course, he didn’t want to get skewered by that massive arrow. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t try to play dumb, you just tried to kill me!”

“I was shooting the rabbit!” He pointed at the small animal, which was, in fact, a rabbit.

“A likely cover story.”

All of a sudden, Chase felt hot rage rise up his throat. “I know you hate me but you don’t have to be an idiot about it!” he burst out.

That seemed to take Lukas by surprise. He blinked, and lowered his bow slightly.

“I don’t know what kind of trust issues you have or where they come from, but I’m sick of you always acting this way! I’ve been here for almost a full season now, and you still act like I’m about to stab you in the back the first opportunity I get! I know, you’re probably thinking something like ‘he’s playing a long game to get everyone to trust him,’ but let’s be honest, you’re just looking for any justification to be like this. I wouldn’t trust someone like me in your position either, but I wouldn’t be so obvious about it. You don’t have to like me, you don’t have to trust me, but elders be damned, you don’t have to stir up this much trouble for Jackie and Henrik and everyone else here!” Chase ran out of breath and was forced to stop. He waited silently for Lukas’s reaction.

For a while, there wasn’t one. Lukas just...stared at him. Then he lowered his bow fully, putting the arrow back in its quiver. “What are you doing out here?” he asked in a carefully-neutral tone.

“We have some time before the real celebrations start, so I thought I’d help out by trying to find more food for the feast,” Chase explained. He walked past Lukas and picked up the rabbit, trying not to feel sad. Something about shooting rabbits made him feel guilty. Maybe he respected how hard they worked to stay alive, running so swiftly. Or maybe he thought they were cute. “What are you doing out here?”

“The same thing,” Lukas answered.

Chase snorted. “And you decided to bring that monster of a bow for hunting?”

“It’s more powerful than yours,” Lukas retorted.

“Yes, but it’s also heavier and more cumbersome. I remember my second day here, Holly said that big bows like that were more suited for long range, while shortbows—” Chase waved his bow as an example. “—are better for mobility. Look at all these trees. Do you think you’re able to shoot long range in a forest? Not to mention if you miss, you’ll end up burying your arrow in a tree with all the force you need to fire it. That’ll just be a pain to pull out.”

“I know all this,” Lukas said irritably. “But I’m most familiar with this style of bow. I can make it work.”

“Maybe if you weren’t stomping around the woods,” Chase muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“You were running after the rabbit. Bad idea; you’ll never catch up with them. It’s better to wait and let the animals come to you. If you have to move, be quieter about it. And slow. Conserve your energy; animals get tired faster than humans.” Chase glanced downwards. “You’re wearing heavy boots, I see. Those will make a lot of sound no matter how much you try to be quiet. And your clothes stand out, too. Especially that red band on your wrist. It’s bright and you have to hide it. Like I did.” He turns his cap right-side out again, letting the red ribbon show.

“Hmm.” Lukas eyed him. He did that quite a lot, but somehow, it felt different this time. More...respectful. “Well. I’ll keep that in mind.” He turned away.

“Um...right.” Now that Lukas was leaving, Chase felt the sudden energy that had filled him starting to fade away. “I’ll...see you at the celebrations, then.”

Lukas didn’t say anything, but he raised his hand in acknowledgement, not stopping as he headed back to camp.

Well...that wasn’t too bad, all things considered. Lukas clearly didn’t think worse of him. And he had managed to shoot a rabbit, something he’d rarely done in all his years as a hunter. Though he’d only done that because the rabbit was too busy running from Lukas to notice him crouching nearby. So really, he should thank him.

Maybe later. For now, Chase headed back to camp, ready to join in on the festivities.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   

By the time Chase returned to Wyvernlair, the festivities were starting to get underway. Games, mostly. People gathered in circles playing cards, or in threes playing dice, or in pairs playing board games. Others clustered around the players, watching the game and shouting encouragement. Some food was already prepared. Plates of sweet buns and meat pies were passed around. Chase grabbed a couple buns as he looked around.

But though the camp inside the circle of dragon bones was crowded, most people were out on the combat field. That was where the war games were set up. Chase decided to stop by for a moment. Even if he wasn’t going to participate, he wanted to see how things were going.

Targets were set up for archers to test their skill. People had grabbed close-quarters training weapons and were sparring, onlookers cheering on their favored winner. Someone had dragged over a rock and a large branch, setting up a makeshift see-saw that people were standing on top of, trying to knife-fight without losing their balance. Chase shook his head at that particular event. He himself had some scars on his hands from knife-fights as a young man; they really weren’t worth the bragging rights. 

There was an especially large crowd gathered around one particular sparring match. Chase stopped, edging his way into the mass of people as he tried to see what was going on. Wait a minute...was that Jackie?

Indeed, Jackie was one of the sparring participants. And he was easily outclassing his opponent. He easily danced around jabs and swipes, not striking for a while, then jumped forward and hit his opponent on the side with his wooden practice sword. The crowd cheered, and the two participants backed away, shaking hands as they parted. Chase could’ve sworn he saw money change hands among the watchers.

“Anyone want to go for another round?” Jackie called to the crowd. “Doesn’t have to be to the first contact. What about to the ground?”

At that, a tall man grabbed a practice sword from a nearby rack, stepped forward, and announced, “I accept the challenge!” The crowd cheered again. “To the ground!”

Jackie grinned. “To the ground! Someone give us a count!”

In unison, the crowd started chanting, counting down from five as Jackie and his opponent started circling each other. Chase joined in. “Five!...Four!...Three!...Two!...One!...Clash!”

The two men immediately started going at each other with the practice swords, jabbing and backing up, swiping and dodging. The new opponent tried to make use of his height advantage, but Jackie was just too fast. The sparring lasted a few minutes and the crowd was enthralled for every second. Until Jackie managed to get behind his opponent and knock out his legs, making him fall to the ground. The crowd cheered. The opponent got up, looking no worse for wear and in good spirits. He shook hands with Jackie before leaving. Now Chase was sure he saw people exchanging money.

“He’s got skill, doesn’t he?”

Chase looked up, and saw Holly standing beside him. “Oh. Yea, he’s really good.”

Holly laughed. “That’s an understatement. You know he trained at Fíornear Field?” Chase nodded. “Well, so did I. But he could beat me in a fight nine times out of ten.”

“Really?” Chase asked, interested. “That many times? I thought it would’ve been closer between you two.”

“Everyone does. I say it’s the size difference. But what Jackie lacks in height, he makes up for in practice and sheer determination.” Holly watched as Jackie started sparring with another opponent. “Anyway, Chase. Come to watch or try your hand?”

Chase laughed. “No, no, just watching.”

“Well. In that case.” Holly leaned closer. “Care to try for chance?”

“You mean betting? Don’t tempt me.” Chase shook his head. “Besides, I can tell that betting against Jackie is a waste of time and money.”

“Doesn’t have to be at this spar. There’s many more war games to be had. I hear there’s axe throwing.”

“Axe throwing?” Chase perked up. “Alright, I have to see that. Lead the way.”

Holly laughed, and the two of them left, heading towards a set of targets. Indeed, some people had taken up throwing axes at these targets. Not competing against each other at the moment, only themselves, and also showing off for the passersby. Chase watched as one of the axe-throwers hit the center of her target. Then, surprisingly, he recognized the axe-thrower. “Nemet!” he called.

Nemet turned around, smiling at him. “Hello, Chase! How are you?”

“I’m doing fine. What are you...uh...I didn’t know you threw axes.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is it so unexpected?”

Chase shrugged. “Well, you’re a doctor.”

“I am. I am a doctor who likes to throw axes.” Nemet picked up a throwing axe on the ground beside her. She held it back, paused to aim, and threw. It landed right next to the last one she threw. Holly and Chase clapped, impressed.

“Wanna shoot something, Brodyson?”

Chase yelped in surprise at the voice that came from behind him. He spun around to see Tripp grinning up at him. “You did that on purpose,” he accused.

“Maybe,” Tripp said. He was tossing a rock back and forth between his hands. Getting bored of that, he threw it to the side. Magically, the rock curved around, shooting for the target, where it bounced off the handle of one of Nemet’s axes. “Ah, almost a bull’s eye. Anyway, wanna shoot something, Brodyson? We could have a triple competition, axes versus arrows versus sorcery.”

“Hmm.” Chase considered it. “You know I had only planned to watch, but...that doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Don’t let him pressure you if you don’t want to, Chase,” Nemet said.

“No, do let him pressure you, I want to see this!” Holly insisted.

Chase laughed. “Alright, fine. Just a few rounds.”

Though as the afternoon passed, those few rounds stretched out into many. Chase had never been one for war games, but somehow, he didn’t mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  

Eventually, of course, came the main draw of the winter celebrations: the feast. The people who’d volunteered to cook had been preparing food all day, and shortly before sunset, declared it ready. Instantly, a good half of everyone dropped what they were doing and headed over to the cooking fires.

Chase wasn’t sure what to expect from the feast. Wyvernlair didn’t use tables for food, so would everyone be standing around with plates? But it seemed as though they’d found tables, if just for today. Probably borrowed from storage. Some of the meat stayed on the skewer, roasting over the fires to keep it hot until someone wanted it. But most food was lined up on the tables, free to take. Sweet buns and meat pies, of course, but also preserved fruits that had been kept for a special occasion like this, and tarts covered in sugar, and pumpkin pie, and roasted potatoes, and more than could be counted.

Everyone ate until they couldn’t anymore, washing down the food with water, juice, and ale. Chase savored it, mingling and talking with the other Phantoms. And for once, he didn’t feel out of place here.

Time passed. The sun set. And as the feast died down, most people began talking about the Dark Vigil, the ceremony used to honor the Elder of Dark and thank them for protecting humankind from the shadows. Chase yawned. They’d be holding that in the center of camp, where a spot had been cleared specifically for that purpose. But it would be some time before everyone was ready. So, Chase decided to slip out. He headed towards the outside of the skeleton, away from the noise and bustle.

The stars were beautiful tonight. It was clear, without any clouds fogging the view, and the moon was nearly full. Chase leaned back against the bone and stared upward. He hadn’t really had the opportunity to appreciate the world lately. It was all busy, working with the Masked Phantoms. But it was nice to slow down for a moment.

Some minutes passed in silence. Then, he heard footsteps approaching. And then, a small thud, the sound of stumbling, and a muttered “Shiesse!”

Chase looked over towards the sounds, already grinning. “You doing alright there, Henrik?”

With a huff, Henrik emerged from the darkness. “I would be better if I know no one heard that,” he muttered.

Chase laughed. “Anyway, how’re you doing? I haven’t seen you all day.”

“Ah, I am fine.” Henrik leaned against the bone next to Chase. “I have been stuck in a dice game for most of the evening. I almost missed the moonrise.”

“I see. Jackie told me you had to do something around then. Is it like the Dark Vigil?” Chase asked.

“Similar, in ways. Different, in others.” Henrik looked up at the sky. He pointed upwards, at the moon. “She is beautiful tonight, yes? I never understood why your Elders never come from the sky.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Well, I understand there is the Winged Elder One, but they are for more weather, yes?” Henrik kept his eyes fixed skywards. “None of them are for the heavens.”

“Well why would they be?” Chase shrugged. “The sky’s beautiful and wonderful. But it’s so far away. We live on the earth. Shouldn’t we be more concerned with what’s down here?”

“Hmm. Perhaps.” Henrik sighed. He reached down his belt, removing his flask and taking a drink.

“Oh—” Chase started to say something, then stopped. It would probably be rude to ask, wouldn’t it?

Henrik looked over at him, and guessed what he was about to say. “Yes, I am still taking the medicine. It is...not something that goes away.”

“Sorry,” Chase mumbled. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Is okay,” Henrik said, giving him a small smile. “You are polite about it, so I do not mind.” He returned the flask to his belt. “Ah, though I am afraid I must change the subject now. I just remembered. We managed to get the materials for more plaster this week. So you can finally have a mask of your own!”

“I can?” Chase repeated.

“No need to sound so surprised,” Henrik chuckled.

“I did? I didn’t mean to. It just seems a bit...unreal.” Chase had left his borrowed mask, the hedgehog one, back in his tent. Most people had—or at least he assumed they had, since most of them were walking around without them.

“Yes, I understand.” Henrik nodded thoughtfully. “Do you want to wait?”

“Wait no, I didn’t say that—”

“I am just making sure.” Henrik playfully nudged his shoulder. “You will need to choose an animal, you know. Do you have anything in mind?”

“Oh right. I forgot about that part.” Chase thought about it for a moment. “What about...a deer?”

Henrik raised an eyebrow. “A deer?”

“Is that not allowed? I mean, Tripp’s mask has those ram horns so I figured antlers would—”

“No, is not that, I just suppose I did not expect that.”

Chase shrugged. “I like deer. They’re good animals. Um...do I have to make the mask myself, or...?”

“You can if you want, but if you’re not artistically inclined, someone else could do it easily enough. It’s not that difficult if you are...” Henrik trailed off. He was staring out into the trees, eyes fixed on a point. “Chase. Is something moving there?” And he pointed.

“Hm?” Chase peered into the darkness. Indeed, he could see the faint movement of shadows. “Oh, yea. It’s probably just an animal.” He paused. “That’s...getting closer?”

They looked at each other, but unsure what to do with this information, just turned back to watch the animal get closer. And closer. It was too small to be a threat, but Chase felt Henrik tense anyway. Eventually, the animal got close enough to make out what it was. “A...cat?” Chase asked, confused.

“A cat,” Henrik agreed.

“What’s a cat doing all the way out here?”

“I am not sure...” Henrik said slowly, brows lowered as he thought through the possibilities.

The cat continued its course, walking in a straight line up to the two of them. Chase crouched down and held out his hand. “Here, kitty.” Once it was close enough, the cat sniffed his hand. Then, satisfied, butted its head against it. Chase laughed. “Y’know I haven’t met that many cats. When I was young, maybe about twelve, Pastor Cait had a cat. We joked about that, since her name was so similar, ha. But it’s gone now. I don’t think the town had another cat since then. A couple dogs, but no cats.” He reached out and petted it. And after a few seconds of that, scooped up the cat and stood. “Does someone here have a cat?”

“No, there are no animals in camp,” Henrik said, still puzzled. “Does it have a collar?”

Chase checked. Difficult, given that the cat clearly didn’t like being held and was wriggling a bit. “Yea, right here.” He pointed to a braided leather collar around the cat’s neck. “No name, though. For the cat or its person.”

“Well. It is cold and snowy, and even with that fur, I don’t think the cat enjoys being out here,” Henrik stated. “Maybe we should take it into camp? We have that fire set up in the skull now, that could warm it up.”

“Good idea.”

The two of them headed back, passing between the dragon bones and into the main body of Wyvernlair. By now, the festivities were starting to die down. Games were ending, and a lot of people were getting ready to attend the Dark Vigil. Chase and Henrik walked quickly by, since the cat was really struggling against being held by this point. Luckily, it hadn’t used its claws yet, but Chase could already feel them digging into the fabric of his jacket.

They reached the skull soon, passing through the gap where it joined the rest of the bones and ending up inside. It was almost empty here. Except for two people and several birds. Chase blinked a bit at the surprising sight, but then remembered what Jackie had told him that morning. So these must be messenger birds, then. There were about seven of them, pigeons in a variety of colors; white, gray, brown, spotted. Actually, Jackie was here, too. Along with Ana, who Chase had figured out by now was the head of organization at Wyvernlair. They both seemed rather impatient, quickly putting away documents. Probably heading to the Vigil like most others.

Ana looked up, noticed Chase and Henrik, then turned to Jackie and said, “It’s your best friend and his best friend. They have a cat.”

“They have a what?” Jackie spun to look at them. “Oh elders, you have a cat. Where’d you get a cat?”

“It just wandered up,” Chase said. “We thought it might like to get out of the cold—ow!” The cat dug its claws into his skin, managing to pierce the jacket, and Chase instinctively opened his arms. Of course, the cat landed on its feet, and trotted over to the side of the fire, which was slowly dying but still giving off a lot of heat.

“I’ve never seen a cat like that before,” Jackie muttered. “That’s a really unique pattern, isn’t it?” The cat was mostly a brownish off-white, but its ears and tails were dark gray, almost black, and the tail had rings of lighter gray. Its legs were striped with light brown, and it had markings on its face of the same color. Big blue eyes stared up at the strange people.

“Oh!” Henrik’s eyes lit up. “I had not noticed outside! It was fairly dark. Oh, you are a pretty kitty, aren’t you?” He slowly approached the cat, and when it didn’t run away, bent over and started petting it.

Meanwhile, Ana was bored, and anxious to leave. She looked at Chase, and her eyes lit up with a strangely sly expression. “Hey, it’s Chase, isn’t it? Do you mind helping me open this?” She held out a small tube made of metal and leather. “I’ve been trying for a while, I think it’s stuck.”

“Um..sure,” Chase said warily. Was this going to be a joke of some kind? He took the small tube and turned it over in his hands. There was a door on the side of it, and after some effort, he figured out how to open it. Out fell three items. Two folded pieces of paper, made of pressed wood pulp and therefore pale brown, and a rolled-up piece of vellum tied with twine. “What’s this?”

“Messages,” Ana said, grinning. “Can you see names written on them?”

Chase looked down at the items, sorting through them. There was writing on the folded papers, but...well, it could just be his lack of reading skills, but it looked like absolute nonsense. “These are names?” he asked doubtfully.

Jackie and Henrik looked away from the cat, noticing the exchange between Chase and Ana. “What do you mean?” Jackie asked.

“These words written here, these are...names?” Chase shook his head. “I’ve just never heard names like this before. Um...here, I-I’ll try to read them. Uh...” He squinted at the writing in ink on the two papers. “This one is ‘Ee-uh-oo-koh’ and this one is...um...‘Ffssehffmuh.’ I think? The handwriting could be—”

Henrik’s eyes widened. Suddenly, he was right next to Chase, grabbing his arm and squeezing it tightly. “What is it?! The two papers?! Which one is—that one, can I see that one?”

“Whoa, hey, calm down!” Chase leaned back. “You mean this one?” He held out the paper with the ‘Fsefma’ name on it.

“Yes!” Henrik snatched it up, then retreated, unfolding it.

Jackie leaned over his shoulder, then grinned. “Oh, I see. Vsevna sent you a little letter, didn’t he? What’s it say? Is he confessing his love?”

“Shut up, Jackie,” Henrik said, holding the letter far away from him so he couldn’t read it. “Is just another report.”

Jackie laughed. “Yea, with your name on it. Come on, Henrik.”

“That does not mean anything.”

Chase, listening, raised an eyebrow. “So...I don’t know everything that’s going on, but I think I can figure out that this Fsefna person—”

“Vsevna,” Henrik corrected.

“...Vsefna—”

“Vsevna. It is important that you voice those sounds.”

“He’s the person you’re pining for, huh, Henrik?” Chase pressed on.

Henrik was slowly turning red. “I say nothing.”

“Right,” Chase said, grinning. “So, who is he?”

“He’s another one of the Phantoms,” Jackie said, sensing that Henrik wasn’t going to answer. “He and Yuko—that’s the other name on that second paper. Last we heard, they were in the Southern Moors with the rest of their crew. They said they’d scout it out for a bit more, then move on. These are probably their reports. Or...Yuko’s is a report, at least.”

“Shush,” Henrik muttered. He retreated a few steps away from the others, clutching the letter. As he passed Ana, he shot her a glare. “You make Chase open that on purpose.”

Ana just smiled. “Same results, right? Anyway, that’s the last capsule. Do you mind if I head out now?”

“No, go ahead, Ana. Send Harrison to take care of the birds,” Jackie said. She nodded, and left the skull. He then looked at Chase. “Uh...can I have the other two things?”

“Oh right.” Chase forgot he was still holding the other paper and the vellum scroll. He handed them over to Jackie, and the metal tube as well. “I’m surprised. That’s a lot for a bird to carry.”

“Well these guys are trained for it.” Jackie gestured at the pigeons, now strutting around the table. “Especially Mokin here, who had this stuff.” He patted the wings of a particular pigeon, mostly white but with brown wings, which had strangely curly feathers. “They all deserve the best seeds before we send them out again. Anyway.” Jackie unfolded the paper with Yuko’s name on it, scanning the words written there. At first, he looked excited to get a letter from this person. But the more he read, the more serious his expression became. “Henrik.”

Henrik looked away from his own letter, picking up on the tone in Jackie’s voice. “What is it?”

“I...read this while I open this scroll.” Jackie passed Henrik the letter, then began working on the twine knot holding the vellum shut.

Henrik read the letter quickly, and soon his expression matched Jackie’s. “Oh. Oh, Schwestern. Oh, no.”

Chase started to back up, feeling he shouldn’t listen to something like this. But Jackie noticed him leaving and said, “No, it’s fine, Chase. We should tell everyone this, anyway. Tomorrow, maybe.”

“What is it?” Chase asked anxiously.

“Well...you remember we told you about Marvin, right?” Jackie said slowly. “About how he went out on his own and we sometimes get reports of him?” He waited for Chase to nod before continuing. “This...was a report about him. Apparently, he was in the Moors. But...he didn’t just cause chaos and leave. He’s been...caught.”

“Caught?” Chase repeated numbly.

Jackie managed to untie the twine, and unrolled the vellum, scanning what was written there. He nodded grimly. “Yep. You know what this is?” He turned it around so Chase could see.

“That’s...a royal declaration, isn’t it?” Chase asked slowly. He recognized the format, and the royal seal in the corner. “Um...‘The King...announces a...mighty...triumph.’”

“You do not have to keep going, Chase,” Henrik said bitterly. “There are better words to read than that.” He took the declaration from Jackie, glancing at it for just a moment. “I see. Marvin is accused of attempting to kill the King and some other nobility. They caught him in the act, and now...they plan to execute him. Four weeks from now.”

Jackie looked over at the cat, now sitting and licking its paws, and gasped. “Henrik. You don’t think that’s his cat, do you?!”

“What? I suppose perhaps. But if it is, how did it get all the way up here?” Henrik sounded puzzled. “It takes a week or two to get to the Moors from here, and that is for humans on horseback. For a cat...”

“Wizardry?” Jackie guessed. “I don’t know, it was just a thought, since he likes cats so much.”

Everyone fell silent. Henrik looked back at the royal declaration, reading it slowly, taking in the information. “So...how are we going to do this?”

“Do what?” Jackie asked.

Henrik stared at him in surprise. “Well, we have to rescue him, of course.” Jackie didn’t say anything. “Do not tell me that you’re going to let your grudge stand in the way!”

“No, it’s not that!” Jackie protested. “It’s just—you read the letter, right? Yuko said that these declarations were sent everywhere. Since when has the King announced his next move like this? Everything he does, he does in secret. I mean, damn, the Phantoms are just rumors, and we’ve been taking serious action for years now. He’s hushed up so much, why wouldn’t he just make Marvin...you know, disappear? Why a public execution?”

“You think it is a trap,” Henrik stated.

“Well...yes,” Jackie admitted.

“That is fair, but if it’s a trap, who is he planning to catch? If he wants information about us, he could get it from Marvin.”

“But Marvin hasn’t been part of the group for a year now! His information would be out of date.”

“This does not change the fact that there is no guarantee it’s a trap in the first place. Perhaps he wants to strike fear into the population. Given his actions, it seems likely.”

“If it does turn out to be a trap, though, we can’t afford to lose anyone!”

Chase coughed awkwardly. Jackie and Henrik jumped, then turned to him, looking embarrassed to be fighting while he was still there. “You know...I don’t know if I have any place in this. I mean, you two are in charge, after all. But...I think you should try to get him back.”

Henrik and Jackie looked at each other, then back to Chase. “Are you trying to say something?” Jackie asked.

“I just...” Chase paused for a moment, searching for the words. “I don’t think...you should leave someone behind. He was still part of the Phantoms, right? Didn’t he help create it? A-and weren’t you three...Well. You don’t have to talk to him after we rescue him, but it just doesn’t seem right to leave someone behind in this situation. I know you had your fight and all, but maybe...this could be...you know.” He paused. “Also, I want to know if this cat is his or if some random cat just wandered by.”

Jackie laughed. “Yea, that would be good to know, wouldn’t it?” He sighed, and his expression fell, becoming serious as he was lost in thought.

Henrik leaned closer to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Jackie. Chase is right, this does not mean he is rejoining the group. You do not even have to go. But...we should do it. Marvin does not deserve this.”

After a moment, Jackie nodded. “You’re both right. Of course. Even though he was an ass last time we talked, that doesn’t mean I want Marvin dead.” He took a deep breath. “But we should prepare for the possibility of a trap. Just in case.”

“Of course we will,” Henrik assured him.

“...Hey. Chase.” Jackie gave him a smile. “Thank you. I-I don’t know what it is about you, but you know what to say. It’s really easy to talk to you about stuff like this.”

“It’s not a problem,” Chase said, returning the smile. “But, um...I think the Vigil is happening soon, so if we want to go—”

“Shit, I almost forgot about that!” Jackie gasped. “Henrik, I don’t want to leave the cat alone, can you look after it or something?”

“Don’t worry, I will take it to my tent,” Henrik said. “You two go and...is it alright to wish you fun? In a ceremony like this?”

“Come on, Schneep, you’ve lived here for over a decade, don’t talk like it’s so strange to you,” Jackie chuckled.

“I think it’s fun,” Chase said.

“Well, you two go have fun, then,” Henrik said. “I will see you later. Tomorrow, if not tonight.”

“Thanks, Schneep.” Jackie gave him a quick one-armed hug, then headed towards the skull entrance. “Let’s go, Chase. We don’t want to be late.”

They almost were. The Dark Vigil was about to start when they arrived, shuffling into the crowd. Everyone stood in a circle around a set of candles, one blue and the rest black, which were in turn set in a circle around several smooth, round pieces of black onyx. Three people stood inside, lighting the candles.

After the candles were alight, everyone sat on the ground, clashing a bit as they all tried to make room. Then once everyone was sitting with their legs crossed, the three in the center started the Vigil. They spoke the traditional lines, describing the Elder of Dark—their vague appearance, their actions, their history with the other Elders—and finished it by thanking them for their guardianship. Everyone joined in on the final part: “As you stand and watch vigil, so shall we this night.” And then silence fell.

During the silence of the Dark Vigil, each individual offered their thoughts about those who needed protection. In the past, Chase had asked for his family to be alright. For them all to stay healthy and happy. Today, he asked for that again. He wished, silently, desperately, for them to be safe. And not just them, but everyone else who had disappeared from his town, as well as all the other mountain towns that had been destroyed. He thought about Henrik and Jackie and all the other Phantoms he’d met here, and wished for them to have luck in this fight against the King. He thought about Marvin, someone who he’d never met but who was dear to his friends, and wished for them to be able to rescue him.

As Chase stared at the candle flames, he thought he saw...something. He wasn’t sure what. A shape in the smoke. The shape of a four-legged animal, with...antlers. A deer.

Then as was the tradition, the candles were extinguished, and the night was left in darkness.