#i am not keeping up with my prompts very well yall i am several days behind

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Jane Foster’s child

Jane Foster x child!reader

Thor Odinson x Foster!child!reader

warnings:

a/n: no not a foster child, jane foster’s child 😌 also im so super glad you liked those!!! hope these are just as good!!! and im genuinely so sorry these took so long

prompt: anonymous: “Hey! I just read the Tony Stark x Potts!child!reader HC and I loved it! Would you do the same but with Thor and Jane? ❤️”

no babysitter = go to work with mom

dr. selvig gave you a rubik’s cube to keep you entertained

“fuck that! here, y/n, you can play my DS” -darcy

“can you not swear in front of my child?” -jane

you thought tonight would be boring, but then your mom and darcy collectively hit a homeless guy with a car!

“holy crap, we’re all going to jail!” -you

“don’t say ‘crap,’ y/n! we need to get him to a hospital!” -jane

ngl this dude was kinda funky

darcy used her taser and your mom covered your eyes, but you still peaked ;)

ride to the hospital

“don’t touch him, y/n”

“sorry, doc”

and the very next day you guys stole him 💕

“mr. thor, where are you from?”

“i am from asgard! it is much different from this realm, but your’s is adequate, i suppose”

“thanks?”

you could see the way your mom looked at him, though

he ate all the pop tarts >:(

she gave thor her ex boyfriends clothes

“yeah, donald was a real ass—” -you

“don’t say ‘ass.’ darcy curses too much” -jane

“sorry, mom...anyways, donald forgot to pick me up from soccer practice like, a dozen times. he sucked” -you

“this ‘donald’ doesn’t seem like a very good man...also, what is ‘soccer?’” -thor

you grabbed a soccer ball and tried to show him how to play but there was some other stuff the *scientists* had to take care of

you were a regular at izzy’s diner (well, mom was) and they always made you cute pancakes in different shapes!!

“ah, it’s a smiley face! that’s adorable!” -thor

“yeah! they like to surprise me whenever i come in. they’re pretty awesome” -you

*your mom literally beaming at how good thor is with you already*

you and thor were drawing on paper placemats

and then he broke a glass and you started giggling hdhshshs

but he had to leave

“no, thor, please don’t go!”

“i hope to meet you again one day, little one. hopefully fate sees it through”

:((((

no time to be sad bc ur mom’s lab got hijacked by the government

“hey, no fair! that’s my diary!” -you

“sorry, kid. there are constellation drawings we have to observe” -coulson

“aw, you draw constellations? wait, not now. you can’t just take all our stuff. especially that! that belongs to a child!” -jane

“sic ‘em, y/n!” -darcy

“don’t listen to darcy, y/n” -selvig

chilling in the trailer and missing thor bc he was the most interesting thing to happen to you and your mom in a while

and you wanted her to be happy even tho he was kind of crazy

“hey, mom? do you want to watch the stars tonight like we used to do? we could make s’mores?”

“that sounds like a great idea, baby! i’ve gotta go take care of some science stuff, so i’ll pick up some s’mores stuff while i’m out. love you!”

yeah she went to go see thor and he kinda got arrested but your mom came back home so you could watch the stars!

“so, do you like thor?” -you

“what? what makes you say that?” -jane

“it’s cool if you do, i think he’s awesome. a little weird, but at least he’s nice”

then thor and selvig came home and selvig was drunk as a skunk

*poking him while he giggles and tells you about thor*

“i wish your grandfather could have met that guy! he would have loved him...i wish you met your grandfather, too” -selvig

thor inviting you back outside

“i’d like you to teach me more about this ‘soccer’”

by the time you guys were done, it was 3am and you were too pumped to go to sleep

so thor told you stories of his home and battle and family

you didn’t want him to stop, you were fascinated by it all

and uhhhh yeah then earth kinda had some vikings show up

they told you that you’d “make a fine warrior one day”

and then yall got attacked by a ????? a what??? a destroyer???????

“get y/n out of here now! they shouldn’t have to see this!” -thor

you were still nearby and saw thor become thor again

after he was done fighting the destroyer, you ran to give him a hug

“that was awesome! can i hold your hammer?”

“maybe someday, little one”

then you didn’t see him for 2 years

which upset your mom a good bit, you had to help her through that episode. lots of sitting on the couch and eating ice cream together talking about how he wasn’t worth her time even tho you missed him too

but he came back! and then your mom sent everything flying bc she had an “infinity stone” inside her and thor took you two to asgard

“y/n! you’ve grown so much, i almost didn’t recognize you!” -thor

tbh you really digged the outfit they gave you, but also you were on another planet? thor insisted on giving you a tour (by flying you around)

“i do hope you’re having fun, little one!”

worrying about your mom simultaneously bc you overheard she was sick

but asgard got attacked and you and jane were confined to a room in the palace, which sucked because you wanted to see it all

but thor sent guards to bring you anything to keep you entertained

“maybe we’ll skip the mace for now, thank you” -jane

after several events that count as child endangerment, this chapter came to an end and your mom and thor finally made it official

loki called you a rodent and then saved your life so you were kinda iffy about him

about a year or two later, your mom had to travel a great deal in order to get some work done, so you were left in the care of thor, who took you to avengers tower

“oh, my girlfriend’s child is an angel! and they’re so intelligent, just like their mother!” -thor gushing to other partygoers

“yeah, thor, your ‘angel’ is sneaking drinks from the elderly” -tony

*sipping his beer* “they’re a growing teenager”

you did have an amazing time interacting with the avengers

and once they tried grabbing the hammer, you knew you had to get in on it (but you failed like the rest)

“don’t worry, my y/n, you have to be eighteen years of age to be able to lift mjölnir!” -thor

“oh, that makes sense!” -you, while thor aggressively shakes his head at the other avengers. he just wanted to make sure you didn’t feel bad you weren’t worthy yet :(

more child endangerment but really what did you expect?

thor went off world and your mom split it off w him but you did have his email so you were still in contact with him

swearing you saw odin on the street once or twice (fast forward)

and then your mom dusted and thor found you as soon as he possibly could, it was so good to see him

he took you in since you were alone now, you moved to new asgard and became prince(ss) of the new land by relation?? makes sense right

basically you and valkyrie made all the calls while thor grieved for years

but he still took care of you

“y/n, would you like to play video games with me? i think it may be a good bonding experience, what do you say?” -thor

“duh!”

uncle korg made you help him with fortnite while thor was asleep

you wished to wield stormbreaker one day

showing thor earth media! his favorite star wars character is r2-d2 dont ask why

he taught you asgardian recipes and you taught him...earth recipes?

when he was drunk he’d ramble on about his childhood and battle and enemies and jane and loki and hela and frigga and literally anything that came to mind

“y/n, could you please get me a beer? and get one for yourself, too” -thor

valkyrie most definitely gave you some battle training so you you blow off some steam, you were glad she taught you how to fight like a true warrior

thor wanted to teach you battle tactics so you could fight alongside him, but he never got around to it

a raccoon and bruce banner visited later on, proposing a way to get your family back, thor was an emotional wreck

his debriefing on the reality stone was tense when he started crying about your mom and everyone stared at you

“hey, don’t look at me. i don’t control the god, i just keep him company”

ending up waiting 1 second for the avengers to come back from their mission, resulting in you being stuck in the middle of a very heavy battle

“y/n, get out of here!” -thor

“don’t worry, thor! valkyrie taught me a few moves!”

“you make me incredibly proud, little one!”

“i’m not so little anymore, am i?”

“you will always be my little one, y/n. blood or not, that will not change!”

victory, but at what cost? it was a rough ride, you needed to get patched up, but your mom was finally home and thor...he decided it was time to leave earth again

“don’t worry, my y/n. i will see you again.” *tearing up* “i’m so glad i got the pleasure of raising you these past few years. i love you dearly, now go be with your mother”

you straight up wanted to bawl your eyes out right there

“well, y/n, you’re next in line for the throne of new asgard. what is your first command?” -valkyrie

“actually, i think you’d make a much better ruler than me. i’ve got to spend some time with my mother now that she’s home”

“you’re so much like him, you know that?”

staying with your mother, who was diagnosed with cancer not long after returning from the soul stone (a/n: jane getting cancer is canon in the comics and confirmed for thor 4)

“i missed five years of your life and now i’m sick, that’s just our luck, isn’t it?” -jane

she was understandably upset, but she also felt guilty

“mom, don’t beat yourself up. everything is okay, we’re still together right now. i won’t be going anywhere, i promise”

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @lokihiddles // @frostedgiantfavs // @emygirl // @lotsoffandomrecs // @johnmurphyisbisexual // @teenwaywardasgardian // @pappydaddy // @captainshazamerica // @freya-xo // @ravenmoore14 // @purpleskiesstorm // @ofthedewthesunlight // @canarypoint // @zoeyserpentluck //

[puppy-phum]

fic tag game

thank you so much for tagging me @i-am-just-a-kiddo ♥ i love rambling about my fics and my writing even if it always also brings up all the doubts and insecurities i have but. these are my children so i will show them some love :’) and it is always just wonderful to share this all with you my dear ♥

placing under cut bc i do ramble, as yall know to expect by now!

Name: VishCount i’ve already explained the origin of that name a couple of times so am sparing you from that but gotta just say that i never expected to get so fond of this username and the nicknames that followed ♥

Fandoms: wow ok so buckle up, this is gonna be a ride first i gotta mention the finnish fandom for this youtuber group called LaeppaVika. i adored them as a teenager and i still watch the videos sometimes :’) couple of the members still stream stuff even if the group has pretty much fallen apart by now and am just very fond every time. they feel like home in a way. those fics were my first ones and am still kinda proud of some of those?

then there’s this one random finnish utapri fic i once wrote... tbh i’m not sure why my anime fandoms never made me write anything? maybe it was the inexperience and the fear of using a second language lol 

after i got over that and got into BTS, i’ve written a ton for them. most of those are oneshots that vary from 1k words to 10k or something. a couple of longer ones have sprouted too and one is still in the making and i have sooooo many ideas. mostly just random aus. i adore to write those. 

lately MDZS has been my favored fandom and it has gotten some oneshots too as well as my gigantic xicheng fic that hangs somewhere well above 100k now. i wish to finish the last part for that soon but who knows, maybe it will take longer than expected sigh. and now DMBJ has pushed in as something that yells at me to write tho i’ve only posted a short oneshot for it for now. and oh, last year i also posted a couple of silly oneshots for 2moons! that was... weird tbh but am glad i did that. 

i wish i had more fandoms tbh bc there is so much interesting stuff there and i have so many ideas and inspirations but i’m very slow at writing. things don’t always just come out and some fandoms don’t grasp me for long enough that i would be able to tap into any projects. but i have no hurry, right?

Tropes: hmm do i have any? am not sure. i thought that maybe soulmate aus or some abo stuff was my thing but i’ve slowly drifted away from those. then it comes to just... idk. hurt/comfort? found families? i also adore slow burn these days and i feel like i’ve gotten a bit better at writing that but it’s still a struggle. also just, as already noted, all these different aus? mostly fantasy based ones. those are always so cool and somehow very whimsical? and lately i’ve also just fallen into this hole where i love to write some bittersweet tragedies or at least stuff that feels like a tragedy in some sense (and i blame my dear kiddo for that bc they’ve written the sweetest of tragedies and i want that too ok)

Fic I spent most time on: how do you count this? do wips count? bc if they do, then I feel like my xicheng fic called you’re the sunset and i’m the last purple left behind is it. it just keeps on going and i feel like i’ve given it all of my waking hours and heart and soul.  then it could also be my BTS abo fic My Lungs for You to Breathe that is slowly reaching its second year? am not sure. but it has been going for ages bc sometimes it comes and sometimes it goes and currently i’ve spent over six months without updating it and. yeah.  (it would be nice to mention some fic here that i’ve made some research for but tbh i never do any research. am horrible like that but i’ve never just. had the energy? tho i have hopes that i could go on this wild research spree for this one guardian idea i have but let’s see...) 

Favorite fic(s) you’ve written: (making a list bc am unable to choose, fight me)

and you remain - my pingxie oneshot that just helped me to get all of the feelings i had after tlt2 pour out. am very fond of it destiny tied us together - some introspection of lwj and jc’s relationship and how it changes throughout the years as they both mature, learn things about themselves, fall in love and realize that they share the same ppl in their hearts (and maybe develop a tentative friendship bc they’re so similar in so many ways). i had so much fun with this and it just felt like my brightest moment haha painting your skin with all of me - the xicheng soulmate oneshot i wrote at some point and still adore. it just seemed to work and in the middle of my xicheng struggles writing them so briefly and gently just felt right pouring love (growing flowers) - the ot7 oneshot i wrote bc of this one amazing twt prompt/moodboard. it was the last part of my mono series. i love it so much. joon was so nice to write throughout the whole thing ;;  lilies bloomed under your carpet - my god au for taejoon. it poured out of me so wonderfully and it was so amazing. still one of my favorite creations, this whole au.  Stories Untold / chapter 3 - this was a collection of taejoon oneshots that i was trying to make but am not sure if i will ever finish them all. but this one, where tae is a forest god and joon a human able to see supernatural things, is very dear to me bc it just feels complete

Fic I spent least time on: gosh i think it must be either my first wangxian oneshot we had it almost or my touch-starved joon oneshot show me my skin and touch my heart with very soft and lovely taejoon. both created themselves in a couple of hours?

Longest fic: currently my xicheng monster but i somehow expect my bts abo fic to get even longer if i ever manage to finish it

Shortest fic: it’s apparently my namseok fic for joon’s tokyo called missing you (i’m homesick). it created itself out of my own experiences of living in a long distance relationship and is one of my faves in that series.  

Most hits/kudos/comments/bookmarks: most hits and comments go for my bts abo fic which doesn’t really surprise me when it’s a multichapter fic :’D most kudos go for the already mentioned xicheng oneshot and most bookmarks go for the bts ot7 fic!

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: hmm if i could rewrite something, it would probably be my first bts fic and my second long fic called Even the Universe Makes Mistakes. that soulmate au now feels a bit outdated and there are many parts i would like to change and things i would love to think again.  then if i was allowed to expand some world, i would love to write more for the xicheng soulmate au bc there are many other pairings i would love to explore there too or just to see lxc’s take on the events perhaps. other thing would be my namgi oneshot it passes (for us both) bc i adore namgi and the love they create in that brief moment. 

Share a bit of a WIP: it hasn’t been long since i shared snippets of several wips but let’s go with my pingxie which i’ve been working on and am just so damn excited about (especially now that i can use the bazaar photoshoot imagery as inspiration):

“He moves, pulled in by the darkness of the lake, mirroring the softly blue sky with its gray, heavy clouds. The snow lands on his nose, into his lashes, clings to his coat and his shoes. He doesn’t feel cold, doesn’t hear anything beyond the softness of the snowfall. Nothing exists and everything does, real and fake at the same time, comforting but still making him feel afraid.

He could lose himself here, could be lost from everything. He could stay and be forgotten, could join those people that tried to make him remain, could take the easier way. He could rest, just like he was supposed to do so many times before.

Maybe he does belong, after all. Maybe he is part of this place, so awfully familiar with it, so willing to even stop his own heart to get here. And maybe he is not, this place only hungry for those who don’t yet remain, refuse to give into this dream-like space.”

thank you once more for tagging me my dear! this was fun even if looking back to my old fics and all the lack of updating and posting these days makes me feel kinda bad... i’ve just been in a slump lately and am slowly trying to get out of it even if i almost fall back in all the time. it’s funny when last spring i felt like i was at my peak sigh. but well, as i’ve already said, i have time right?

i dunno so many writers over here but i’m tagging @cross-d-a and @kholran bc i’m curious about your work. also tagging @inkblue-black and @jockvillagersonly if you want to blabber about something or if you just want to see this. and oh also tagging @wangxianbunnydoodles bc am always open for new ppl and i know that you write ^^ 

[whumpqin]

Febuwhump Day 4: Truth Serum (Alt Prompt)

This one... kind of kicked my ass. But here we are! Hope yall enjoy.

Character: Pavitra

CW: fantasy whump, forced confession, fucked up therapy, interrogation, chains / chained up, drugging, manipulation, past broken bones mention, using “it” as a pronoun, repeated mention of major character death, scar mention, magical link between two characters mention

Word Count: 1,376

Set after Imprisoned

“Here.” A glass was set in front of him, filled with water. “Drink.”

Pavitra eyed the glass with muted interest. It was a right assumption that he’d be thirsty, especially after several exhausting rituals and ceremonies to be sure that he was completely purged of the “evil” that was inhabiting him before. He supposed that to everyone else he looked like a total mess, even to the other fellow humans who had been in a similar predicament as he.

Without saying anything he moved his hands above the table, struggling against the chains that held his wrists where they were supposed to be. Pavitra had very little room to move about here with such a short leash, so he had to pull against the strength of the manacles to grab the glass. The other priest made no move to help him of course, so he was left to do it by himself. When he managed to finally grab onto it he sighed, allowing his muscles to get the rest they needed for the moment before raising it to his lips.

The taste was… bitter. Rather unnatural for water. Pavitra was no idiot of course, so he knew clearly that what they had given him had something in it. But he was exhausted and hadn’t been given anything to drink for over a day. He needed to drink it, regardless of what might be in it.

When he was done he set the glass back down on the table. The bitter taste didn’t go down easy, but when it finally did it spread through his bones and into the tips of his fingers. It settled in his throat, constricting just enough to make him feel uncomfortable. He looked up to the priest who was watching him like a hawk.

“Where is Acacius?” Pavitra tried. He knew he wouldn’t get an answer. They hadn’t given him an answer in the several days he’d been here. But he had to try anyway.

“The demon is dead. He was killed once he was taken from you,” the priest cooly answered.

Liar. Pavitra knew that they were trying to convince him as such, so that he would give up on Acacius coming back to him. It didn’t stop him from feeling the aches in his bones, phantom pains that he had no reason to be feeling. Especially when it concerned the spiral-shaped scars that drifted whimsically across his skin, marks of his partnership to Acacius and the tie that held them together. Not even the priests and their magics could remove it.

The priest before him leaned forward, hands clasped together in a faux way of looking concerned. “Tell me… how did you and this demon meet?”

“I had been running from another demon. Broke my arm and leg in a tumble,” Pavitra answered immediately, the compulsion to do so something he couldn’t resist. He tensed as the constriction in his throat forced him to speak. “He took me to his home in the trees. Mended my wounds and took care of me. I owe him my life.”

“So you made the deal and gave yourself to it?”

“Of course,” he breathed out shakily. He couldn’t stop himself. “Stop it. Don’t do this.”

The priest eyed him carefully, no change in his expression. No pity, or empathy, just a cold outer exterior.

“Did it ever occur to you that it might be preying on your weakness? That it saved you so that you’d be more inclined to give into its whims?”

“Obviously, but…” his breath hitched. The inclination to share too much was already present, an unconscious choice that he was actively trying to fight against.

“But? Don’t worry. We’re just trying to get the truth out in the open. That way we can start the healing process.” Pavitra forced himself to stay silent, and the priest’s eyes narrowed. He leaned forward with a sigh. “I’m trying to help you, Tomas. There’s no need to be afraid. There’s no one to condemn you for what you say here. You’re completely safe. Now… you knew that it was preying on you. Why did you go through with it anyways?”

“I… I didn’t have anywhere else to go. My eyes, they’re a curse. I couldn’t stay at home, but I couldn’t travel. Acacius… he promised he would protect me. Help me see the world like I always wanted.” Pavitra’s voice was tight as he spoke, an unwilling participant in his own confessions. “People have tried to kill me because of my eyes. With Acacius’ help, we could both go where we wanted to.”

The priest nodded. “Would you say that you felt a… kinship, with the demon? Because of your gray eyes?”

“Yes, but… not… not because of my eyes.” He tugged against the bindings around his wrists. He had been here long enough to know there was no weak link in the chain, but desperation drove him to try again anyways.

“Why then?” The priest tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing. “Did you fall in love with it?”

“I-I, we, we’re two halves of the same whole. We both came from nothing, both wanted someone who would understand.” Pavitra took another shaky breath. “I don’t want to answer the other question. Please.”

The priest shook his head. “I’m sorry, Tomas, but to figure out where we must start we must have everything out in the open. Now tell me. Did you fall in love with the demon?”

“It’s… more than that. He’s… he’s my everything.”

“Even above your family? They still live in this town, you know.” The priest sat back with a sigh. “I’m sure they’ve missed you.”

Pavitra shook his head. “No. They haven’t. I’m sure of it, because, well. You know.” He motioned up to his throat, pulling against the table again.

The priest was silent for a while. Watching him. Obviously thinking things over. Pavitra averted his gaze, unable to hold it for much longer.

“...Do you think the demon loves you?”

“Stop it. I don’t want to answer. Please don’t make me answer.”

“Do you think the demon loves you? Answer, Tomas,” the priest pressed.

“I don’t know,” Pavitra said, tears welling in his eyes. “I don’t know. I want to know. But I’ve never asked. Happy?”

“I’m just trying to find out the truth with you, Tomas,” came the cool reply. “I am not here to embarrass you. I just want to understand your relationship.”

“You’re lying,” Pavitra said, the words tumbling out before he could stop himself. “You want something from me. You’re-you’re trying to convince me of something, like how Acacius is dead when I know he isn’t. I don’t, I don’t know what you want but you’re not getting it from me.”

“The demon is dead, Tomas.”

“Stop calling me that!” he shouted. “That’s not my name. And Acacius isn’t dead. I can feel it.” Pavitra huffed, tears beginning to roll down his face. “Where is he?”

“It’s dead. And your name is Tomas.” The priest leaned forward again, keeping his eyes soft. “I know this is difficult for you. But that demon was only hurting you. It only had its best interest in mind.”

Pavitra closed his eyes. Lies. It was all lies.

The priest stood up from his chair. “I think that’s enough for today. I’ll leave you to think about this.” He rounded the table, placing a comforting hand on Pavitra’s shoulder. “Everything is going to be alright, Tomas. We’ll work through this.”

He spared a small glance up towards the priest. He could see his narrowed gaze while he stared at Pavitra, displeased about something. It certainly wasn’t comforting, he knew that much. The priest hadn’t got what he wanted, it seemed.

After they shared that look, however, the priest turned to leave. He paused only halfway out the door to say something to Pavitra.

“Jonah will return to put you to bed once the herbs have worn off. Think about what I said, Tomas.”

Then the door shut.

Once he was certain that he was alone, Pavitra’s gaze soured. He tugged against the chains he knew wouldn’t balk under his fragile strength, hoping, praying, that it would come loose somehow.

“My name isn’t Tomas,” he hissed under his breath.

[tanjhero-a]

Life’s Trials to Meeting You

Pairing: Tanjirou x You (Gender Neutral Reader)

Prompt: Soulmates - Shared Scars 

Word Count: 4,502 (wow!! thats 11 fucking pages on docs yall. my god)

A/N: This is my fic based off the results of the poll! This fic was originally made as a celebration for 60 followers, and since then, this blog now has 130! I’m very thankful and flattered so many of you are here. I hope you all enjoy this rather lengthy fic- I had a lot of fun writing it!

You’ve lived your whole life in moderate peace. You lived in a modest household with several siblings and your father. Life was dull, but it was safe. Your house was in the middle of a small town and you visited the same shops every day and talked to the same people. 

You yearned for more. To travel out of town and meet someone new, do something new, something… exciting. You voiced this want to your sisters, but never your father. He loved you dearly, you knew, which is why he wanted you to live your modest and easy life. There was no danger in that.

But your father was a fool. Danger lurked everywhere, especially where you don’t expect it. It stays there, hiding in the shadows and waiting to strike. And finally, danger did come- in the form of a fierce demon that ate its way through the village in a single night. Your father had you take your sisters and run into the forest for help, making you leave him behind ultimately for his own death. 

Most of your sisters didn’t make it. One of them refused to leave father behind, and another one didn’t stick close to you and got lost in the ruins of your town before she was gobbled up. Your last sister, Tamako, was only three, and she was only safe because you held her so, so tightly in your arms as you kept running far from what used to be your home. 

Eventually, the adrenaline to stay alive wore out and you stumbled your way to a beautiful tree. Your vision was fuzzy as you forced your tired limbs to climb it, your sister holding you close on your back. The purple, beautiful flowers bloomed everywhere around the tree and hid both of you somewhat effectively. “We’ll be safe here,” you assured Tamako and situated her in your lap. “The flowers will keep us safe.” 

You really didn’t know that you were actually incredibly lucky and that the Wisteria tree you hid in warded off demons- you just prayed that the demon was full and wouldn’t kill any more of your family. You held Tamako all night as she cried, and though you felt like crying yourself, you kept the tears at bay. 

You had to be strong now. There was no other way.

---

When you awoke the next morning, it was because of Tamako’s cries. You immediately jolted to see what was wrong, only to wince and cry out in pain. She was crying because of the blood staining your shirt, which happened to be the problem. 

Did you get hurt last night and not even notice?

“It’s okay, Tamako, it’s okay!” It wasn’t, but what else could you say? Your body felt woozy still, probably from blood loss, but you still collected her in your arms. “We’ll be okay. We’ll find the next town and get help and food. Aren’t you hungry?”

The change in subject seemed to calm her down. She sniffles, snot smeared across her face which you wipe off with your sleeve gently. “..yeah.” 

“Me too,” you smile. “Get on my back, Tamako, then I’ll climb down.”

She clings to you tightly as you do so, and your feet slip a few times as you work your way down the trunk. Now that you’re aware of the gash in your side, it burns and screams with each move you make. Your just glad your sister can’t see the pain on your face as you finally make it to the ground with a loud groan.

“Okay, what would you like to eat?” You keep her on your back with your arms wrapped around her tiny legs, walking in a random direction. The first thing you needed to do was find a road, and then you could find a town. 

“Buns!” Tamako yells. “...Fish. Rice.”

“That sounds yummy,” you nod your head. “Maybe we can get something sweet, too.”

“Yeah!” Her legs kick excitedly and you sigh. She’s buzzing with energy so you let her down. 

“Don’t leave my side, Tamako,” you tell her gently and continue to walk forward.

Both of you walk for what seems like hours before you reach a road, and then hours after that before you reach a town. You carry Tamako at various times despite your wound, because she gets tired and you can’t afford to stop moving. You’re lucky you finally saw buildings in the distance when you did because you’re not sure how much longer you can stay conscious. 

You stop in your tracks and slowly sit on the ground. Tamako stands beside you, holding your hand. “Listen to me,” you hold her small fingers tightly as you look into her dark eyes. “I know it’s scary, but I can’t walk any further. I need… I need you to walk the rest of the way by yourself and get help.” 

“What?” Tamako’s lips wobble into a frown. “I can’t!” 

“No, I know you can, Tamako!” You pull her into a tight hug. “It will be okay. You are so strong, I know you can do it. Follow the road, and get help when you see a person. Lead them back to me.” 

Your sister holds you back as tight as she can, her body shaking with small sobs. “Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. I just… need rest.” You kiss her forehead and let Tamako go. “I love you. I know you can do it.”

You squeeze her hand one more time before the little girl scampers off, running with all her might. You sigh once she escapes your view before you lay down. The best thing you can do is try to focus on your breathing, keeping yourself alert and calm as you wait. Everything in your body hurts- your legs, your side, your hands, and arms… You don’t know if you’ll make it, to be honest. 

Your eyes flutter shut as your breathing comes to a slow. It’s too hard to stay awake any longer- could you sleep as you wait for Tamako?

Something, some far off thing deep inside your head says that’s a bad idea, but you’re too far gone to listen to the warning. 

---

When you awake, you’re somewhere completely different. Inside a house, it looks like… Did Tamako get you help?

“You’re awake,” A voice comes from another part of the room, and when you look to your left you see a beautiful woman with a butterfly inspired haori wrapped around her. “Your sister was rather worried, and so was I. Your injury was dire.”

“Tamako…” You try to speak but your throat is hoarse and dry. The woman notices and takes a cup next to your bed. She gently lifts you up enough so you can drink it. It’s tea, you realize, and even though it tastes vile you down it all in one go. You grimace once you’re done and the woman laughs. 

“It’s medicine. It will help you heal, but it doesn’t taste very good.” She lays you back down and places the cup on the stand. “Now, my dear, what happened?”

You sink into the pillows with a frown. “My town… it was attacked by a man-eating monster. I… I was supposed to protect my sisters, but only Tamako and I made it. I must have… gotten hurt, but I can’t remember how.” You don’t want to remember. You don’t want to think back to that night in any capacity. “My sister and I hid in a tree for the night, and then we walked for a really long time before I couldn’t anymore. I had her find help for me…” You look around the room, noticing there are several other beds but none of them have your sister tucked in. “Where is she?”

“This is where we keep our sick and hurt. Tamako only had a few scrapes, so she’s not here. I think she’s playing with the other children.” The woman sits down on the bed next to you, looking sorrowful as she holds her hands. “I’m sorry about your town. We actually have people there now, burying the bodies… I can have someone take you there so you can mourn when you are healed.”

Something about what she said makes you wonder. “Who are you?” You ask. “Who is ‘we’?”

“I forgot I didn’t introduce myself, I’m sorry,” the woman smiles. “I’m Shinobu. I’m a part of a group called Demon Slayers… we do just that. Protect who we can and kill demons.” 

Where were you, then? You can’t help but think. Where were you when my family was murdered?

Shinobu seems to sense your thoughts. She frowns and you think it’s unfair that even when she’s upset, she still looks so beautiful. “I am sorry we couldn’t be there for you when your town was attacked.”

You don’t want to forgive her, her or her group, but you already have. You don’t have it in you to hold a grudge against these people who you don’t even know. “It’s impossible to save everyone,” you whisper. “I know that. At least you are trying to do what you can.”

Shinobu seems grateful for your comment. But then, out of nowhere, she asks you something rather bizarre. “Have you always had that scar on your head?” 

“Oh, that?” You subconsciously reach up and touch it. “Well, it’s kind of a funny story. Originally, it looked a bit different… it just appeared on me one day. And then years later, I get this headache and the scar changed shape.” Your father never liked to talk about your mysterious scar, and no one brought it up in the village. You had almost forgotten about it, honestly.

Shinobu looks at you a bit strangely. You wonder what the problem is before she sighs. “Were you never taught about soulmates?” She asks.

“Soulmates?” The word feels funny on your tongue. What on earth was that? “No… what is it?” 

“Oh dear,” Shinobu says under her breath, frowning a bit. “I’m not the best at explaining it, but everyone has a supposed ‘soulmate’. You know this because of your scars.” She stares at your forehead. “Soulmates are people destined for each other. So, technically saying, that scar isn’t your own. It’s the scar of your soulmate.” Then she looks down at your stomach. “They will probably have quite a scare next time they take off their clothes.”

You realize she’s talking about your scar, now. Quite frankly, your mind is blown. Someone meant for you? Sharing wounds? That seems so… otherworldly. Did your father know about this? Why didn’t he tell you?

You raise your hand to your head again, tenderly touching the red mark there. “Oh…” You look over to the butterfly dressed woman. “Does everyone know about soulmates?”

“It’s fairly common to know about it, I don’t know why you didn’t.” Shinobu nods. “Anyways, I should leave now. You need to rest.”

She leaves quite quickly, leaving you alone in the large room. You’re stunned still but can’t resist the alluring call of rest. Soulmates… It could wait another time.

---

The next two weeks are spent at what you learned is the Butterfly Estate. Shinobu and her team of little doctors help you heal, and they give you goals for each day. Today, you had to walk around the garden, making three laps. It drained you to your core, but Tamako ran circles around you to keep you motivated. 

It was hard not to give up, especially when you thought about what would happen once you were better. You’d have to visit your family’s graves, and then what? You and Tamako no longer had a home. What were you going to do…?

“Come on! Come on! You can do it!” Tamako cheers, shaking you out of your reverie. Well, you were far from being completely better, so those thoughts aren’t important now. 

You can worry about it later. For now, you want to enjoy your time at the estate and have Tamako as happy as she can be.

---

The day to leave has finally come, filling you with dread.

The people at the butterfly estate were so kind and helpful, so loving, that they began to feel like a second family to you and Tamako. You didn’t want to leave them at all, but it had to be done. A new, messy and worrisome chapter has opened in your life and it was time to start it. 

Tamako’s friends, the little nurses, helped pack your bags with anything you would need since you had basically nothing. They gave you food for your journey as well, rice balls and dumplings, making Tamako cheer happily. She played with everyone for one last time as you stood by the gate, watching them run around with sad eyes. 

“You’re welcome to come back,” a voice comes from behind you, and you realize it’s Shinobu. 

“I didn’t think you would be here! Weren’t you on a mission?” You embrace her tightly, glad that you were able to see her before you left. She hugs you back with gentle hands. 

“I finished up quickly. I know you don’t have a place to stay after you visit your family’s graves…” She lets you go with a sigh, looking at your scar again and touching it gently. You noticed that Shinobu lingered on your soulmate mark quite frequently, but you never knew why. “What if you stayed here? I could teach you and Tamako how to use medicine and heal.”

“But- you work with demons. Isn’t it dangerous?” You shake your head. “Tamako and I wouldn’t survive this life. We weren’t made for it.”

“But maybe you are,” Shinobu smiles. “This mark…” She taps the scar with her thumb. “It is a warrior’s mark.”

You have a feeling she knows more than she’s telling you. Shinobu’s always been that way, and it’s frustrating, but you know she’s looking out for you. “I can’t fight,” you tell her. “But… If you help me, I will try. But I won’t put Tamako through it, not for many years.”

Shinobu looks delighted by your answer as she hugs you again. “Wonderful. Then come back home safe.”

...Home. You hold her back, tears in your eyes. “I will.”

---

Once you made it back to the butterfly estate with Tamako, things got better. You trained so you could at least swing a katana and do some damage, though it felt silly since you were ultimately doing all this just to become a nurse. Shinobu pushed you though, telling you that it was better to be prepared and know how to fight than be helpless. You agreed with her, but it didn’t make the training any easier, along with studying medicine and healing techniques.

There was one night where you had trained alone, out in the forest focusing on the breathing techniques that Shinobu taught you and slashing at the trees. It was a quiet, uneventful night before you heard rustling in the distance. You were all alone, but at least you had your katana. You face the noise with a fierce grip on your weapon,  practically shaking in your boots before- wham- you’re shoved to the ground. 

Someone had run right into you, apparently, sending you both flying and rolling in the dirt. When you looked up to see who it was, you were quite surprised to see… a demon.

Your hairs stand on edge as you stare at the female demon and she stares back. Her eyes are a bright pink, her long hair colored red at the ends. And, most surprisingly, a stick of bamboo is tied around her head to cover her mouth. “Are…” Your throat is dry all of a sudden. “Are you okay..?”

You really didn’t know what to do. Your only experience with a demon was the one that killed your family, but you’re getting a whole different vibe from this one. Is that possible? 

The demon’s pink eyes look up at the mark on your forehead, her eyebrows drifting up in surprise. But whatever moment the two of you had ended when another demon comes bustling through, headed straight for you.

Without thinking, you take your sword and slice at the other demon, its arm coming right off. You take a defensive stance in front of the girl, and you don’t really know why. The demon looks outright repulsed that you stopped it, but you can tell it’s inexperienced and dumb by how quickly you managed to cut off its head. 

Suddenly you became hyper aware of your surroundings, and you knew you weren’t alone. There were more of them. Looking back to the girl demon, your eyes soften as you reach out a hand. “You were running away, right?” You ask her. “Come on, let’s go.”

Surprisingly, she takes your hand, and for some reason, she knows exactly where to go. The two of you run together, but she leads, taking you somewhere but you don’t know where. You would ask, but considering how her mouth is busy with bamboo, you decide to trust her.

Why? You really, really don’t know. Maybe you’re stupid.

More demons come, and even though you were told they don’t work together, it seems an awful lot like what they’re doing since they all seem desperate to kill you both. You fight until you’re drained, and then you keep fighting after that because it’s the only thing you can do to stay alive. You’re still inexperienced, though, and you can tell you aren’t breathing right anymore. The battle has overwhelmed and frightened you to your core, and you keep thinking, Why am I here? Why am I doing this? Who is this for?

Another figure, alone this time, jumps from out of nowhere and goes right for your demonic ally. Your body almost naturally intervenes, holding your katana up to the stranger’s neck with a fierce look on your face. You’ve already realized that he’s not a demon, but the girl is, and you can’t have him killing her. “Back off,” you snarl at him.

“Wh- oh-” the boy’s eyes go wide, looking at you in disbelief. “It’s okay. That- that’s my sister,” he stutters, and his eyes never leave you. He’s not even meeting your eyes, he keeps looking at… your forehead.

How did you not notice his own scar before? “Oh,” you mimic, the grip on your katana loosening as you point it to the ground. You look back at the demon behind you, your mind overwhelmed and dizzy. “Your sister…?” 

“Nezuko,” the boy- your soulmate, apparently- calls to her and the girl demon happily returns to his side. “I… Who are you?” He asks. 

“I’m…” You blink rapidly, looking at the ground. God, why was everything so fuzzy? “I’m…” Did you already say that? You look to the boy, concern in his gaze. 

Before you can say or do anything else, the exhaustion from running and fighting your first battle catches up with your body, and you’re falling to the ground as your brain decides to shut off. 

---

Voices are what wake you up. Angry, concerned tones that make you think that maybe people were fighting nearby. Fighting..?

“-can’t believe you got them mixed up in your mess, they aren’t ready-“ 

Was that Shinobu?

“-you knew and you never told me?” 

You didn’t know that voice, that’s for sure, but for some reason, it sent a warm feeling down your spine. 

“-not ready-“

“-not your decision to make-“

When you sit up, you’re hit with a wild headache that pounds your skull. “Gods,” you hiss in pain, and suddenly the fighting that you heard before stops. You blindly reach next to you, knowing there’s a cup of water, medicine, something, waiting for you. Someone hands you what you’re looking for and you murmur thanks as you down what was thankfully just water. 

When you finally blink your eyes open, you see Shinobu first, and a nervous boy lingering behind her. You recognize him but you can’t quite remember… then you look at his familiar mark and remember quite vividly who he is and you stop looking at him. 

Soulmate. 

It’s dead quiet before you muster up the courage to speak. “I’m fine, Shinobu,” you try to reassure her. “I know I’m inexperienced and I shouldn’t be dealing with demons… I know I’m only learning these skills for self defense, but… she needed help.” That’s all you could say.

“For all you knew, she was another demon. She could have torn you apart.” Shinobu says, anger still in her tone but you look up to her in defiance.

“But she didn’t! She… I know it’s weird, but I knew she wouldn’t hurt me.” You touch your chest, over your heart. “I could feel it.” 

Shinobu sighs, turning away from you. You can tell she’s conflicted. “You are still so ignorant.” That’s all she has to say before she leaves the room, leaving only you and your mysterious soulmate inside.

“I suppose I was ignorant. She’s not wrong. There’s still so much I haven’t seen or done…” you speak aloud, slowly working up the courage to look at him. “But I was right, wasn't I?”

The boy smiles at you so softly, making him look so trusting and handsome that your heart feels like it’s going to burst. He sits on the edge of your bed, next to your feet. You notice that his checkered haori is gone and instead he just wears his Slayer Uniform.

“You were,” he nods. “It makes sense why you would feel that way, considering…”

The both of you blush at the acknowledgment. He clears his throat with a laugh before he presents his hand to you. “I’m Tanjirou Kamado.”

It’s rather silly, but you indulge him and shake his hand. It’s firm and calloused, clearly he’s more experienced with a katana than you are. You give him your own name. “Your sister… Nezuko?” Tanjirou nods, slowly letting go of your hand. “How did that happen?” You ask, before quickly skidding to a stop nervously, “only if you want to tell me, of course.”

Tanjirou laughs, and even though you’re embarrassed, you think his laughter is beautiful. “Of course, I’ll tell you anything, ___,” he looks at you so adoringly that you’re sure that your heart really did burst by now.

The two of you spent what felt like minutes but was truly hours together, talking about your lives and tragedies, everything that led up to this. You found that you felt wonderful around Tanjirou, and talking to him was easy and comfortable. Somewhere between the stories, your hands found each other again, and they stayed linked and warm together as you talked. When you explained the demon attack on your village and how you got your scar, his eyes burned with empathy.

If anyone knew what losing your family to demons was like, it was him. Tanjirou was just sorry that you had to witness it with your own eyes- he was lucky enough to only see the aftermath. 

“I always wondered what had happened to you when I saw it on my side. It made me wonder what kind of person you were.” His thumb rubs the top of your hand gently. You can tell by his hesitation that he has something on his mind, but won’t say it. You smile and squeeze his hand.

“I’ve lived with siblings too, you know. I can tell when someone is thinking too much about something.” You try to help him relax with your comparison. Tanjirou chuckles, shoulders relaxing as he looks at you in a shy manner.

“I was just wondering if I could see it. Your scar.”

You understand why he was embarrassed and why he wanted to ask. It’s evidence of your connection. Tanjirou’s scar is so easy to see, but yours is hidden beneath clothes. “It’s okay,” you tell him, sitting up a little straighter against your pillows and finally let go of his hand. You lift up your medical garb just enough that he can see it, the smooth and light skin that covered the side of your stomach and waist. It’s big and ugly, in your opinion.

“It’s really there,” Tanjirou whispers, reaching out and touching the scar gently with his fingertips. “You really don’t remember how you got it?”

“I don’t remember a lot of that night. I think I blacked it out, erased it from my mind. To make things easier,” you whisper and Tanjirou nods in understanding, letting you put your shirt back down. “I wish I could have been like you, Tanjirou. Strong and willpowered, learning how to get revenge on demons and protect the ones I love,” you look down at your hands. They were so small and soft compared to his. “But I’m not a fighter, not really. All I can do is hope that tragedy won’t happen again.” 

“You are a fighter,” Tanjirou tells you. And when you look up at him, you can tell he’s not lying. “You protected Nezuko for me… you protected Tamako. You’re learning medicine to help others, and learning basic techniques so you can defend yourself if you need it.” You hate when he looks you right in the eye. How can one man make you feel so important? “That sounds strong to me.”

“When you put it like that…” you grumble.

“Good,” Tanjirou smiles again. You don’t think you’ll ever grow tired of how pretty he looks when he smiles. “You should go back to bed. You need rest after your fight.”

“Will you be here tomorrow?” You’re slightly nervous that he’ll leave as you sleep because his life is probably busy. 

“Yes,” he assures you. “We still have a lot to talk about.” 

You agree. The fact that you and Tanjirou are soulmates- that’s a life changer, isn’t it? Things are bound to be affected and shift. 

Tanjirou is kind and cheesy enough to tuck you in, giving you a shy kiss on your head, right next to the scar that brought you both together. “Tanjirou?” You whisper. “Is it okay that things turned out this way? That I’m your soulmate?” 

“Absolutely,” he assures you. “Things will become different, but that isn’t bad. I’m glad I found you. Or, well, Nezuko is the one that found you,” the boy laughs softly and cups your cheek. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

“I’m glad you’re here, too,” you say back, your cheeks positively warm under his touch. He kisses your forehead again before finally tearing away, exiting the room with a small ‘goodnight’ and leaving you with your thoughts.

Honestly, you feel good. Meeting Tanjirou seems like the start of something big, strange, and wonderful. For the first time in a long time, you feel like things are going to be alright. You can do this- you can fight and live. 

And you look forward to doing it all with your soulmate.

[lxme-xss-imxgines]

Entwined

Prompt: A long time ago, long before modern civilization, there were eight souls bound together. Seven of these eight were born immortal, and they passed along their gift to their loved one. Not long after she was hunted by both mortal and immortal for being a living atrocity. Her current body perished, and they could only hope to one day meet her reincarnation.

Pairing: OT7 x reader 

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Death, swearing, cliche’s 

Intro 1 2 3

A/n: ugh even though there is some plot in this, not much happens. Still mostly a filler for clearing up some confusion. and its not as long as id like. Please leave me constructive criticism if you can:))))) let me know if yall would like to see more!!! 

taglist: @thefirewasfriendly @rosita7703 @herosvillians87 @part-time-patronus

________

The initial shock of the flood of memories entering Y/n’s brain has worn off, and her feelings have muted slightly. She sighs as she looks at herself in the bathroom mirror, feelings all her old emotions fighting with her not-existent ones. 

Heat rushes to her cheeks, tinging them pink as she suddenly feels embarrassed with how forward she was with them earlier. Yes, she may have known them for many a lifetime, but she has known them none in this one. Despite all her resurfaced memories, it does nothing to make her feel completely comfortable and at ease. 

Do they expect her to keep acting as she did when she first woke? She shook her head, they couldn’t expect that much of her. Right? 

A sudden knock snaps her out of her thoughts, her head turning to face the door. 

“Are you okay, princess? You been in there for a minute,” Hoseok’s bright voice projects through the door. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, Hobi! I’ll be out in a minute,” seeming satisfied with your answer, you hear his feet pad away from the doorway along with a small ‘okay’. 

 A question still not quite answered loops through her mind. Why were those men so adamant on finding them? I know that they’re a gang, but my understanding according to my memories is that currently there was peace among the mafia families at the moment . . . maybe not anymore?

When Y/n appears in front of the boys again, she already feels apprehensive just taking in their loving gazes. She knows she came on too strong when she woke up from her memory flood, but she didn’t mean to. I hope they can underst-

“Are you feeling alright, y/n?” the question rolls off Yoongi’s tongue, and for some reason earns a glare from Namjoon. 

“Yoongi. Quit reading her emotions,” he snaps.

“I’m not doing it on purpose, Joon. She’s projecting them. She wants us to know what she’s feeling . . . “ Yoongi and Y/n share a glance, and she nods in order to give him unspoken approval to announce her current state of feelings. “Y/n is nervous. She doesn’t want us to think that everything has suddenly gone back to normal because of the way she showed us affection for a short time after she awoke from her memory flood. Am I correct?”

Y/n giggles,”I remembered that you’re an empath . . . but I wasn’t aware of how much you have honed in your emotional readings in order to determine the circumstances of a situation,” the room goes silent for a moment, Y/n’s speech jarring them slightly. “Ah, I spoke as if I was out of a Dickinson novel again, didn’t I? Ah, it happened again!” 

“It’s alright, silly girl. It makes us feel at home,” Hoseok beams. 

Her eyebrows furrow,”You all have powers, hm? You all are the children of vampires . . . and witches. Blessing you all with powers most vampires lack. There’s something else . . . I can’t quite put my finger on.”

“Quit working your brain so hard, love. You’ll remember when you remember,” Jimin smiles. 

“Well, why can’t you just tell me? I mean, you know exactly what I’m trying to get at. At least Namjoon does,” her head tilts toward him. “He can see inside my mind. So why the hesitance to inform me?” 

“Because you never believe us until you actually go through it,” Tae states and rolls his eyes. Why does he have an attitude all of the sudden? Did I do something?

“Tae. You’re making her worry. Drop your act, will you?” Yoongi sneers. “We’re all impatient. No reason to take it out on her.”

He shrinks back,”Sorry, love.” 

“It’s okay. I just would prefer knowing because it does in fact have something to do with me, personally . . . like a puzzle piece. Like once I know this one fact, maybe along with some smaller details, everything will click into place.” Y/n shakes her head. “Nevermind that. Lingering on it won’t do. So, Namjoon is a telepath with stronger bias toward reading minds, unlike Hobi, who can blanket someone’s vision and make them see whatever he wants . . . “ 

They just nod, urging you to continue. They all know that exercises like this helps you to retain your memories. 

“Yoongs is an empath, which is why he puts on such a cold front . . . but he always lets me go to him when I’m sad so he can take the burden off of me,” Yoongi’s cheeks warm up, and he ignores looks from the boys. “Jinnie, you’re our healer, a very good one at that. Jiminie . . . you can kill someone with a single touch, if you wanted to. I know you prefer not to use it though, it makes you feel icky.”

Jimin nods in agreement, thinking of the grim feeling that fills him when his touch drags the soul out of a living person’s body. 

“Tae-tae, you bring pain or numbness to any being at will. And Kookie . . . oh. You still haven’t developed yours. However, I am optimistic that you will in this lifetime,” Y/n says with a small smile. 

She then inhales deeply, then lets out a long breath. 

“Sit down, will you, love?” Yoongi mumbles. “I can feel your weariness.” 

Y/n nods, sitting down between Yoongi and Jimin. She feels an instant feeling of calm wash over her, and she silently thanks the man to her left. 

“You guys have something important going on with the other mafia families, right?” y/n tilts her head, and the boys look at her in confusion. 

“Why are you concerning yourself with mafia business?” Tae states bluntly, leaving Y/n taken aback, but she quickly regains composure. 

“Ta-” Namjoon tries to interject, but her mouth has already begun to move. 

“Oh, maybe because whatever you boys have gotten yourselves into this time has lead to a rather angry, gun waving vampire to clamp his teeth onto my neck, leading to severe blood loss and probably a perpetual fear of stepping into the very club that you own again.” 

Silence falls once again, along with Y/n’s composure. I didn’t really mean to come off so harsh, but Taehyung needs a reality check for whatever reason. So I gave him one. 

Don’t feel bad, baby girl. He deserved it, Namjoon’s voice quiet in the back of your head. 

To everyone’s surprise, an apology spills out of Taehyung’s mouth,”I’m sorry. This happens every time. It’s hard for me to adjust to your presence when you return . . . like my mind can’t accept the fact that you’re back. Like it’s scared to.” 

“I get it, Tae. But if I recall correctly, I had a heavy hand in our mafia business in my previous life. I think we’re all very aware of my capabilities when it comes to handling our current problems.” 

“Y/n. You may be you, but you’re not ready to dive back in as heavy as you were in before,” Jin hesitates to elaborate, as it’s a very painful memory for them. “Especially when . . . “

“Yes, I know. It led to my death. I remember it like it was yesterday, when vampire hunters were first starting to emerge. If only we had known,” she releases a deep sigh. She almost regrets bringing it up. Y/n knows well that all of them blame every single one of her deaths on themselves. “None of my deaths were ever any of your faults. You guys know that, right?” 

“We always have this argument, so let me shorten it. None of us will every stop blaming ourselves for letting you die,” Jungkook speaks for the first time in awhile,”So don’t try and convince us of anything else. Won’t work.” 

Y/n scrunches her nose,”Maybe your power is stubborness.” 

Jungkook makes a face at her and she giggles, causing a domino effect of laughter to fill the room. 

_____________

“So this cult of vampires believes that if they consume any of your blood, that they will suddenly be able to gain supernatural powers because of the witch DNA all of you contain?” Y/n clarifies. Everyone nods. “I mean, I guess I can see why they would think that. But I doubt they have any scientific backing to it. You drink vampire blood and then die, you come back as a vampire. But they have no idea whether or not the witch DNA is even contained in the blood that you have in your bodies. It truly sounds like a conspiracy.” 

“The logic doesn’t matter to them. If there’s even a chance that they could become as powerful as Vampire-Witch hybrids, they will take the chance. Or die trying,” Tae snorts at Namjoon’s sentence. 

“And die they will,” he elaborates. “But we need to be careful. If they find out -” Jungkook suddenly smacks him in the arm, cutting off whatever he was going to reveal. 

Y/n tenses. 

“Well, it’s too late now. You guys know she doesn’t like secrets,” Yoongi says from beside her. 

“Sorry, Yoongi. I know it must be frustrating to feel my emotions all the time. I know I project them, I don’t mean to,” she sends a small smile. 

He just chuckles,”I like feeling your emotions, even the bad ones. It makes me feel close to you.” 

Y/n shakes her head,”Alright. What are you guys not telling me?” 

“Nothing you don’t already know, princess,” Taehyung responds. “It has to do with when you turn.” 

She tries to remember for a moment, she really does. But it’s like there a roadblock. And they all know what will remove it, but it’s too soon. Much too soon. 

[momo-de-avis]

Wordtober Day 6: Build 2.0

Yall, I cheated. And am also late. I couldn’t get anything done with ‘husky’, so I decided to prolonge my previous prompt, as the last one didn’t give me room to fully explore my idea. So... be warned that this is... quite long. Possibly very long. I leave that up to you.

It’s a continuation of this one

𝚆𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝙻𝚞𝚒𝚜 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚓𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝟷𝟿𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝟸𝟻𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛, 𝟸𝟶𝟶𝟷, 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝙳𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝙿𝚊𝚣.

Dani and I had done this before, many times. We’d had our fair share of paranormal investigation—sometimes just plain investigation—and most of the times, it even amounts to nothing, if not a slight disruption of a picture or the ‘mysterious noises’ turning out to be either stray cats or a group of teenagers setting a horror movie set for strangers. But the Maduro case was peculiar to us. It was Dani who suggested we’d investigate the Maduro case, and she always did seem rather curious about the outlines of the case.  

We did the needed investigation before we got there. Aside from some news articles, there was the original 1983 police report, which looks… sloppy, rushed, and honestly, not like they were even trying at all. The majority of the photos vanished, supposedly lost in mishandling of paperwork, except three—the ones well known—and both disappearances were chalked up under ‘runaway children’, despite the fact that Samuel Maduro was 15 and Aura 28 at the time of each of their disappearances.

We knew the house had belonged to Aura after her parents, and before that, to Amelia and Augusto Maduro, the grandparents, who used to own a quarry up until 1939, when they sold their part of the business to Mr Maduro’s partner. At the time, we couldn’t really find the reason why they sold it, though what we did conclude afterwards is nothing short of speculation, so we just assumed it to be some sort of financial strain. There was a civil war going on, though we couldn’t find confirmation on the Maduros’ political affiliations, nor is their village located anywhere close to where the war hit, but… War always does bring about hard times, so it wasn’t at all that inane.

What was surprising was finding our first clue that contradicted the original 1983 report. Though Claudia Maduro, mother of both Samuel and Aura, suffered from a lifelong heart disease and eventually died four years after her son’s disappearance—a time spent between check-ups and several psychiatric consultations—the father’s death, Francisco Maduro, does seem related to the case.

He appears to have lived the last ten years of his life as a recluse, and the only visits he ever had were a gardener—who helped around with the backyard—, a maid—mostly responsible for doing his laundry, some cooking and cleaning—, and a man named Antonio. He was the last one to see Mr Maduro alive, though his name wasn’t even mentioned in the original report.

According to Antonio, when he arrived at the house that afternoon, Mr Maduro was in a state of distress. He had set up a ladder to go up the attic and was going up and down frequently, to fetch several items, all of which he recognized as being used for construction purposes: toolboxes, measuring tapes, rope, sandpaper. Of this, Antonio reportedly joked for a while, asking him if he was building something, or maybe fixing a piece of furniture, but Mr Maduro was majorly unresponsive, instead appearing focused on his task. He simply kept mumbling: “The animals keep tearing it down.”

It must have been shortly after he left that Mr Maduro fell off his ladder, approximately two meters high, hitting his head on a rock and being found hours later by the maid, who had him rushed to the hospital, where he died an hour later.

Here’s what’s so appalling about this. Looking at the original police records, there were no interviewed. It looks like the police simply asked no questions to anyone, no acquaintances of the family, no friends, no neighbours. Every evidence was gathered from inside the home, and every conclusion reached without taking into consideration the village itself. At first, we thought they had been careless—ridiculously careless, mind you—but as our days went on and we tried speaking to others, it became clear just what the real reason was.

The villagers avoided the Maduros because they were afraid of them.

Overall, it seems neither Aura nor Samuel—nor their parents, for that matter—were particularly hated, rather ostracized by what the villagers saw as a need. The priest at the time, one father Ángel, even did his best to include the two children in his community, and we did find several photos of Samuel carrying the podium of Santa Marina during one of its processions. Both siblings appear to have been devout Catholics too: crucifixes and rosaries were found in both rooms, as well as prayer books and Bibles, they attended church regularly, got involved with the community and celebrated every day of the calendar.  

The problem was not Samuel and Aura, nor Francisco and Claudia—the Maduros’ dark history was older than that.

There was one fundamental piece to their history that everyone completely overlooked, which wasn’t on records for reasons that, for a while, seemed mysterious enough, though it became clear as we unravelled the story. Francisco Maduro, grandfather of both Aura and Samuel, disappeared without a trace in 1939, immediately after selling his part of the quarry.

After searching through records, old newspapers and considerably angering the locals, all we found was one newspaper clipping, though not an article. It was an ad, an announcement, posted by the local police, asking villagers to please notify them if they new anything about Mr Maduro’s whereabouts. And nothing more. The only way to understand what had happened was by asking, and by now, we knew nobody would say a word about it, so we thought Antonio would perhaps collaborate.

By all means, it must be said: Antonio had a bit of a drinking problem, and we might have bargained in that sense. I’m not terribly proud of it, but in my defence, he looked desperate to talk, like he had kept something buried so deeply he waited years to finally speak up. Though I wasn’t expecting a confession exactly. After all, Antonio was, in his own words, Francisco’s best friend, though the two weren’t as close in adulthood as they had been in childhood. And like the Maduros—maybe because he appeared to be the only one in the village who didn’t fear going near the house—he was a bit of an outcast.

He told us that Amelia Maduro was far from being a heart-warming woman. He recalls her posture from childhood, which I think can be seen in the pictures found inside one of the locked rooms of the house: haughty, stern, impeccable. She seldom smiled, and her face bore something grievous to it, a chiselling of austerity that made children everywhere tell stories of her beatings and whippings. She was very pious too, at times too severe in her belief, and her doctrine was an imposing one. Antonio recalls an event from childhood, after visiting Francisco one afternoon: she had stopped a maid on her tracks, taken a step back and inspected her outfit; then, she had asked why was her skirt three fingers above the knee, to which the maid, flustered, replied she had to borrow her sister’s, who was younger, considering she had found a hole in hers that morning. Then, without warning, Amelia slapped the young woman across the face and said: “I will not have whores serving me.” And she fired her.

This might be explanatory to what truly seems to be the reason behind the quarry issue. Shortly before, Francisco Maduro became romantically involved with a supposed worker at the quarry, a woman who would bring refreshments to the men on the field every afternoon. It turns out, however, the woman was Pilar Deocampo, niece of Alfredo Deocampo—Francisco’s business partner. She became pregnant and decided to plan an escape with the aid of Francisco, who was supposed to meet with her after dealing with some logistics as to not leave his family with no support, but the plan failed when Amelia discovered their affair. When Pilar gave birth to baby boy in 1939, things took a grim turn.

From here on, Antonio swears, the story has become folklore, but the vast majority of the villagers strongly believe it to be true, and stands as the reason for them to stay away from the Maduros and their home. Amelia, without her husband’s knowledge—who was away for a few days—invited poor Pilar for some afternoon tea, under the guise of friendship and empathy before her condition—unmarried and with a son borne from a married man. How it happened differs, since nobody was present if not one maid who left the house immediately after, but on one thing all tales are consistent: Amelia killed the child in front of his mother, proclaiming that her act was justified before God because it was in God’s plans to cleanse the earth of sinners, and that the child was impure and shouldn’t have been born either way.

In a fit of rage, Pilar Deocampo attempted to injury Amelia, but failed to. As a result, Amelia inflicted several wounds on the grievous mother, who bled out in her living room. Many say Mrs Maduro watched, untouched by her very own gruesome actions, and in her dying breath, Pilar Deocampo uttered one last thing, something the village now chants as much as a curse as a reminder: Mi sangre marcará tu tierra, y mis huesos serán tu mausoleo. Por cada uno que pierdas, un otro quedará en sofrimiento, y como las árboles de tu finca, vosotros marchitarán lentamiente.

My blood will mark your land, and my bones will be your mausoleum. For each one you lose, another will stay in suffering, and like the trees of your property, you will wither away slowly.

Amelia then proceeded to force her very own maids into taking the body to the nearby forest, dig up a grave and bury them; then, she placed the two pillars with the chain to forbid anyone from going into the area, and never spoke of the subject again—until her husband arrived home the next day. Seeing the maids scrubbing blood from the wooden floorings, he inquired his wife as to what had happened. Amelia didn’t spare any details; in fact, many agree she was quite assured in her grim account, believing hers had been a righteous act.

Francisco Maduro then, in a frenzy of grief and despair, ran into the woods to see it for himself, to see the grave of his beloved and his child—and he crossed the space between the two pillars. He was never seen again.

Amelia would die less than ten years later, and despite everything, many agree she was incredibly grievous of her husband’s disappearance and entirely devoted to her faith. The Maduros then became a cautionary tale—it’s unclear to me whether or not Francisco witnessed this event, considering he would be around 18-20 at the time, but the tale became part of the villages’ folklore so much he became a person they willing avoided. Antonio swears, however, that both Aura and Samuel were entirely unaware of this past.

From the story came a legend, one the villagers believed to be real, from the case of Samuel and Aura Maduro’s disappearance. Anyone who crossed the space between the two pillars would find the secret burial place of Pilar and her child; keeping her promise, it seems a Maduro would always be bound to find the place in one way or another, and it was none other than Pilar who called them, leaving someone else behind to suffer for their absence, until no Maduros were left.

It seems Pilar achieved her goal, then.

This also explains something about the house, something Aura herself spoke of in her last journal entry: that there was an overwhelming sadness to it, something bittersweet that didn’t seem to belong there. If the path itself sent a shiver down our spines, and there always seem to be something lurking between the trees when we looked, inside the house we felt… safe. Dani even recalled feeling this sudden pang of sadness which she described as being ‘like a mother losing her child’. At the time, I laughed it off, told her she was just missing her cat, but after Antonio told us the tale, we… froze in dread, to be honest.

Energy like this is nothing new—the spirits of those who died inside the place always leave some speck of it behind, and we feel it like something external. We thought it strange at first because no Maduro had died inside the home that we knew of: Francisco at the hospital, Claudia at the local market, Samuel and Aura vanishing, and as far as we could tell, with Francisco also vanished, Amelia died while in mass of a heart attack. But it started making sense then: the only people who had died inside the house were not members of the Maduro. It was their pain we felt, and consequently, that Aura felt.

Dani and I weren’t sure what to expect of this, but it certainly explained why all those who had tried finding the clearing described by Aura never did—because they went around the two pillars, not through them. We had come all this way to find answers, so we figured there was only one thing to do.

I think we were naïve. We believed the tale was only a tale, and if any of it was to be taken for truth, it was certainly aimed at the cursed—the Maduros, not us, mere wanderers. But… we were wrong.

I took a recorder and a camera with me, while Dani took a photographic digital camera. For a while, we stood before the two pillars in silence and tried telling ourselves it was fine, perfectly fine, it was just a piece of local folklore based on Catholic devotion of two women, one a sinner, the other scorned. We’d heard many like that, and it seemed improbable the clearing even existed in the first place. So we held our hands—though why, I can’t exactly tell—and we leapt over the chain.

Every single one of Aura’s words travelled back to me. She was right. It was… daunting. Shapes hovered about, escaping my sight constantly, caught only from the corner of my eyes, and the dense vegetation closed around us. There was a horrible silence all around—more of an absence of sound—and we couldn’t even hear our own heart beats. The sun struggled to transverse the heavy foliage, and the air was thick and prickly. Dani snapped a few photographs as we trod on, but it was clear she was aiming at nothing specifically, just frantically moving her camera with a gasp and a jitter, frightened by a sudden movement from which came no sound. Even the snapping twigs and crunching leaves beneath our feet seemed muffled.

After thirty minutes, we stopped. Before us, the space opened widely, and trees sprouted from a bald batch of white and brown earth, entwining together above our heads like a gable roof. Dani stopped, her camera frozen between her hands, but her eyes were glazed into a sort of mania I had never seen before. With a shuddering finger, she pressed the shutter, but didn’t look into the screen, just ahead—contemplating, focused. Her arm lowered then, and I called her name; Dani jittered, blinked and looked down at the photo she had just snapped—frozen and pale.

When she showed me photos, my heart sank to my feet. Every single one of them was so corrupted almost all of them were unusable, but a few of them showed something buried beneath the static corruption. Shadows, figures, silhouettes. A pair of baby feet. Faces, hollow and daunting, frozen into a scream.

I pressed my recorder, but it didn’t seem to work; Dani pressed some buttons on her camera but suddenly halted, and her eyes—glazed once more—cast curiously all around. She gave a step forward, and another, and a few more—all considerate and cautious, though they grew, and unexpectedly, she took her backpack off her shoulders and threw it on the ground; she dashed ahead, her hands diving deep into a bush, rummaging through meshes of thorny foliage, and a faint yet vivid laughter escaped her lips.

I called her in screams, but she did not react. At this point, I was terrified and could not move; all I could see was Dani dashing back and forth, stacking sticks under her arms and wiping the centre of the clearing clean, hands covered in white and brown dust—until I realized what she was doing.

I remembered Aura’s account. She was building something.

I shouted again, telling her to stop, as loud as I could, but this time, I couldn’t freeze. I ran to her, wrapped my arms around her when she began to struggle, and with all my might, held her steady, face buried against my chest. She smacked her fists at me, but I persisted, desperately trying to keep her still. I thought then that all it mattered was that she wouldn’t see, she wouldn’t look at the clearing, at that spot where she was feeling somehow compelled to build. I closed my eyes shut, and wind gushed past—no sound still. And I waited.

I opened my eyes first, didn’t let Dani move, and froze again. Before me was a house—small, no higher than a meter and a half tall—made of something white, polished and scraped to precision. Bone.

Stood in a moment of suspension, my arms relaxed, and my fingers stopped gripping Dani’s clothes. Her body shuddered against mine, and her breath raged louder than the gushing wind around us, louder than any sound in that deathly and hollow clearing. Then, she screeched—a gasp that grew in timbre, a rising cadence that somehow seemed to come far slower than I took notice of, and she jolted herself. In a motion faster than I could have anticipated, her body escaped my grip, and she ran—she ran away from me, towards the bone house that rose before us, without really having actually seen it before turning her head with resolution and dashing away.

I tried to grab her, but she escaped; her hands smacked open at the door, and on her knees, she crawled; her panting, heavy and desperate, came like an omen. She was famished for whatever exited beyond it, and I tried to stop—I screamed and ran after her, but she was elusive and fast and set on getting through that door and into the darkness that sucked her in and in and in—and I was too slow. Inside the door, nothing but blackness—swirling, consuming blackness—and as Dani entered the daunting absence of it, she evaporated from her very being. It was like watching someone being devoured by an invisible mouth that swallowed her into nothingness, and her every gesture came with so much reassurance I finally understood what Pilar Deocampo had warned: one always stays behind to suffer.

It wasn’t just meant for the Maduros; it was meant for anyone who desecrate her grave.

When the door slammed shut with a hollow thud, I collapsed to my knees and screamed her name, over and over until nothing existed inside my throat but the soreness of my efforts and the saltiness of my tears. There was not a sound. The entire space around me was engulfed in nothingness. I couldn’t see nor hear Dani anywhere, and before me, the house made of bone appeared far too small for her body to fit inside.

I curled up, and though the terror that had consumed me and made my heart pound so harshly my chest hurt, I couldn’t move. I grabbed the camera, but was unable to turn it off. By my side, Dani’s backpack laid forgotten, tossed aside in a rush. I had studied the Maduro’s case to the smallest detail and I knew she wouldn’t come back. And I finally understood what it was that had consumed Aura in such overwhelming grief, enough to make her leave her home and never come back, until her father passed away and she realized—she must have—he too crossed the space between the two pillars. I finally understood what madness had possessed Amelia after her grim crimes.

It was knowing they weren’t dead, but sentenced to absolute nothingness, left to hover in a sea of absence and non-existence, spiralling down to possible madness. It was knowing they were better off dead.

I blinked my teary eyes open, cold and trembling, hands gripping the camera, and saw something. The house was still there, but next to it, someone: sitting on the ground, back turned to me, legs crossed and shoulders slouched forward, clothes ragged and torn, and in their long auburn hairs, small leaves and twigs were caught in the slender threads. Instinctively, I turned the camera and snapped a quick picture—but the figure didn’t move.

My eyes didn’t move away from the strange figure in front of me, and as I put the camera down, I realized it could only be one person.

“Aura Maduro?”

Her head rose slowly, as if she tried to have a look at the skies, hairs swaying behind her, but she said nothing. Then, I felt it again—that same pressing sadness we always felt inside the house, like a mass of air that swarmed around me, emanating from the spectre before me.

“Where is Dani?” My voice was low, considerate; I looked at the figure and I still saw who I had seen in Aura Maduro the moment I had arrived there—a victim, as much as I was now. “Can you please bring her back to me?”

Immobile. Time passed, though I couldn’t measure, couldn’t tell how long it had been, if it was night or day though the sun existed somewhere in the sky—of that, I was sure. Then, her voice floated in the air, a ragged tune, husky and dragged, but frayed by an overwhelming agony that consumed me like a gust of wind.

“She has to stay.”

My breath rose and whipped the back of my throat; I moved restlessly, but couldn’t leave the small batch of earth on which I knelt. “Please,” I pleaded. “Please, just let me take her home.”

“El sangre marca la tierra,” she spoke, “y sus huesos son nuestro mausoleo.”

“I know what Pilar did to your family.” Every word seemed senseless to me, as if I read from a book: reciting a prayer in order to save myself, though unsure I was there was any salvation left. I wanted to say more, let her know that I understood that misery that encompassed us both, that exuded out of her like a cold wind—but every word died.

“One always stays,” she said, “and the other feels pain. But I look after them.”

I felt my chest tear open in that same sweeping sadness—it was something carved deep into her words, something instilled in the worn-out tone of her voice.

“I look after them,” she continued—and in between her words, a dissonance came: of a woman that wept in silence, the distortion of a throat filled with swallowed tears, “so they don’t feel so lost.”

Defeated, I looked down at the earth beneath me, at last understanding what never-ending horror Pilar Deocampo had cast on the world, that projected grief that would never cease, a continuous cycle of pain and terror—meant forever to steal and burden those who lived, who came out unscathed, to unfathomable pain.

I thought there was something I had to say, though I sincerely don’t know what my reason was: “What can I do?”

Her hand waved in the air, and from the ratty long-sleeves of her jersey, a slender finger, bony and pale, pointed to her left. I noticed there was a watch, glass cracked and black bracelet, with gold rims around. “Take him,” she said. “Let Sam rest.”

The order was immediate, and somehow, I understood. I stood, paced slowly towards the area she had pointed at—below a tall tree, at a small mound covered in pine needles and dried leaves, a batch of golden-brown amidst a soft green. I knelt, pushed the leaves aside, dug my fingers into the earth, and shuddered at the touch of something cold, harsh and angular. A hand, made of bones entirely, no flesh left, emerged—and when I understood at last what she demanded of me, I nearly vomited—sure I was completely incapable of completing the task.

I didn’t look back; short of breath, lungs collapsing at every sweeping movement of my hand, I didn’t rest. When I was done, a putrid smell filled my nose and I covered it with one arm; I ran back then, to Dani’s abandoned backpack, and rummaged for something useful enough for the rest of the deed. We had both brought our sleeping bags, expecting to perhaps spend the night to collect some evidence—so I unrolled Dani’s, pulled the zipper open, and with a force I hadn’t felt before in my life, unsure still where it came from—an urgency of survival, perhaps, or something outside of myself, cast upon me by Aura Maduro—I grabbed the pile of bones and put them inside the sleeping bag.

She was still there when I was done, her hand resting on her lap again. I stopped, stared at her with a cold shudder—whether of dread or something else, I can’t say anymore. Aura Maduro—what was left of her—simply sat in contemplation, her head still raised as she stared at something ahead, and only then did her words echo in my brain in full meaning. I grabbed my backpack, put the sleeping bag carefully on Dani’s, and stared at her. I had almost forgotten about the bone house.

“Do not return,” she said. “You won’t resist next time.”

Somehow, there was an unpronounced message in the air, something that wafted by like a tune carried from the distance, something you only notice when you stop and listen carefully: I am sorry you will have to suffer like we all did. I am sure that was it. Somehow, the precision existed in the tone of her voice, exuding out of her like a radio wave meant to be captured; somehow, I knew.

I walked back—ran back—and once I leapt over the chain, almost instantly, the air was weightless, soft and comforting. But everything else—my entire existence—began to press against my shoulders into a burden that was only now beginning to emerge. Guilt. Terror. Sadness. Crushing, overwhelming sadness—and Dani’s inexistence, her sentence into nothingness, collapsed over me.

It goes without saying I never saw her again.

I buried Samuel Maduro in the backyard of the house, and with nothing to mark his grave, I simply left, on the mound of earth, a framed picture I had found in the house—of Samuel and Aura. In it, she was wearing a wristwatch, black bracelet with golden rims.

I left and never went back. Though sometimes there is a burning wish to grab my things and drive until I see them again, the two pyramidal pillars with that creaking chain between, I never did. I think of Aura’s words, her blooming sadness, and something about it breaks my heart to pieces. The last of a cursed family, unknown of what she carried. On the night she had finally returned to her brother, in 1983, she had sacrificed far more than I could have anticipated. Cast into nothingness forever, sentenced to exist in a limbo of non-existence, forever imprisoned in the blackness of the bone house, she had willingly become a guardian. A watchful soul over those who fell victim to Pilar’s treachery—unable to put an end to it, she had at least given herself to the chance of easing their burden, making that consuming nothingness a bit more bearable. The core of it is, however, what it means to the two last members of the Maduro family.

I was never religious. I still am not. But they were stark Catholics, born and raised between catechesis and Saturday mass. For them, being sentenced to a limbo that is neither death nor life, neither Heaven nor Hell, and something far worse than purgatory… It must be horrifying.

I destroyed my camera and the footage, as well as the tape recorder I took with me, though there was nothing in it. I couldn’t bear, however, to destroy Dani’s digital camera. It was a piece of her, and every little thing that attested to her existence, I just… held on to it.

It was only months later that I turned that camera on again. To my surprise, there was a picture I had never seen—the last one I had taken, of Aura Maduro herself.

I can’t describe it. I will leave it to your eyes to see what lacks words entirely. Perhaps you can understand what it that I felt that afternoon.

I wish I could tell Dani how sorry I am.

________

𝙻𝚞𝚒𝚜 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚓𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝙽𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟶𝚝𝚑, 𝟸𝟶𝟶𝟷. 𝙷𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚍. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚔, 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙼𝚛 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚓𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙼𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝙿𝚊𝚣.

𝙳𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝙿𝚊𝚣 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍.

𝙰 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚢𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎, 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚝, 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚐. 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚂𝚊𝚖𝚞𝚎𝚕 𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚘 𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍.  

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝙼𝚛 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚓𝚘’𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎. 

_________________

Wordtober Day 1: Ring

Wordtober Day 2: Mindless

Wordtober Day 3: Bait

Wordtober Day 4: Freeze

Wordtober Day 5: Build I

[zxanthe]

Maka and Soul are best friends and have been since they were infants, but they both have huge crushes on each other and have for a while. Neither one of them knows, but senior prom is coming around and both are looking for dates. More like each other

another late prompt! kinda flubbed it on the “best friends” bit and turned it into more of a “best hatefriends” type of thing - in any case, this is a bit experimental - hope yall enjoy lmao

(also available on ao3)

–

“Broooo,” Starleers, and his teeth glitter too brightly under the lights, “you got a date tothe prom yet?”

Jealousy, irrational and sudden, starts buzzing in ahigh-pitched whine by his ear before he squashes it flat with a snort. “Spend afuckload of money to get trapped in some hotel ballroom with a bunch of peopleI hate for three hours? C’mon, dude, there are way better ways to spend yourtime.”

“Okay, but, consider: Tsubaki Nakatsukasa.” He shoots a grinand a wink over Soul’s shoulder. The girl in question smiles and waves backsheepishly. She’s standing a ways down the hall with Liz Thompson and – oh God.Soul’s heart skips a beat. He swivels his head back frontways, cool as can be.

“She actually said yes?”

“Of course! It’s not like I thought she wouldn’t or anything,I mean have you seen these guns?”

Throbbing, gently glistening muscles are thrust under hisnose. “Should make you a sandwich with all that jelly you got there,” Star sayswith a smirk.

Soul makes a show of rolling his eyes and shoves him away.“Bro, c’mon.”

“No bro, you c’mon.It’s our senior year. Think of all the people we can make fun of!”

“Like we don’t do that every day.”

“But they’ll be thinking they’re even hotter shit thanthey’re usually not so it’ll be twice as funny.”

“Still no.”

“Brah. Whatever, let’s hit the gym. Not much time left tofit in those gains, ya dig?”

“Unbelievable,” Soul grumbles. He grabs his bag and slamshis locker shut.

Across the hall, Maka grabs her bag and slams her lockershut. “Who, Evans?”

“Yeah!” says Liz, smacking her gum. “Tsu’s already goingwith Blockhead over there, might as well go along for moral support. ‘Sides,didn’t you two used to be like BFFs up till like middle school?”

She very determinedly doesn’t look back. She can feel herears heating up. “Okay, one, that was a long time ago and we don’t really talkanymore because he turned into a jerk, and two, Tsu, really?!”

“Black Star has such nice deltoids, Maka,” Tsubaki saysmournfully. “They’re sculpted. Andhe’s actually not all that bad, once you get to know him.”

“You’re too nice for your own good.”

“Maybe so. But you know, he’s kind of charming, in his ownspecial way.”

“Oh my God.”

Liz cackles. “Look, I’d ask Evans myself cause mmm, grungerocker boy with a sexy-ass glare? I’d be all over that, baby, but Kid alreadyasked me, so my hands are kinda tied.”

Maka huffs. Her ears must be totally red by now, ugh, shereally hopes Liz isn’t in an observant mood. It’s not like she expressly needsa date to go to the prom; going stag is very much a thing. Having one wouldn’tnecessarily make the undoubtedly agonizing experience any better, much lessSoul Evans of all people. She imagines, though, for a brief, blinding instant,what he’d look like in a suit – oh no, Liz is looking at her and she doesn’t likethe glint in her eye. Maka clears her throat and fumbles at the threads ofconversation. “That rich boy transfer student? No way.”

“Yes way,” Liz says, smugness creeping into her voice, “andif – “

“ – you don’t go I will be fuckin’ hurt.”

Soul rolls his eyes. “Would you quit it already, it’s beenlike a week now. Th’ fuck you even need me there for anyway, dumbass, you’vefinally got a date with the chick you’ve been talking about nonstop for likethis entire semester.”

“Uh, yeah, and I need my most loyal follower and favoritewingman there to bask in the combined force of our blinding hotness.”

“Jesus, you’re so weird,why do I even talk to you?”

“The words I speaketh are ambrosia on thine ears, my goodbro. Hey, why don’t you ask out Tsubaki’s friend? That short flat-chested onewith the pigtails, I forgot her name. That way you don’t have to worry aboutthird-wheeling us.”

Soul chokes on his protein shake. Black Star pounds himvigorously on the back. “Breathe, brother. I know, I know. But take one for theteam, yeah?”

“Fuck you,” Soul gasps. “You’re the worst.”

“Shh. No tears, only dreams now.”

“Maka Albarn,” Soul begins, “is the nerdiest, most uptight –“

“ – idiotic slacker in the entire school!” Her ears aresteaming, she’s sure of it. “I can’t be seenwith a guy like that, the act alone will drop my GPA by a full lettergrade!”

“GPA-shmeePA,” Liz says with a dismissive wave of herfreshly-painted nails. “Listen, you won’t flunk out of college or whatever justbecause you go party for one night. Besides, what if things go south withBlockhead and Tsu needs backup? Who’ll look after our girl?”

“I know taekwondo, you know,” Tsu says from on top of herbed.

“Not the point. C’mon, Maka!”

“A triangle has three sides,” Tsu says. “Senior prom wouldn’tbe right without you. You don’t even have to ask anyone if you don’t want to.”

I do, though, mumblesa little voice in the back of her head, and an image of Soul surfaces in herbrain. She bites her lip. “Well…”

“Uh,” says Soul.

In front of him, Maka puts a hand on her hip. “Uhhh,” she mimics. “Are you just goingto stare at me like an idiot all day or was there something you had to say?”

His stomach’s doing backflips and it’s making it very hardto concentrate. The bell just rang, they’re huddled awkwardly against the walljust outside the classroom to avoid getting swept up in the crowd, and herealizes, belatedly, that he doesn’t have to do this. He could just go byhimself, and be the awkward third wheel, but. Ugh. This is stupid – why’s he sonervous? (He knows exactly why.) He plays it off as lofty annoyance. “Do you,”he begins.

“Do I.”

“Do you. Wanna go to prom?”

Maka gapes. She was thinking he’d be asking to copy hercalculus homework for the billionth time, or maybe help on a biology problem –they have entirely too many classes together and it’s bullshit, it really is –but not this. She’d been agonizing ona dignified way to ask him for the past three days, and then this just dropsinto her lap –

“Hello in there,” Soul says. “Wow, am I really thatoffensive? I’m hurt.”

Her heart’s beating too fast, ugh, God, she can’t think – wait,he asked her, does this mean – could it be that –

“Yes,” she blurts.

Disappointment skewers his stomach mid-somersault. “Well,that settles that, I guess.”

Mortification consumes her as she realizes what she justsaid. “No!” she cries, too passionately. Soul turns around and quirks aneyebrow. Her ears are flaming. “Imean, yes! I mean, you’re – palatable! I’ll go to prom with you!”

“Oh. Oh. Hella.Rad. Guess I’ll uh. See you then. You have my number already, right?”

“Y-yeah!”

Fuck me, Soulthinks as he escapes, hoping she didn’t catch him blushing like a motherfucker,hella rad –

- you’re palatable – Maka wants to die –

REALLY?!

“Really?” Maka asks.

They made it intact to the dance floor. Some sappy countrysong is playing. The floor is packed with sweaty, inept teenage dancers; itreeks accordingly. He’s wearing a rental and she’s got on this knee-lengthpurple number that really highlights her lack of any womanly curves whatsoever.Her hair’s half-down half bizarre corkscrew pigtails. Liz and Tsubaki must havedone her makeup, there’s no way she could get it to look that polished on herown. She looks gawky. She looks ridiculous. There’s something funny happeningin his chest at the sight of her.

She feels the light, hesitant pressure of his hand in hersand on her hip like nothing she’s ever felt. His palm’s a little clammy. He’sso tall. When did he get so tall? Her heart’s beating a million miles an hour.She wants – she wants – she takes a deep breath. “Do you even know how todance?”

“Nope.”

“Ugh, figures.”

“Hey, you were theone who wanted to get out here, not me. Don’t you dare complain.”

She steps on his toe and feels gratified at the little yelpof pain he gives. “Ugh, you’re so…it’s a freaking dance, dummy, not a sit-at-the-table-like-a-weirdo!” Her heartleaps into her throat as a terrible thought occurs to her. “If you didn’t wannacome,” she says, a shade quieter, “why’d you even ask me?”

Soul swallows. “I, uh. Star, he.”

Oh no. Oh no, she’s a world-class idiot. “Don’t,” she says thickly,beginning to pull away. “Ha ha, very funny, ask the ugly one out for shits and giggles – “

“No!” Soul’s grip tightens. “It wasn’t – I wouldn’t – do youactually think I’d – “

“Yes!” she says,trying to escape in earnest now, and Soul flinches, stung. He doesn’t let go,though.

“Listen to me, itwasn’t a dare, okay, I – “

“Then why!”

“Because – it’s uncool to go to prom without a date and – “

“Oh, so it’s about your image, is it! God, men, you’re all so – “

“Let me finish!” hegrowls, and tries to pull her back to him, but he pulls too hard and of courseshe fucking trips and suddenly it is taking all of Soul’s considerablebalancing skills, honed from years spent studying the ways of the skateboard,to keep them from eating shit like a couple of goddamn morons. They performseveral very silly and energetic twirls instead, earning them some dirty looksfrom neighboring couples.

“Holy shit,” says Black Star from their table, elbowingTsubaki. “This is going way better than we thought.”

“It’s beautiful,” she sighs, smiling a little.

“Jesus,” Soulsays. He’s dipped her. This final move was necessary to prevent them fromfalling, and also to make everything look totally awesome and intentional.Their faces are very close together. She’s got really, really pretty eyes, henotes, a little dazedly. “Because I wantedto,” he blurts out.

Her throat bobs as she swallows. Her mouth is suddenly verydry. “You…what?”

“I mean, like, Star was like, ask Maka, because she’s Tsu’sfriend and all and it would just make sense and I wouldn’t go otherwise but I actuallywanted to, also, I mean, ask you.”

“Oh,” she says. She’s dizzy from all the spinning they justdid and kinda breathless. This close she can smell his cologne. The lights aretoo dim to properly tell but – her heart stops – is that a blush on his face? Oh. Oh.

Oh. She’s looking at him with something very much likedisgust, or shock, or something – fucking hell, he blew it, this is it, shereally does hate him now. He straights back up. The song is still fuckingplaying. He knew this was a bad idea, the entire night, all of it – this danceis just the rotten cherry on the shit sundae of the entire liquid fart of hisentire high school career. He swallows hard, and wonders how much more she’dhate him if he bolted right here and now –

Her brain has short-circuited, as it tends to do around thisstupid, stupid boy. “Are you even going to college?” she blurts nonsensically.

He looks visibly startled. “What? No. No. Fuck the police,”he mumbles.

One beat. Two. Then she busts out laughing. Okay, now he’sdefinitely blushing, she can see it, it’s confirmed. Silly, silly coolguys.

“Fuck you,” he mumbles. “I hate you.”

She’s feeling very brave, or maybe very stupid. Maybethey’re the same thing. She tightens her grip on his shoulder and steps incloser. “Do you?” she asks him. “Well I hate you more. I’ve always hated you.”

“Oh, sick. Even when we were kids?”

“Especially then.”

His eyes get a strange, blazing look. It makes butterfliesexplode in the pit of her stomach. He jerks her through a turn round thecorner. “Well I’ve hated you since I first saw your stupid face,” he growls.“Every time you smile I get so fuckin’ pissed, I wanna just, just kiss it right off you.”

“Holy shit,” Maka blurts, and now her whole face is probablythe color of a fire engine, “son of a,” and she goes for it, loops her armsround his neck and presses close like she’s wanted to all night.

“You’re awful,” Soul rumbles, and hugs her tighter, “fuckingterrible – “

“Uncouth, moronic – “

“Why don’t we cut the crap,” he says suddenly, “and blowthis joint. Let’s go to The Creek and stargaze, like we used to.”

“The Creek?”

“Oh yeah. Our one. Bet our fort’s still there andeverything.”

“Bet.”

“You’re on. Loser’s gotta pay up with – ” and she feels hisbreathing hitch “ –  a kiss.”

She pulls away and looks at him. There are spots of color inhis cheeks, and when he meets her eyes they deepen and he looks away. Ice cold,yeah right. She takes a deep breath. They have a lot of catching up to do.

“Deal,” she says, and smiles.

[captaingondor]

Okay, but if you're still looking for romantic prompts, how about Character A saying I love you to Character B without using the words "I love you." (Through actions, or an "as you wish" situation. That kinda thing.)

Thanks for the prompt!!For this, I wrote about probably my favorite of my OC ships. Tragically I probably won’t be able to show as much of their relationship as I’d like in the work itself, and neither of them is the perspective character. This is fortunate in that  I can write whatever I want for self-fanfic without stepping on the main narrative’s toes, and unfortunate as I want to just write their whole relationship basically which made this a little hard to pare down. Hope y’all love them too!If you want some dramatic irony, also read this piece I wrote with Corrianne earlier. And, if you are curious, the correct way to pronounce her name is ‘cor-ee- AHN,’ with a French R sound.

How Empress Corrianne Learned to Speak Her Husband’s Language

When they married, Corrianne could not speak to her new husband.

Like most nobility around the continent, she had never studied Pelasian. Even centuries later, the fears birthed by the Speaker Wars lived on. No mage could twist your mind to his will if you couldn't understand the words he needed to do it. (Of course, now Pelasia had grown to power anyway without the use of mind-altering magic, so maybe it had all been for nothing.) And the Emperor, it seemed, had never bothered to learn any language but his own native tongue.

Corrianne studied and practiced until she was able to carry on something of a conversation with him without going through her ladies-in-waiting or his translator. The Emperor could not even say her name right.

But chipping away at the language barrier was not aiding their communication to the level that she had thought it should. True, she did not mind the extent to which he left her to herself - she had encouraged it. No, the Emperor was simply a hard man to understand. So she told herself, and so she held firmly in believing.

She could not have said when she first started noticing a difference.

***

He knocked at the door between their suites late in the evening, when she had retreated to hers from the court but not yet prepared herself for bed. He always knocked - these rooms remained hers, not his. The first few times he’d done this, she’d sent one of her maids to answer instead and give her regrets. When he proved unfailingly polite to them, and did not push past her excuses, she decided this could be allowed and came to the door herself. He never demanded her presence, or even requested - a request from the Emperor was little less than a demand. He merely gave an offer - he had ended his work for the day and would be in his sitting room, and would welcome her company if she wished to join him.

“I usually take this time for some quiet when I can… read for a bit by the fire, have a glass of wine… but if you would like to talk instead -” His eyes flicked to the maid murmuring all his words in Corrianne’s ear. “Perhaps practice your Pelasian?”

He had not offered to practice his Ruveldin, or even Idan, so that time she had refused. But she didn’t really want to spend the rest of her life married to a man that she would not talk to, so the next time she had accepted.

She’d been worried about his intentions that time, though he’d never touched her without her permission. But he really had just sat by the fire with his book and offered her a glass of wine, and did not press her unduly for conversation when she opened her own book. They made a few simple comments to each other on their day, and what they were reading, and spent the rest of the evening in silence together. She wondered how many times he’d had two glasses brought up, hope. She wondered if he’d left a few dregs in each to keep the servants from talking. She felt a little bad, but only a little.

She’d come over many times since then, and it had almost become a little ritual between them. They did not always spend the time reading silently - she truly did wish to practice her Pelasian, and he proved a patient conversation partner.

This time when he knocked, she answered with a smile and stepped through before he even needed to make his offer. She carried a book with her, but did not open it immediately when she sat down, and so he did not reach to pick up his own.   “Thank you for joining me.” Even now that it was a regular occurrence, he thanked her. “I enjoy your company. I have little time to myself, but this has been an improvement on solitude.”

She had not thought the Emperor one to seek out solitude. He demanded the attention of the world. Perhaps she had misunderstood him. She smiled politely and asked him about his day. He was a man of routine; she knew the words he would use to speak about that well enough to follow, better than whatever that declaration had been.

***

They were at dinner, which was rarely a private affair. There were always people at court to entertain. But today was no great feast or party, only a regular meal, and while the Emperor’s attention might as ever be demanded at any time, at present Corriane and her husband were left to converse among themselves as they ate, should they choose to.

They did not always. Corrianne preferred practicing her Pelasian when they were in private, and going through a translator was more clunky than casual dinner conversation with her husband ought to be. And besides, it was dinner, and their main focus was eating.

But today, he chose to strike a conversation up. “Have you heard from your sisters lately?”

She’d received a letter from Everrie just that day. Perhaps he’d had mail come in from Ruveld as well, or seen the messenger bring it in. Or perhaps it was a lucky guess, though that seemed less likely. “I have.”

“And how are they?”

A few times, early on, when the Emperor had asked about her family, she had wondered if he were fishing for information on them, for his schemes or politics. But that had been silly. Surely he had plenty of sources for that without her.

“Both are well. Also my father, and -” She paused. She did not know the proper word for stepmother or half-brother. But he knew that they were her stepmother and half-brother, of course, there was no need to explain it to him. “And his wife, and Alairon.”

“Glad to hear it. Your younger sister’s birthday was coming up, wasn’t it?” He didn’t try to say her name - maybe he’d seen Corrianne wince as he mispronounced hers too many times.

“Yes, they had just celebrated it when Everrie wrote me.”

“She could handle planning for it without you, then?”

Oh. He had remembered, from the last time Everrie wrote. She had told him how Everrie was used to following her lead for social events, how she had been so frantic about taking it on herself, how she had wanted to prove she could step up to the task without leaning too heavily on their stepmother. She hadn’t passed on all of Everrie’s pouring out her heart - she did not think she’d have like the Emperor to hear all of it - but she liked to talk about home, and it was a good subject for her to use in practicing her conversation. And, she realized, her husband had been very attentive in asking her about her sisters. He had been since the first time she brought it up.

“It was as I told her, she -” She hesitated, and finished the sentence in Ruveldin for his interpreter to pass on. “She is more competent than she gives herself credit. She just needed to get her time of worrying out of the way and put her mind to it.”

“Still, they must miss you at home. You light up my court so, I can see it would be hard to lose you.”

She hardly knew how to respond to that, and took a bite so that she would not have to.

***

One of her ladies reported to Corrianne that her husband had had a gift sent to her rooms, so she came to them and found the box set on a table. She opened it to find a delicate golden hair comb, set with many small, deep red gems. Beautiful, and very much to her taste. She wondered if he had picked it out himself.

It was hardly the first gift he had given her. Fine cloth for her dresses, a dark bay riding horse, expensive jewelry, books - ones that he thought she would enjoy, or Pelasian translations of ones she had to help in her study. Some she had written off as no more than what might be expected from the Emperor to his wife. The others had confounded her. What did he mean by them? Was he trying to buy her affections, to keep her and thereby her father’s kingdom sweet? Did he wish to flaunt his wealth and power?

But none of those thoughts came to her now - only a desire to find her husband so she could thank him for it.

She made a few inquiries and was glad to be able to find him alone, going over his correspondence. He looked up, and smiled when he saw her. She’d never noticed before how different that smile looked from the one she saw him wear in public, how his eyes brightened with it. He nodded at the comb she clutched in her hand.

“You like it?”

She nodded. “It is -” It is lovely, she wanted to say, but could not find the right word as she filed through her Pelasian vocabulary. “It is very nice.”

He stood up from his desk and walked over to her. “I thought it would look well with your hair.” His eyes lifted to the honey-gold braids crowning her head as he spoke. He hesitated a moment, and then held out his hand. “May I?”

She passed the comb to him, and he slid it into her hair as though he were one of her maids. Her husband stood back, and looked at her admiringly for the space of several second, before frowning.

“I’m sorry - I don’t have a mirror here for you to look at it -”

She smiled softly. “I am sure you put it in straight. Thank you.”

“I’m happy you like it, Corrianne.” He stumbled over the r, and tried again. “Cor - Corrianne -”

It still was not right, but she smiled anyway. “I understand, Seyetto.” And she set her hands on his shoulders, pushed herself up on her toes, and kissed him.

[thehomierobbstark]

Teach Me

Part 2 Part 3

Pairing: Erik Killmonger x Reader [#TeamErikDon’tDateWhiteChicks]

Prompt:  [This was a request I asked of someone else, but I decided to stop being a lazy bitch and take a shot at writing it instead of always asking someone else] If you’re still doing requests can you do a oneshot (or a series if you can, cuz lbr I’m a greedy bitch 😂) for Erik based on Miguel’s Teach Me lyrics? I feel like it speaks to both emotional and sexual vulnerability, so could it be dom!Erik trying to show his girl how she gives him a feeling he’s never felt before (emotionally) through exploring her body (sexually) as if for the very first time?

A/N: Sooo this is my first time ever writing fic. Anticipating this might be 3 Parts in total, but let me know if y’all think I should continue this or nah. I won’t include the lyrics in the fic but if you wanna give the song a listen you can.

Warnings: Nothin really. Use of the N word but I’m not gone stop doing that.

Shoutout to @princess-of-the-snake-pit, @panthergoddessbast, & @lafayettes-baguettes-1 for being my beta readers yall the homies!

This is for all my lil cute ass black gorditas out there rockin back fat, belly rolls and thick ass thighs that touch!!  x Reader is always gon be black, chubby, and sassy if I decide to continue writing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Umm.… you not bout to do that shit in here are you?!” Erik asked, turning and eyeing you from the couch as you waddled into the living room. You moved slowly, arms full with nail care items and a bottle of nail polish remover stuck between your thighs. You switched your movements to short and shuffled once you reached the carpet so as not to drop anything.

“Uhh… this my place nigga, so yes the hell I am,” you snap back, noticing Erik’s gaze go from your arms to your jiggling ass as you make your way over towards him. You give him a side eye and a clipped grunt as you reach the coffee table, stopping to stare at it.  You looked between it and the stuff hugged against your chest. You clearly didn’t think this through.

Looking over to your boyfriend, you plastered a toothy smile on your face and put on your sweet voice.

“Babeee..?”

“Mmm hm…” he grunts out, returning your side eye from a second ago.

“You wanna help me out?” you grin, wagging your hips back and forth to emphasize the bottle still stuck between your legs. You knew that even on your sassiest of days, once you flashed him that wide grin of yours, he’d eventually falter.

Giving you a look, he sucks his teeth as he reaches over to begin pulling things from your arms and legs and placing them on the table. You giggle, bending forward to help him out a little.

“C’mon Y/N, you know I don’t like the smell of this shit. Why can’t you just go to the shop and get ya nails done?” Finally free of any restrictions, you plop down on the couch next to him, tucking your legs under you.

“First of all, ” you look at him “I know for a fact you got shit on your top shelf that smells way more toxic than some damn nail polish remover, so sack up.”

You start organizing your stuff on the coffee table, fighting to keep a smirk from forming on your face as you feel him stare at the side of your face.

“Plus,” you quickly add before he can start flaming your ass, “I ain’t got nail shop money right now.”

Your eyes glance up at the tv when you hear the channel switch. Damn. This nigga done turned on the basketball game. He knows you hate that shit.

“Aww babygirl, you know I gotchu. Ain’t nothing but a word and I can slide you some cash to keep ya nails fresh.” He smacks your thigh with the back of his hand, giving you a sly smile.

“And, you know I love it when you got them casket shits on, witcha bougie ass.”

You laugh unrestrainedly at Eriks ignorance. “Nigga, I think you mean coffin.” He chuckles too, locking his big brown eyes with yours.

Pausing, you breathe a small sigh, dropping your eyes to your lap as you fidget with your fingers. “..and I told you. I don’t want you giving me money. I appreciate it, but, I got this Erik.” You look back up to him, grabbing his hand and bringing it to your face to kiss his knuckles.

You loved how willing and unselfish Erik was whenever he offered to finance your lifestyle or give you some extra cash. I mean, it was true, your ass was bougie. But you were bougie because you could afford to be bougie, not because you had someone else footing the bill.

Well, you were able to afford it, that was until a couple of months ago.

_______________________________________________________________________

It had only been about a year since you had successfully moved out of your parents house into your first apartment in Washington DC, an accomplishment you had been incredibly proud and protective of.  After graduating college with a degree in Urban Planning, you’d faced a hard few months back home searching for a job that was actually willing to pay you a bachelor’s degree salary, and found your self settling for a call center job for the time being. Three months into that job you were laid off, and spent yet another several months searching for another job closer to what you were interested in. Luckily, you’d been smart and funneled most of your earnings straight into your savings, allowing you to fend off offers from your mom and dad to pay for any small expenses you had, while still being able to make the rent every month. You had tasted the freedom of a stable income and financial stability, however fleeting it may have been, and you’d be damned if you were going back to having to ask your parents for help.

Around your fourth month of unemployment, you’d gotten a call back for a Budget Analyst position at the Smithsonian in D.C, one that not only payed you at a graduate level, but also offered to pay for any relocation expenses. While it wasn’t exactly what you’d wanted to do, you were far too excited about the idea of finally living on your own to turn down the job. So, jumping at the chance for both independence and a change of location, you packed up your car with as much of your stuff as you could and drove across the country to begin your new journey into adulthood.

Meeting Erik, however, was a different journey altogether.

_______________________________________________________________________

..and there you go! feel free to roast me in the comments if this is trash lmao

@killmongersgurl

[official-portugal]

A (long ass) guide to become a Friendly Tourist ™ in Lisbon

You know, I complain a lot about tourists and all and last night it got me thinking that there might be people out there reading these and wanting to visit Lisbon but feel self-conscious so I want to make one thing clear: we don’t hate tourists, we hate tourism as a phenomenon and the way it’s being dealt with. We also don’t hate tourists, we hate assholes. So I decided to put together a guide on how to become a friendly tourist in Lisbon.

- If you can, avoid AirBnB, although I understand for you guys it might be cheaper that way. But if you pick an Air BnB, chances are the home you’re staying in belonged to someone who got kicked out so you could stay there. So be fucking respectful. Don’t come home drunk at 3AM, don’t make any fucking noise at night. There might be children right upstairs and old people downstairs, so don’t do anything you wouldn’t want others to do to you. There are neighbors in that fucking building, people who have to go to work, so be fucking respectful. 

- Be fucking nice to every worker you come across. In Portugal, whether you’re at the checkout or having your order being taken by the waitress, when these workers approach you, you’re supposed to greet them. Say “good morning”, “good evening”, or just plain “hello”. Also, finish with please, always. If you don’t, I guarantee you, you won’t be treated differently because these people can’t risk their jobs, but you’ll be labeled a cunt. Like, it costs zero. You don’t just come up to someone and say “TWO COFFEES PLEASE”. AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DO NOT SAY GRACIAS.

- Don’t fucking expect people to speak your language, but they will fucking try, so don’t be a cunt about it. Here’s the thing: in the public schooling system, the average portuguese learns two languages. We are taught french and english and the majority of kids even takes a third language in high school. We understand spanish and italian enough to communicate. So we understand what you’re saying, but it doesn’t mean we can speak it. But are you really demanding that we, who already speak 3 languages, speak yours as well you fucking dildo? Also, by “we” I mean naturally the youngest generation. Older people? Not so much. People working in tourism offices are making an effort, they know way more than you and they’re not there to cater to your needs. If you see them struggling with your language, help them. Also, if you disrespect them while you’re asking for directions, I can assure you they’ll give you the wrong advice out of spite, and you deserved it.

- We’re not a tipping kind of country but: we appreciate tips. What I am saying is, any tip is extra money, so it’s welcomed, but we are not culturally taught to monetarily award someone for their good services, instead we praise them. If you do come from a country that tips a lot, you should know we don’t have a “tipping rule”. Even if you leave just a couple of coins, it’s appreciated. But if you don’t come from a tipping kind of country, don’t feel obligated to do it. What you can do is praise their work. Thank them for their kind service. Tell them they’ve made your experience better. That means a fucking lot when you work in tourism because usually yall just see us as punching bags.

- There’s a difference between Pastel de Natal and Pastel de Belém. Both are custard tarts, both have different recipes. The first one, the Nata, can be found in literally any café. The second, the Pastel de Belém, can only be found in their official factory in Belém, across the street from Jerónimos. When you get there, you will see that the queue is super fucking long but don’t worry, they’re used to it and they have an efficient system. I promise you won’t be there for longer then like, 7 minutes.

- Canned sardines are not traditional. I don’t know who came up with this bullshit but I can guarantee you it’s just marketing. Sardines ARE traditional, just NOT canned. Canned sardines were the cheap, canned food the poorest of the poor ate back during the dictatorship. Usually, a whole can was shared by a family. So it kinda makes me offended that a symbol of poverty is trending, but aigh. The sardines we do eat traditionally are roasted outside on a cooker, sort of like a barbecue. THOSE are traditional. (By the way, you want to eat THE ABSOLUTE BEST, take the ferry across the river and pick a restaurant in Cacilhas, I guarantee you that’s the best place to eat sardines).

- Just because you can see the fucking Christ right across the river, it doesn’t mean it’s right there and that you can just get there. I can’t believe I had to explain this several times to tourists, but that Christ is standing on a fucking cliff. You can take the ferry, sure, but it won’t take you there, like, this is basic knowledge, I’d assume. There’s a service that cost 20€ and lasts for 2h and it stops there for a long time, if you’re one to complain about it a lot, take that. If you don’t mind grabbing your own ass and going there yourself, take the ferry and then take the 101 Bus, last stop. 

- There are three ways to get to Belém: tram, train and bus. And yes, by foot is too fucking far. Like, 1h walk far. All of them will be super fucking crowded. You might get luckier with the buses, since for some reason tourists seem to avoid them. The queue in Cais do Sodré is going to be too fucking long, and I honestly do not care one fucking second that it’s an inconvenience for your vacation because we, who depend on it to go to work, take 2h for it as well. The tram is going to be crowded and it's going to take you some 45 minutes to get there on a very bad day. Live with it. That’s the reality of the city, and this is a reality YOU created by coming here en masse, not us. So don’t fucking complain that we don’t cater to your needs because, remember, your inconvenienced holiday means hundreds of portuguese people are getting late for work and taking 4h a day in public transportation. So again, I do not give one flying fuck.

- Tram 28 is a public transportation not meant for you. You, as a tourist, fucked it up, keep that in mind. If you want to ride the traditional trams, there’s a touristic service made specifically for you that works as a hop on hop off and it does a wider route than 28. My advice is take that one, it has no thieves and you can sit down, and it’s two different routes (green tram and red tram). But if you do want to take the public one, then my advice is: take the 12 instead. If you want to get on 28, begin the route from the starting point at Estrela. It will be calmer there. If you want to go to the castle, then no, the tram isn’t the only way. Bus number 727 stops right at its door and it’s usually super empty. Take that one.

- Saint Geroge’s Castle is completely fake. Not a fucking stone in there is real. There are real ruins there, of course, but they aren’t even of a castle, they’re of an “Alcazaba”, an administrative center back when the moors were in portugal. That’s why the neighborhood next to it is called “mouraria” - the moorish neighborhood. Yes, there was a castle there from the 14th century onwards, but very little was left of that. The whole thing you’re seeing? Completely rebuilt in the 20th century. It’s even fascist propaganda in a way.

- Tuk Tuk drivers don’t know shit of what they’re talking about. The chances of them making shit up for you are like, way higher than you can imagine. You can’t comprehend the bullshit I’ve caught them telling tourists, like the Lisbon Cathedral is from the 19th century. They’re not tour guides, they’re fucking drivers. The info they’re giving you is generic and easily obtained. they’re speaking to you as a portuguese person who knows their traditions, but they don’t usually know shit about history and art because they’re not required to. So if you get on a Tuk Tuk, keep that in mind and don’t demand too much from the driver. And also, chances are they’re bullshitting you. I know one Tuk Tuk driver who is an Art History graduate and masters degree and is a great tour guide, since he’s someone I trust a lot with the history of the city, so if you really want to get on one and be real about it, hit me up and I’ll hook you up with him.

- Don’t make a fuss about the supposed “drug dealers” selling weed in broad daylight in Baixa. First of all, literally everyone in the city except you, tourists, know that what they’re selling is not drugs, it’s bay leaf squished into a powder, and I have to give it to them, their scheme is pretty fucking brilliant because it’s prompted tourists to go to the police and complain that “the drugs this guy sold me aren’t real” lmao. But this is a situation that again partly resulted out of mass tourism. So shut the fuck up because I know damn well it would take me one day to find out where I could get high in your country. And also, me as a citizen can’t do shit about it (BECAUSE THOSE AREN’T DRUGS LOL).

- Don’t be fucking unpleasant about the homeless and the beggars. Fucking really? There’s a high level of poverty in here. We’ve been saying for years but if you choose to believe your Time Out articles, then that’s not my fault. But be fucking respectful. Life isn’t cheap here, and we’re having it hard. 

- Please understand, once and for all, that Fado is pretty normalized. Like, it’s fucking everywhere. Every goddamn souvenir shop you’ll walk into, it’s gonna be playing fado. Restaurants, cafés, a fucking cab, same thing. I know it’s been sold as the traditional song of the people, poor and desolate living in the streets of Alfama, but that’s not it anymore. It’s been classified as World Intangible Heritage which means an incredible effort is being made to preserve it, WHICH MEANS the amount of Fado singers has increased incredibly. So there is no “real fado experience” anymore. The real fado experience is either a) a concert, or b) a dimly lit restaurant with a guitar player and a lesser known singer. 

- Be careful how much you’re being charged by the taxi drivers. If possible, don’t take a cab at the airport. If you’re moving from point A to point B WITHIN the city, you shouldn’t be paying over 10€. The starting fee is NOT 20€, it’s 3,90€. There’s a little extra added if you call a cab (instead of finding one on the streets) or take it at night. If you can, install the app My TaxiApp, the drivers there are pretty honest. Or use Uber.

- Don’t get on the Hop On Hop Off buses. Personally, I can’t see what’s so appealing about these, but there are a lot of reasons why in Lisbon they don’t particularly work: 1) traffic. You’re gonna be stuck in traffic, it doesn’t matter what time of the day you got on. 2) The waiting period. It shouldn’t take more than 30 minutes for a new bus to come by, but with traffic, we don’t know, and I certainly can’t predict it, since I don’t have a fucking GPS in me. 3) The bus that goes to the Castle is much, much smaller and it fills up way quicker because double-decker buses don’t fucking fit those narrow streets. So chances are you’re gonna be there for a while waiting because they’ll keep coming full. Not my fucking problem. Take a walk instead. There’s a touristic bus called Caravel on Wheels which would be my advice for you. I worked for them, it’s a 1h45 long video tour. The audio is very well put together and explains the history of Lisbon incredibly well, and it has a shit ton of languages, and you can just ignore the goddamn video, trust me. The assistants are super nice and sweet and the driver is amazing. We made a huge effort to make sure you wouldn’t forget that experience, trust me. Also, it allows you to see the most important parts of the city and then decide what you want to see by yourself.

- Don’t disrespect the monuments. Don’t paint on walls. Don’t spit on fountains. Don’t lean on statues, don’t get close to statues, don’t even breathe on statues. Don’t fucking touch the paintings, the artworks, any fucking thing you find inside a museum. It sounds ludicrous that I have to point this out but you wouldn’t believe what I’ve seen.

- Mouraria, Alfama and Martim Moniz aren’t just the most traditional parts of Lisbon, they’re some of the most multicultural and poorest too. So don’t be a fucking racist asshole. There are indian, chinese, and sikh, among others, communities in there, including “illegal” mosques and chinese restaurants. Don’t be unpleasant to the locals. Don’t be disrespectful to the people who live there. The thing about the portuguese is we love tourists, we’re welcoming like that, IF you are nice. These people are happy to welcome you to their neighborhood, trust me, they are, but you gotta be respectful. 

- Avoid eating at Rua dos Correeiros. If you don’t know what street that is, it’s the only one in the entire fucking Lisbon where every fucking restaurant will have a guy holding a menu approaching you and BEGGING you to eat there, and I mean every single one. Most of those restaurants are most likely schemes and one in particular, Made in Correeiros, has made the news for convincing tourists to come in while holding a menu where they show prices ranging from 10 to 20€ and then inside suggest something that is at the end of the menu (but they will make sure you won’t see it) and it turns out a dish of salmon costs 500€. That whole street is made of shit like that and not a single one of them is traditional in the least, don’t let them convince you they are because they have a bitoque and bacalhau à brás, those are dishes that any portuguese with half a brain can cook, so walk away.

- Don’t be fucking rude to the bus drivers, and I mean every bus driver, whether it’s touristic bus or city bus, cause they are not required to speak your fucking language. There are a million different tourist offices where you can ask for help. Have your money ready when you enter the bus or recharge your Viva card at the subway. A bus fare is 1,80€ within any point in the city.

- And don’t be fucking rude to the vendors. They don’t control traffic. Especially resellers who don’t represent one company but rather sell several companies, don’t yell at them. They don’t control traffic and they don’t control the bus routes. Explain to them you are disappointed by the service and they will take a note and I can guarantee you they will inform the company about the delay/problem and will exchange your money. They don’t think any less of you and they understand you, as long as you’re nice about it.

- And don’t complain to them the city is disappointing! I don’t give a rat’s ass that Barcelona was more beautiful, go to fucking Barcelona and shut up.

- Don’t walk around with 100€ bills. Use 50€ bills for large purchases only. Most vendors aren’t even allowed to accept 100€ due to couterfit problems. Exchange your money at the appropriate place. Don’t fucking buy 3€ worth of fridge magnets with a 100€ bill like I’ve witnissed, come on. That’s common sense. 

- Things that ARE good, traditional souvenirs: porcelain magnets with sardines, tiles, bits of history and the black swallows you see everywhere. Bottles of wine, especially Port, too. Tawny being the best brand. Make sure it’s from Porto/Douro. The bags of salt if they come from Aveiro, otherwise I wouldn’t trust it. The famous red, green, blue or black scarves you see with floral motifs and fringes I guess can be considered traditional too, but be aware that 1) they’re mostly cheap imitations (the realest ones are really expensive) and 2) they’re traditional from way up north like, above Porto even. That’s a part of a very traditional outfit of a very specific region, linked to very specific traditions. Small portuguese guitars are pretty cute. Avoid the cork shit. Cork used to be our main export, now it isn’t and most of that crap I don’t even think it’s made here, it’s just a brand, but someone correct me if I’m wrong. Although the cork postcards are cute. Little stuff like notebooks, postcards and bookmarkers with Fado on it is cute too. A Vida Portuguesa is a store you’ll come across in Baixa that sells shit that looks cute and Art Neauveu-sy that recreates old stuff from the 40s and 50s.

- Things that aren’t traditional at all: canned sardines. Anything being sold on the streets. Certainly not the peruvian CDs on Terreiro do Passo.

- No, you won’t find random postmarks on the streets where you can slip in your postcards. There are a few, but are very scarce. There’s a post office in Restauradores, use that. You can usually buy stamps at any souvenir-looking shop or anything store that says “Casa da Sorte”.

- The green card you use for transportation is good for everything but you need to charge it either with money for all or in the appropriate machines that will give you the specific ticket you’re looking for. 

- If you walk inside ANY restaurant or whatever and ask for a cup of coffee, this is what you’ll get. If you want a larger coffee a bit watered down, ask for an abatanado. Or go to Starbucks. A garoto is a strong espresso with a bit of milk, served in an espresso cup. A galão is basically the same, but in a taller glass that will, for 99% of the time, look like this, and the milk is stirred until it forms foam, like a cappuccino without the chocolate. So be specific about what you want. Our coffee is very strong. Ask the waiters, they’re used to the confusion, don’t worry.

- Here’s an important thing to you if you’re stopping by during a cruise: no, you can’t fucking visit the whole city in one day. The city is way bigger than you’re thinking it is. You can’t see it all in 5h. So pick wisely. Here’s how to pick it: Oriente is the modern part of the city, the main attraction is the Aquarium (Oceanário). Belém is the historical part, where most of the main monuments are. Downtown Lisbon is the place you can walk to and discover by foot. If you’re strict on mobility, a Tuk Tuk is the perfect choice.

- Maybe this is kind of asking too much out of a tourist, but it would be great if you had any fucking clue what Lisbon even has. Don’t just stand in Rossio looking puzzled and ask me where the famous tiles are. You should at least know you’re thinking of fucking Porto, which is some 300km away. The worst question you can ask touristic vendors is “so what can you do in this city?” bitch I don’t know. Make your goddamn research. You like art? Here’s a list: Berardo Museum (contemporary). Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga (from 14th to the 18th century and colonial art). Azulejo museum (those famous blue tiles). MAAT (contemporary art, also a nice overview of the city). Gulbenkian (antiquity to the 19th century and also a modern art center, a beautiful museum with amazing gardens). The Fado Museum. You want history? Here’s another list: anything in Belém, you don’t have to pay for the tickets even, the tower is not that interesting anyway and you can visit the church of Jerónimos for free, it’s the whole monastery complex you have to pay for. Church of São Roque for the prime example of baroque. The Lisbon cathedral. The Church of Saint Vincent. Estrela Basilica. Ajuda Palace. I don’t know what else, at the top of my head, these are probably the most important.

- The train to Sintra is in Rossio train station, which is NOT physically connected to the subway station. Stop asking me.

- Sintra, Cabo da Roca and Queluz are outside of Lisbon. Yes, you have to get on a train. I don’t care if it’s an inconvenience, I didn’t fucking build it.

- No, the beaches are not exactly in Lisbon. The ones that kinda are, you go to Cais do Sodré, you get on a train and get off at Oeiras or something. Ask someone there. The other ones are around Sintra or across the river. If you want to go across the river to Caparica, there’s a service that costs 10€, picks you up in the morning, takes you back in the afternoon. If you think that’s expensive and decide to go there on your own, then be prepared to pay a lot more and have the worst bus ride of your life. I’ve been riding TST buses my whole life, you have no idea the shit hole they are. Pay for quality, it’s worth it.

- No, you can’t get to Freeport by bus. It will take you too long and cost you a fortune. Pay 10€ for the shuttle. It’s way less than any other means.

- No, you can’t take a cab to Fátima. It’s 127km. Also, don’t take the train there. The train station is 30km away from the city. Take a bus. Rede Expresso is your friend. You can charge your fucking phone in that bus! Also you have wifi.

- Yes, you can walk around holding a cup or a bottle of beer on the streets, nobody cares. Just don’t litter. Throw that fucking thing in the garbage, don’t be a pig.

- No, the guys wearing a black outfit with a cape are not celebrating Hogwarts. That’s a joke someone started that caught on. I never actually thought people would believe it, yet here we are. They’re just university students getting drunk lmao. If you want cheap booze, follow them.

- Just overall be kind, don’t bump into people on the streets, don’t stall, smile and say thank you and good morning/evening/whatever. Remember: say obrigado if you’re a man, obrigada if you’re a woman. We don’t care that your portuguese is shit, we love that you tried and that you ask how we say things. We also don’t care that you’re actually speaking brasilian portuguese. We love that you went through the effort. 

- Portuguese people greet with a kiss on each cheek. A handshake is something more business-like. If you don’t like being touched, stay away and wave, we’ll get the message. But if you happen to meet an old lady, then you’re on your own, your cheeks are getting pinched, I can’t save you.

- We’re also incredibly loud. No, we’re not constantly fighting, we’re brutes towards each other. That’s how we show love. Don’t make a point of it.

- But remember: this city isn’t the hip, cheap, hot-spot you’ve been sold. It will look like that if you just wander around Baixa and Alfama and Mouraria, where mostly students and foreigners are. But that is not the reality. The “tradition” you’ve been sold, that supposedly lives in Alfama, practically doesn’t exist anymore. Any story that says “traditional” in it, I can guarantee you is not. The best restaurants are the corner tascas that smell of cooked potatoes and grilled beef. If the owner of a restaurant is fat, the restaurant is good, trust me this is a mnemonic that works. ‘

- Don’t act superior, don’t act like you know this city better because you’ve been here before or because you have portuguese friends. Or because you read this post lmao. Certainly, don’t walk up to tourist vendors and try to convince them YOU know more about traditions in their country than they do, like I’ve had people do with me. Cause you don’t lmao.

Add anything you might think is necessary and sorry for the long ass post

[stellar-stag]

Wow it’s been a while since I did a personal update here huh

I’ve honestly transitioned a lot of my venting/personal stuff to twitter

(I promise I havent abandoned you for my furry friends)

(I kinda have)

(I totally have)

(sorry)

But I feel like the last couple months have been a whirlwind for me, so I may as well keep y’all in the loop. I’m gonna sort these by topic.

First off, I had some issues with my romantic feelings. There’s a guy, a very very good friend, who is just fantastic in so many ways. Friendly and kind and supportive, progressive and enthusiastic, and shares so many of my interests. Seems natural that I would fall for him, right?

Well I did, and it resulted in a lot of emotional duress.

He has a girlfriend, and I knew this going in, but I didn’t fight my attachment. In the process of admitting my feelings to him and working through everything, I learned a lot about myself and got some practice in controlling my emotional state and how I react to things. But I also relied on him as an emotional crutch and used him for validation, especially during some particularly low emotional points, which is unfair to him. It is only because he is immensely understanding that we remain close friends, and this could have easily resulted in disaster.

But through this process I have grown, and identified a new issue blocking me from being of completely sound mind: Low self-esteem and reliance on others for validation. During my more anxious periods, I would slip into joking self-deprecation, and somewhere along the way it stopped being so joking. But surely, now that I’m taking meds for anxiety it would stop, right? Well, no. Turns out, even if I stopped consciously having thoughts of “Wow, I’m so bad at this”, I didn’t automatically gain appreciation or acceptance of myself. This manifests in a particularly dangerous manner when guys who are attractive are nice to me. 

I end up conflating kindness with romantic intent, and decide that obviously, if someone doesn’t have romantic interest in me, I must be irreparably flawed in some way. This is bullshit, and I consciously understand that, but my subconscious doesn’t play by the rules. So I end up in a self-loathing spiral that only manifests in periods of intense romantic desire, and a month later I’m exhausted, bruised, and have run the risk of alienating those around me who care about me.

So how to fix it? I suppose I’ll need to work on drawing validation from within, so that rejection feels less of a condemnation of my character and everything I am. It won’t be simple, to be sure, but understanding the issue is the key to overcoming it. 

Here’s hoping.

Secondly: I started working out! As of today, March 24th, I have been to the gym 12 times this month (half the days, holy shit) and thats because I, last week, decided to go from 3 workouts a week to 5, solely because I wanted to. If you told me a year ago that I would, of sound mind and body and my own volition, wake up every weekday at 5:45am to go workout for an hour, and enjoy the experience, I would have called you a liar. 

But I am, and I do. I think it’s benefitting my mental health and self confidence, and I’m thankful that I’m in a place where its even an option. This is only possible due to a coalition of so many factors: A free gym in my office and a natural predilection to waking up early to remove barriers, I started taking Vyvanse in January to aid in my attention issues (not sure if I have ADD/ADHD or what, but it’s helping me remained focused in all aspects of my life and for that I am grateful). And, of course, two people who aided in the impetus for beginning and making it a habit: My dad, for giving me crippling self-worth issues my entire life and then visiting in February and criticizing my health and weight (because I was sweating after walking up a hill, which more and more I realize is not actually an indicator of my exertion! I am just a person who sweats easily, and its more a function of temperature and endocrine system than anything else) and giving me the sheer spite to begin working out, and the guy I was crushing on (who is intensely into working out, and I wanted to impress him. Yeah, I was hella thirsty. Sue me). 

Regardless of the reasoning, I found that (once I cut cardio because seriously, fuck cardio), I enjoy working out in the mornings. It’s calming to wake up by exertion and then cool down slowly at my desk before other people even wake up. It’s given rise to a ritual of sorts where I get to my desk, deal with my emails, make breakfast and tea, all before anyone shows up, so that I can really hit the ground running. And more than that, I don’t have a goal in mind. I’m doing this because I know it’s good for me and I want to be healthy, and I enjoy the exertion and following “good” tiredness. If I was trying to lose weight or trim  fat, or stuck only to cardio, I would have given up by now. But its a habit, and I love it, and I’m sleeping better, eating better, and feeling better.

Again, this is only possible because of an alignment of several factors, but I’m thankful for it, and I’m glad I got out of the mindset that “workouts must suck but people do them because they wanna lose weight”. You don’t gotta do anything you don’t want to do, and I wish I had realized that sooner. Im feeling way better about my body, even, because despite the fact that I haven’t lost weight or gotten trimmer from working out, I know I’m eating (pretty) well and working out, and that my body does everything I need it to. I can take pride in the callouses on my hands and the soreness of my body, because they’re proof of dedication, exertion, and effort, and those are way better things to feel good about than shape and size, anyways. If people think I’m unhealthy because I have fat, they can suck it.

Thirdly, I’ve begun looking for a condo to buy! Housing in the bay area is STUPID EXPENSIVE (and yes everyone knows this, and I know this, but it bears repeating). But I can put a down payment on a one bedroom in a good location, and I’m prequalified for a loan, and I just need to keep waiting and pouncing on leads. I think I’ll be happier living by myself with a kitchen to myself, and still going out to social events to prevent becoming a hermit. Plus, with this setup I can maybe bring dudes back and not have to show them the pigsty that is our living room or the shoebox that is my bedroom. I was terrified at the start of this process, but my mom and the realtor have been awesome about taking this step by step and ensuring nothing is confusing or surprising, which is sweet.

Fourthly, possibly because I’ve been taking Vyvanse but also possibly because I’ve finally begun understanding what the hell I’ve been doing, I’ve really hit my groove at work. The project I’m working on is complex but interesting, challenging but well understood, and I don’t feel alone but still get to feel a sense of ownership. It’s not the most fulfilling thing ever (I don’t know that working on payments platforms for a corporation ever will be) but I enjoy work, I don’t loathe going to work, and despite the fact that I was sick as a dog all this week, I came in everyday (after working out) to work full productive days, and I was happy at the end of each of them, more or less. Its not perfect but its head and shoulders above what most people get from their jobs, and I’m immensely fortunate to be in this position.

Fifthly, this is more a continuation of already known things, but I’m making cool friends in the furry fandom. I’ve made good friends, some who I hope I will keep as friends for the rest of my life, and I’ve already made plans to go to Reno in June and Disneyworld in November to hang out and have fun with them. As nerve wracking as being an adult is sometimes, the freedom is something I wouldn’t trade for anything. 

Sixthly, I’ve been taking a creative writing workshop in SF! It finished last weekend and I’m happy to not need to commute each week anymore, but I learned a lot about reading like a writer and choices you can make as a writer to achieve desired effects. The workshop focuses on narrators and how who is telling the story tells it, and the model they use for exercises is SO HELPFUL. We would read an excerpt of something, discuss how the narrator/choices/tense/mood all work together, and then we would write something in a similar format about whatever we wanted. Lemme tell yall, that is so much more helpful to me as a student than just prompts. Having a guide to format is like drawing from references, its helpful and and great for learning and gives you the tools to make your own things later on. I highly recommend it, and I can’t wait to get back to my book. 

Got a lot of art to make first, though. I’ve definitely improved a lot in artistic skill and confidence, and I’m loving finding niche styles that I like and mimicking them. The stained glass pic I posted yesterday is proof of that, I feel. Its drawn from Mucha and various real life stained glass windows and a bit from Kingdom Hearts, but I took these and the tools at my disposal and wove it into something that feels complete. I figured out how to apply a cloudy “glass” texture, glows, stabilization, symmetry tools, pattern design, and more all through the process, and I know theres so much room to iterate and grow, in shading and coloring and proportion. But even knowing I have room to grow, I’m proud of what I put out and I put a lot of my heart into that piece (yes, its a birthday gift for workout boy. Shut up). I think I’m going to accept commissions for pictures in this style, even. It’s great fun.

So yeah, the last couple of months have been intense. I’ve had ups and downs, but I’ve learned and grown a lot, and I think I’m in a really good place in my life right now, and I hope that every one of you achieves a similar level of peace.