#i could sketch more now that i have a foul mood

[black-leather-sketchbook]

[kazumiwrites-fanfiction]

Not-So-Secret Drawings

REQUEST: Hi there, so I've been daydreaming about this for awhile but I absolutely suck at writing so, could i request hcs were the reader is really good at drawing and has been secretly drawing random people on campus whenever they get the chance, but one day reader forgets there sketch pad somewhere and a character (of your choosing) finds it and decides to snoop and finds drawingsof them and people on campus. Just as they finish looking through reader comes (after realizing they forgot it). I hope this makes sense to you, have a nice day/night.

SUMMARY: Your carefully hidden secret is out now. WORD COUNT: 1k

WARNINGS: Riddle, Azul, Floyd, and Vil snooping looking through your drawings, reader is a really good artist, Riddle threatens you (out of love I swear), Azul is uncomfortable by your drawings (not in a bad way- I think), mentions of getting lectured by Azul, Floyd is a ball of chaos, Vil gets no warnings because he's perfect/j A/N: When I tell you that as soon as I saw this I immediately rushed to write two parts before having to stop because I needed to do my summer homework - and then procrastinated the last part (Vil)- Also I know you implied one character but since I'm indecisive I did multiple haha (I'm sorry (but also kind of not because this was fun)) I'm sure you don't suck at writing!! You just get sick of your own writing because it all seems predictable (speaking from experience, I read my work and I'm like "ew?? I need better words" haha) Vil's part is definitely weird because I was like "Fashion Designer!Reader" (probably because some of my friends take fashion/design classes) and I don't know how accurate this is I suck at drawing so I know nothing please don't come at me- Also on a side note, I have a lot of requests right now and since I have a lot of schoolwork I have to do right now, my writing will probably be scattered. Hope you guys understand! (Hope you have a nice day/afternoon/night/etc too!!)

© kazumiwrites - All rights reserved; please do not steal, edit, copy, repost (etc) my work without my express permission.

You had always been careful with your drawings. You never wanted another person to look at them. After all, you had been drawing other people - and who knew what they would think?

Sure, they were pretty accurate, but still. It wasn't like the people at Night Raven College knew that you were drawing them. And you didn't want your drawings to get destroyed just because someone in a foul mood found them. Just your luck though, as you had left your sketchbook somewhere. Where did you even misplace it…

Riddle Rosehearts

He had always seen you with your sketchbook, but had assumed it was just for studying.

Likewise, when it popped up during class, he assumed that you were diligently taking notes.

It was almost sad seeing how far from the truth he was in hindsight.

Since he found your sketchbook on the floor (perhaps having fallen from your bag - it was always full, after all), he decided to take it to you. On the way over to Ramshackle Dorm, he flipped through the sketchbook before he paused.

These weren't notes. They were drawings.

And very good ones, at that.

They were so detailed, he thought for an instant that you had magicked them on here somehow (before remembering that you didn't have any magic).

So was this what you could do with some time and diligence?

His mother had never let him draw much so his drawings were mediocore at best (at worst, one would think that a small child had drawn them).

He found himself captivated by the artwork, flipping through the pages, seeing the drawings of various people from the school. Even some of himself…? With more details... It was odd, the small flutter in his chest. Happiness?

He jolted as he heard your voice, asking if that sketchbook in his hands was yours, abruptly slamming the sketchbook shut as if he had been looking at something completely inappropriate. Which, in a way, he might have been?

"Sorry for looking at these without your permission." He got out after a moment, handing it back to you. "You're a really good artist." He paused. "But you shouldn't be drawing in class. If I catch you with this sketchbook out during Trein-sensei's lectures, I'll have your head!"

Azul Ashengrotto

Of course Azul had noticed your drawings. He needed to in order to make sure he knew as much as possible about others so he could scam help them whenever they needed it.

Still, he found it intriguing, so he couldn't help but skim through your drawings. And my, were they amazing.

Until he got to the section where you had drawn him.

Sure, there were drawings of him in regular uniform, some of him in his P.E. uniform (he thought that they weren't really flattering on him, but you made it look good).

But then there were the sections where you had drawn him in mer form.

Of course, you had no idea what his mer form actually looked like (without all the overblotting, which you never got the chance to see clearly anyway) so it was mostly guesswork and using your imagination.

There were ones with long, large tentacles swarming around him.

Some with tentacles that were slender.

Some of them popped out of weird angles, which he was puzzled about, but okay.

My tentacles can't move like that - or can they?

They definitely shouldn't be popping out of his ribs. Wherever did you get that particular idea? It made him uncomfortable just by looking at it.

He was so caught up in examining your drawings and he didn't notice you until you literally snatched the sketchbook from his hands, saying something about how they were private.

"Sorry, [Y/N]-san... But these drawings aren't too accurate, you know."

And that was how you got roped into a three-hour long discussion about the anatomy of octopuses as well as the anatomy of merfolk and how your drawings were terribly inaccurate. (You were just guessing, how were you supposed to know any of this?)

Floyd Leech

Floyd wouldn't even wait until the sketchbook was unattended.

He'd pop out of nowhere, eyes bright, asking what you were doing.

Never mind if it was in the middle of class or not.

You've both gotten scolded about this, he should know better.

Still, one day he caught you by surprise, and the book slipped from your hands.

You muttered a small curse before trying to grab it, but whoops, too late. Floyd had already gotten it and was flipping through the pages.

"Aww, Koebi-chan, you drew me?" His gaze met yours, a wide grin on his face (showing his extremely sharp teeth). "You should've just asked, I would've modeled and stuff for you."

You shook your head slightly. You had wanted to keep this a secret if possible... At least Floyd seemed to be in a fairly good mood. You told him that you wanted to draw people in their natural state, without them posing for the "camera," so to speak.

He looked disappointed, but then immediately asked if you could come to a basketball practice or match or something. Perhaps you'd find it more interesting to draw him there. Or maybe in the ocean?

Vil Schoenheit

He was no stranger to people drawing him. He was famous after all.

He did sometimes get… odd pieces of artwork, but that was to be expected.

Still, he didn't expect to find a sketchbook with him in it, abandoned at an empty seat. Only drawings of him.

It had so happened that you were trying to figure out a good design for clothing. You always wanted to have a face to your designs, and he was the perfect subject.

Maybe your drawings didn't do him justice, but it was interesting to see how you could tweak your designs to fit him better.

Still, Vil was plenty impressed.

These designs... He could definitely see himself wearing them.

Maybe he could show them to one of the people he knew... They could help make something like that. With your permission, of course.

He closed the book as he heard you come up.

"These designs really are fascinating. Would you mind showing me more details? I'm certain that we can turn these drawings into reality if you'd like it."

As always, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! ♡ Send your thoughts grr

Feel free to send requests! Check out this post for info ^^

[lonelym00n]

No Promises

Amber Freeman x reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Amber Freeman needs several hugs and the constant company of her girlfriend.

Amber sat in her art class with the most displeased frown etched upon her normally smirking face. She scoffed as her phone buzzed with another text, reminding her of the reason for her current state of irritation. 

Her eyes shifted in annoyance to the usually occupied but noticeably very empty seat next to her before they returned to the text conversation open on her phone. 

Amber: Baby you’re late

[Seen 10:05am]

Amber: Did your chem test run long or something?

Amber: Helloo?? Are you not coming to class?

[Seen 10:09am]

Amber: Y/N stop leaving me on read, where the hell are you?

Y/N: amberrrr yk I love you, right <33?

Amber: Duh.

Amber: You’re ten minutes late babe. Did you fall into the toilet or something?

Y/N: haha very funny but, no

Y/N: how mad would you be if i told you i wasn’t coming to class…

Amber: Mad enough to finally snap and stab u like I’ve been threatening to

Y/N: guess this is it for me then, been nice knowing ya Ambs  >:(

Y/N: at least ur pretty face will be the last one i’ll see

Amber's foul mood dissipated slightly at her girlfriend’s dorky nature. If she wasn’t so used to the teasing flirtatious remarks from the other girl by now, she was sure she would have blushed. 

Amber: If you’re not coming to class where are you? Got someone more important to be with?

Y/N: babe you know that could never be true

Y/N: i have a dentist’s appointment

Y/N: i’m really sorry i didn’t tell u, but i know you would have weasled your way into coming with me if i had

Y/N: and i didn’t want u to miss class cuz of me

Amber: But I hate being here without you. You know that.

Y/N: i know, i’m sorry, i’ll be back for lunch if that helps at all

Y/N: i’ll bring u whatever u want from that place u love if u promise not to stab me

Amber: Alright bring me the caesar salad and some fries. 

Amber: No promises btw. >:)

Amber pulled herself away from her phone and began lightly sketching on the pad in front of her. Unable to stay mad at her girlfriend, she let herself calm down as she settled into the rhythm of one of her favorite classes. A soft smile graced her lips as she thought about how caring her girlfriend was, tricking Amber into attending class and offering to bring her an off campus lunch. This girl had her full heart and as much as Amber prided herself on her independence, she knew she’d do anything to keep Y/N by her side.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the class period and the start of the next one. Amber trudged to her next class begrudgingly, knowing she’d have to sit through three more classes til she’d next get to see her girlfriend. 

The next two classes were a bore, as she’d expected. She felt herself slip back into her usual brooding demeanor as she stalked into the history classroom. Amber walked towards her seat and slumped down into it.

“What’s got your panties in a twist, Freeman?” Mindy asked with a shiteating grin. Amber rolled her eyes at Mindy’s remark as Tara slapped the Meeks-Martin girl lightly on the shoulder. Mindy shot Tara a wounded look and it was Tara’s turn to roll her eyes. 

Tara fixed her gentle gaze upon Amber before speaking, “Upset because Y/N’s at the dentist today?” 

Amber’s brow furrowed at the knowledge that Tara had seemingly been informed of her girlfriend’s whereabouts. She stupidly felt hurt for some reason. She looked at Tara with what was almost a snarl. “How do you know? She told you?” 

“Easy tiger!” Mindy laughed, thrilled at the opportunity to tease Amber while the girl was too distracted to quip back. She quickly shut up at the wicked glare Amber sent her, turning to instead focus on the mind-numbingly boring reading they had been assigned.

Tara, knowing Amber well enough to not fear the girl’s cold exterior, remained unbothered by the intimidating expression Amber held. “She told me in chemistry before she left. Told me to make sure you didn’t go on a rampage when you noticed she wasn’t gonna show up to art.”

Amber sighed, feeling stupid for being so quick to jump down her best friend’s throat about the situation. “Right, sorry Tara. Didn’t mean to get so defensive.” 

Tara gave her a sweet understanding smile in return as the two girls began taking notes on the chapter. History class passed by extra slow as Amber swore she literally felt the minutes tick by. The girl shot up and gracefully slipped out of the room as soon as the lunch bell sounded, leaving Tara and Mindy to only smile at the girl’s very obvious rush to be reunited with her girlfriend.

Amber sat by herself at the group’s normal table, glaring holes into her phone as she waited for any sign of life from Y/N. As enough time passed for the rest of the group to take their seats at the table, Amber silently debated whether or not she should go on that rampage Tara had mentioned after all. She smirked to herself at how it would lift her mood to lock some poor unsuspecting soul in a bathroom stall. 

Amber’s group of friends chatted amicably, ignoring the girl’s quietness and even feeling sort of grateful for a change from her usual snarky demeanor. Tara glanced at Amber from the corner of her eyes, knowing the girl was likely planning someone’s demise and silently willed Y/N to make a faster arrival. 

Amber felt her jaw clench and her nostrils flared in deep annoyance. She had woken up that morning (just like every other morning since she began dating Y/N) feeling particularly soft and happy at the thought of getting to spend another day with her girlfriend. The girl’s absence, however, was seriously about to set Amber off. She was going to force herself to calm back down and just send Y/N a text until her ears perked up at the mention of her favorite franchise in her friends’ conversation.

“C’mon Mindy,” Wes scoffed, “Stab 8 is easily the best. You only prefer the original because your uncle’s in it.” 

Mindy went to retort back but was interrupted by Liv, who chimed in to agree with Wes. “Stab 8 is so much better. That’s the one by the director of Knives Out, right?”

Tara’s eyes widened comically as she took note of the murderous scowl upon Amber’s face. Being the only one to notice, she pleaded to whatever god might be listening for the conversation to come to an end. Just the opposite happened, however, as Amber’s posture became stiff and rigid and the girl stretched out to her full height before she gripped the picnic table with almost enough force to snap the pieces off into her hands. 

“You’re an idiot Wesley.” Amber spat with a tone full of hatred. Everyone but Tara seemed completely caught off guard at Amber’s burning tone. They all sat in silence, shocked by the girl’s tone. 

Wes cleared his throat nervously, “What?”

Amber sneered as she pushed herself into Wes’s face. “You heard me, momma’s boy. You’re an idiot, just like anyone else who thinks Stab 8 is anything but an absolute garbage movie.” She glared at Liv next, who shrunk back into Chad’s arms. Amber poked her finger harshly into Wes’s chest before gripping his shirt tightly and twisting it to pull him impossibly closer. “Next time you open your stupid fucking mouth around me, make sure you think twice.” 

Wes sputtered, mouth opening and closing like a fish, unsure of how to get Amber to loosen her grip enough so he could slip out of her strong grasp. He was about to speak in what probably would’ve been a plea for his safety until a voice spoke up firmly from somewhere behind Amber. 

“Amber, what the actual fuck?” Y/N clutched a brown paper bag by its handles as she alarmingly took in the scene splayed out in front of her. Amber had Wes clutched in a death grip, his face bright red from embarrassment and fear, while the rest of their friend group sat scared stiff, helplessly watching the interaction happen.

Amber released Wes so quickly he almost toppled over the bench backwards. She whipped around to face her girlfriend, finally feeling the sociopathic part of her quell at the sight of the girl standing behind her. “Baby!” She smiled gleefully as she scooped Y/N into a hug, nearly lifting the girl up off the ground. The group of friends behind her experienced whiplash at Amber’s sudden reversal of moods. 

Y/N seemed equally as shocked, trying not to let Amber’s tight and warm embrace completely divert her from what the girl had been previously doing. Amber sweetly kissed both her cheeks and Y/N’s brain finally caught up to her. Holding the bag of food in one hand, she clasped her other around Amber’s wrist, dragging the girl away from their group of friends, shooting them a confused yet apologetic look before setting her attention fully on Amber. 

“Amber?” Y/N questioned hurriedly, “What the fuck happened with Wes?” 

Amber tilted her head (very cutely, Y/N noticed) at her girlfriend’s bewildered expression. “Oh, that?” she said nonchalantly. Y/N nodded and Amber had to refrain from pulling the girl into another hug at the action. “He said Stab 8 was the best film in the franchise.” 

Y/N’s mouth dropped open at Amber’s reason for outright attacking Wes. “Amber!” She scolded her girlfriend like a mother would a child. “You can’t do whatever you just did to Wes because of his opinion of a movie.” 

Amber tried her best to not look like a kicked puppy for the second time that day. “Yeah I can babe. Especially when it comes to Stab.” She blinked slowly as she just stared at Y/N, who was torn up between being concerned for just how deep Amber’s love for the slasher franchise ran and (for the umpteenth time in her relationship with the girl) greatly wondering what the hell kind of parenting the Freeman’s had raised Amber with.

Y/N’s hand rose up to pinch the bridge of her nose, a habit Amber knew that meant the girl was stressed. Amber reached up and gently cupped her girlfriend’s cheek, smoothing her thumb over the soft skin. Their eyes met and Y/N made the decision to table the more serious conversation for a time when Amber and she were alone, knowing the other girl would remain fully stubborn on the matter unless she felt she could be fully vulnerable.

Amber heard her girlfriend sigh and watched as she nuzzled into the hand that was placed upon her cheek. “Let’s go to our spot, Amb.” Like it was a spell spoken straight from an enchantress’s lips, Amber dutifully followed behind Y/N.

The two girls took their place on the ground under the towering oak tree. Amber pressed herself as far as she possibly could into her girlfriend’s side, receiving a warm smile in return. She watched as Y/N reached carefully into the takeout bag, retrieved Amber’s salad and french fries and gently passed them into her waiting hands. Amber smiled wider than she had all day long and planted a tender kiss on Y/N’s forehead, before slowly beginning to eat her food while the other girl fondly watched. 

“I really missed you today Amber, I’m sorry again that I didn’t give you any notice about the appointment.”

Amber’s heart constricted firmly in her chest at her girlfriend’s soft apology. Y/N had a way of making her feel so whole, cared for, and seen. She gently placed a hand on the other girl’s knee, stroking the skin there just as she had done earlier with her cheek. “Don’t be sorry, just be happy that we’re together now.” 

Y/N smiled at her and the sight knocked Amber’s breath away. She knew at that moment, just as she had many others, just how lucky she was to have the privilege of being able to wholeheartedly love the girl in front of her. A love that, as silly and probably insane as it would be to compare the two, towered above even Amber’s sometimes irrational love for the Stab films.

[el-im]

hi sorry i know this is definitely a weird ask to get and i hope very much that it doesn't come off as rude—but i need you to know that while ur absolutely ofc valid to feel how you feel about your art, that, from the outside, i don't think you suck ass at drawing at all!

your work is not only gorgeous (and so full of delicate lines! lovely shadow and attention to texture...) but it has that inimitable quality of Life in it. at least to me. i look at your art and it speaks to me, it makes me want to pull out my own pencil and paper to start speaking back to it! (and—i have done this, haha, it was seeing some of your art that made me want to draw again, just for the sheer enjoyment of it, that got me thinking of other ways i could draw than the ways i had previously)

while you might not feel that (ach! the curse of the artist, to rarely feel the pleasure of enjoying our own work!) as an outsider, i feel it acutely. you have such a keen artistic eye, not only in the artwork you draw yourself, but in your photography as well! whenever i see a post from you on my dash, it is a small delight for me!

anyway—whatever you think of it, i thank you for sharing your drawings! they're lovely to me

hello! i hope you'll pardon my delayed response time here--and that you haven't imagined i took any offense to this. thank you, very much and very deeply.

when i posted that i'd just finished looking at another artist's work, which, by comparison, i felt was so much stronger than my own it was disheartening. i know it's ridiculous, but even people who have been drawing for years, and who imagine themselves to know better(!) sometimes fall into traps like that. other people continually astound me--i'm in awe of sketches people make of classmates during a lecture, something i could never do. for me, all the conditions have to be right. i have to feel compelled to draw, i have to be by myself...

(in a nonfiction class i'm taking as an elective for my major, we were posed with the question of how we write at the beginning of the semester. i thought this was an impossible thing to answer. i have to be moved to write. i can't do it when i'm not in a good mood, or at the drop of a hat. this--my instructor said--is untenable. you cannot be a writer if the compulsion to write is irregular, or fleeting. you must force yourself to write. this is necessary for the class (in which we have hard due dates--an essay a week) and in life. i hate this, but figure it has a lot of merit. she urged us to consider how we can alter conditions to make writing seem more favorable to us--do you need to listen to music, is there somewhere you can go... what can you do to make yourself more comfortable writing? because it will be necessary to do so).

i digress--but my point is: i've always felt i am not in control of how i draw, or what i draw. other people seem not to have this problem, or don't have it to the extent that i do, when sometimes (such as now!!!) i find myself completely unable to draw for months at a time, then become frustrated when i want to draw, and find my lack of practice has caused some skills to atrophy!! it's frustrating. i stop painting for months then try to pick it up again only to find myself completely unable to shade correctly.

all is to say--i've been in a foul mood in relation to my art. it's wonderful (and necessary) to be reminded that not everyone sees it as i do. thank you for sending this, i apologize again for how long it's taken me to write back to you (though i wanted to write something true and halfway coherent--and have not had the time until now), and i hope you know how touched i was to hear my work compelled you to draw again. thank you. wherever you are, i hope you have a wonderful day.

[peachywrite]

Before I Let You Go

Rohan Kishibe x JosukeSister!Reader & Protective Brother!Josuke

Trigger Warning: violence, inappropriate stand use, mild suggestive themes

Josuke doesn't understand why his sister has been spending even more time with Morioh's Famous Mangaka.

Josuke sat himself down beside Koichi, the pair of friends awaiting the next delicious plate of specialty pasta Tonio was whipping up for them.

“You know, your sister has been hanging around Rohan quite a bit recently.” Koichi’s concern was evident in his tone of voice and the way he avoided eye contact with Josuke.

“What are you talking about? She just likes his art, is all. She’s always been into drawing and stuff since she was little.” Josuke tried to brush Koichi’s worries away, but he too was a bit suspicious of their sudden closeness.

Tonio returned with two heaping plates of authentic Italian pasta, smiling down as he placed each on the table. He gave a small bow and returned to the kitchen. Koichi poked at the new food with his fork, spinning it around as he began to speak.

“I mean, they’ve been hanging out with each other for a while now, but just recently it feels like something’s changed.” The two paused for a quick bite of their dishes and thought quietly to themselves, both suddenly coming to the same conclusion.

“Hey, Josuke. You don’t think your sister would ever date Rohan, right? What am I thinking, that’s a stupid question. It would never happen.” The shorter boy scratched his cheek nervously, staring down at his plate.

“I-I don’t know. She’s never had a boyfriend before. Rohan’s also too proud to date anyone, so we shouldn’t worry our heads over this, Koichi.” Josuke smiled at him, patting the gray-haired boy on the back to reassure him.

“I don’t know, it’s just… The other day, when I went over to return some photos to Rohan, I saw the two of them through the window. I couldn’t see exactly what they were doing, but it kinda looked like he was holding her hand? And placing a kiss on it? I don’t know though, the window was so high up, so I probably didn’t see anything.” Koichi’s voice wavered, the overwhelming silence from his friend concerning him.

He didn’t have the heart to look Josuke in the eyes at the moment, too afraid he may have let the young man down by not sharing this memory sooner. The dread in his heart outweighed his fears quickly, and Koichi looked up to see a Josuke imbued in the darkest aura imaginable. It reminded him of those terribly frightening spirits in the alley that tried to steal him that one day.

“Uh-Josuke? Is everything a-alright? I know I should have told you sooner, but I wanted to be a hundred percent sure about it before you could go off and beat up Rohan again.” Josuke silently nodded, pulling out his wallet and dropping enough to pay for both meals on the table as he scooted his chair in and began to leave.

“Josuke! We aren’t sure if they even are dating yet!” Koichi shouted.

Josuke turned around, a chilling smile spread across his face as he waved.

“No worries, Koichi. I’m off to find out. Sorry about leaving you, I’ll call Okuyasu to take my place while I’m out. I’ll see you later and tell you what I found out.”

All Koichi could do was stutter in surprise at Josuke’s changed demeanor.

Was he putting on a show to calm his nerves? Or was he actually thinking about how it would affect his sister if Rohan was dating her?

The boy returned to his meal, lost in thought, until a tired Okuyasu joined him at the table.

Josuke’s heart was conflicted. If y/n was really dating Rohan, that would mean she was probably in love with the mangaka. He knew his sister wore her emotions on her sleeve and would never fake a romance, but was that true for Rohan? Could he have used Heaven’s Door to make her love him?

He didn’t trust Rohan after what happened with the others, but he did save his life when they fought against Highway Star.

This is what conflicted him. Rohan had a good soul, but was he doing this because he truly loved y/n, or was this another trick to get back at him for the lost dice game or the partial burning of his mansion? Rohan was the kind of person to hold grudges for as long as he saw fit, so this frightened Josuke.

“You can tease and mess with me all you want, but as soon as you bring my sister into this, you’ve crossed the line.” He muttered under his breath, jogging to the café he knew the artist would probably be sitting at.

As he finally spotted the mangaka, enjoying a sip of tea between his quick sketches, he rushed past the hostess and right up to the table. Rohan was caught off guard, a bit frightened and prepared to use his stand until he saw the steak shaped head of hair.

“Josuke? You idiot, I almost attacked you. Why are you rushing me like an enemy?” He blew out his held breath and took another sip of tea.

Josuke pulled up a seat across from the artist, his hands neatly folded in front of him, eyes staring down as he tried to formulate the proper words without working himself up.

“Rohan, I heard from someone that you may be dating my sister. I just want to know if the rumor is true.” Rohan nearly spit out his cup of tea, the shock of the question taking him completely off guard.

After composing himself, the Great Rohan Kishibe began to sweat as he tried to decide whether he should divulge the truth. Y/n would want him to be honest, but he feared the beating Josuke would surely give him if he found out the two of you were dating.

“Your hesitation to answer is making me nervous, Rohan. You better speak up soon, or I’m gonna lose my patience.” The young delinquent spoke through gritted teeth.

“Fine. Yes, we are. We have been for at least a week now. I love her. It’s simple. Why are you asking me? You could have easily just gotten the same information from her.” Rohan took another sip of tea, hiding his face behind the cup as he tried to figure out how the young man would react.

Josuke’s hands reached out from across the table, grabbing Rohan by the collar and dragging him off to the side, so he could pull him in closer. The smashing of glass on the quiet block alerted the hostesses as they worriedly watched.

“Rohan-sensei! Do you need us to call the police?!” Shouted one of the waitresses, who had reached for her cellphone behind the counter.

“No, everything's alright. I can handle this.” Rohan waved her off, Josuke still dangling the man in the air.

“You better not be doing this to get back at me. I can take the teasing and the jabs at my intelligence, but I won’t let you make a mockery of my sister and her feelings.” Josuke lowered the man down, taking a breath to relax himself, then began to drag the manga artist off the café patio.

“Hey! Release me, you brute! Where are you taking me?!” Rohan struggled in his hold, trying to call Heaven’s Door out to control Josuke.

“We’re going to see y/n.” Rohan stopped fighting and instead calmly placed his hand on Josuke’s shoulder.

The boy stopped, turning around to meet Rohan’s stern face.

“I’ll go with you, just stop manhandling me.” Josuke stared into him, debating with himself, then let the manga artist go.

Rohan stumbled back to his feet, dusting himself off as he grumbled under his breath about how rude Josuke was being to him.

The two walked side by side towards the Higashikata residence. When they were nearly a block away, Josuke spotted you being dropped off by Jotaro. You waved goodbye to the older man, but turned around to face them after.

“Good grief.” Jotaro rolled his eyes with a sigh, leaning against the car as you spotted your brother and your boyfriend angrily walking toward you.

“What do you think is up with them?” You asked, curious as to why both seemed to be in foul moods.

“Looks like your brother found out who your boyfriend is. I’m only staying because I don’t want an unnecessary stand fight.” The marine biologist pouted to himself, annoyed.

You looked back at the pair, shaking your head in annoyance as well.

“I should have just told him from the start. I knew Rohan couldn’t keep quiet about this.” You motioned to the two of them to speed up, so you could talk.

As they reached you, Josuke grabbed onto Rohan again, dragging him by his collar with one hand.

“Why must you fling me around like a rag doll!? I already agreed to come with you!” Rohan shouted, squirming in Josuke’s death grip.

“Use Heaven’s Door on her.” Josuke mumbled to the mangaka.

All he could do was shake his head in response, his eyes wide at the order given to him by the delinquent. Suddenly, a second hand came up to grip the other side of Rohan’s collar, both now shaking him violently.

“I said use Heaven’s Door! I want to be sure you aren’t messing with her!” The tears that welled up in Josuke’s eyes shocked you.

You’d seen Josuke cry before, but these tears were different. He looked scared.

“Josuke, stop it! There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

You placed a hand on Josuke’s back, your touch pausing his tirade and causing him to drop his hold on the artist. Helping him up, you touch Rohan’s cheek and nod to him.

“Rohan, I give you permission to use Heaven’s Door on me right now.” He shook his head again, adamant about his refusal.

“I won’t use it on you. Not for that bastard or for you. It’s not right.” You could tell how upset this was making Rohan. He turned his head away from you, not allowing you to meet his gaze.

“Rohan, please. He’s just scared. Just this once. I’ll never ask for you to do this again.” He finally meets your eyes and sighs.

His hands carefully touch your cheek as he whispers Heaven’s Door. The pages on your face open up and prevent you from moving, but you happily look up at the man, reassuring him that you felt safe and accepted this. Josuke came from behind the artist, flipping through all your pages quickly, searching for any scribblings Rohan could have made.

A few minutes pass and Josuke is finally content with his search. He closes the book on your face and your movement returns to you.

“See. Everything was fine. I really do like him. A lot, actually.” You pinch Josuke’s cheek.

Josuke pulls you into a tight hug as you feel his stress melt away. The mangaka crosses his arms, an angry pout on his face. All you can do is sigh and return the hug.

“I just wanted to be sure. If you were to get hurt because of me, I don’t know how I’d live with that.” He squeezes you tighter, your breath leaving your body quickly from his sheer strength.

“Josuke, it’s fine! Trust me! Now let go, you're crushing me.” You squirm, but your brother refuses to budge.

“I don’t think I will. If I let go, you’re gonna go give Rohan a hug, and I don’t want to see that.” The boy then lifts you with little effort and attempts to run, but his plan is foiled when your stand manifests and wraps around his legs, keeping him from moving.

“I see how it is, y/n. Fine, go be with your boyfriend, but no lovey-dovey stuff.” Your vines unwrap his legs as he sets you down.

You give your brother one last hug and a smile, running into Rohan’s arms. He still looks upset, but when you nuzzle into his chest, his anger melts away.

“I’m sorry you had to do that. It had to happen, though, so don’t be too mad at me. I’ll make it up to you, promise.” You look up at him, still in his arms, he leaves a quick peck on your cheek followed by a hefty sigh.

“You’re lucky I’m such a forgiving man.”

[bearlytolerant]

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Solavellan

Rating: E (nsft)

Word Count: 1306

AO3

Let’s Just Be

She was sunset reflected on the ocean. A million freckles dotting blushed warm skin. Eyes closed in peaceful paradise as her arms draped over the edges of the tub. She exuded serenity and peace.

He hated to disturb her.

Setting his satchel down, he went to her desk where he knew she kept a sketch journal and charcoal. Situating himself on the bed, he started his sketch, replicating this moment on paper. She had to see how he saw her. Within moments her form was outlined and he filled in the details, losing himself in the process of creating.

His eyes drifted to his muse, desperate for a quick but thorough study. She dropped an arm back into the tub but her eyes remained closed—surely she was somewhere far from here—but then he watched as her lips pursed, let out a puff of breath. And a gentle moan. It dawned on him that he was now a spectator of more than a moment of meditation.

Solas dropped the charcoal and it went rolling across the floor, stopping at the edge of the elegant rug recently given as a gift from the Empress.

Her eyes flew open.

“Damn it Solas! Next time you sneak in here, please say something.”

He went chasing after the charcoal on his hands and knees. “My apologies. In my defense, the door was ajar and I was not sneaking.”

“What were you doing?” Sarya asked.

He had the charcoal now and he was up on his feet, walking back to the bed.

“Sketching you. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No. Not at all. I was just startled.” She smirked, her mood shifting, becoming playful. “Should I pose? Did you capture my best side?”

He chuckled. “No posing. The moment is lost now and I always capture your best side in that every side of you, every inch of you, is best.” He abandoned the sketch for a kiss from her lips. “You know I think you are beautiful. But if you don’t mind me being honest, I’m more interested in that moan I heard.”

“Everything has been so stressful. I deserve a little release,” she said.

“I can help with that,” he said, reaching into the steaming water. He skimmed his fingers down her leg and back up her inner thigh. “Would you like to talk about it?” His hand stilled.

“Talk? Maybe later, I’ve had enough talking. There is so much endless talking in that war room. Besides, I am also perfectly capable of helping myself.”

“Is that what you want?”

“From what I heard, it seems to also be what you want.”

“Either or both ideas appeal to me,” Solas said. “But I am not here for me.”

Sarya tilted her head and smirked at him.

“However, perhaps it would be nice for you to be relieved of any sort of duty altogether? Allow me to take care of you.”

“Oh I would hardly call this duty.” She laughed. “You could use a little relaxation though too. Join me?”

He pressed a plush kiss to her neck and she tilted away, exposing more skin and he kissed a path up to her jawline. Found her lips. Melted into her bliss. They made out for a while, even as Solas’ knees began to numb a little, until he needed to shift. He broke away leaving them both breathless. He quickly stripped and joined her, finding space for his legs around her body.

She held back a chuckle as they situated themselves, splashing water over the sides of the tub. “I guess these weren’t made with two people in mind…”

“Perhaps you should request an upgrade?” Solas picked up one of her feet and began massaging.

“Oh sure, I bet that’s easy to get.” Sarya rolled her eyes. But then hummed a pleasurable sigh.

“Maybe Blackwall would be willing to custom build one. Anything for his Herald.”

“Stop.”

He put her foot back in the water.

“No. Not that. Please keep doing that.”

He allowed himself a small laugh as he found her other foot. It was easy to be himself with her.

“I’m surprised you can’t just use some spell to make this tub bigger.”

“That is not how magic works.”

“Isn’t it though? Can’t you do anything your mind thinks of? I’d make a big tub if I had magic. I’d use magic to just make everything big. Giant cupcakes. Giant horses. Giant nugs… but not spiders. I’d use my magic to shrink them all to tiny invisible things.”

“If they were invisible, how would you know if one was on you?”

She shuddered. “Good point. I rescind my statement. I would just use magic to take spiders out of existence.”

“Ah but spiders are good for catching other foul insects. They are helpful creatures and they rarely harm.”

“Fine. I’ll keep them for you. But they’re creepy so I’m still using magic to make them tiny.”

“What else would you use magic for?” he asks as he kisses her ankle.

“I’d use it to do everything for me. No need to get dressed. Just poof and clothes are on. I could make any dress I wanted and any food. I could make myself taller or shorter. I don’t know, anything and everything I could think of. Why don’t you use your magic for everything?”

“Much the same as you do not fight or run or loose arrows all day long for lack of stamina. All that spell casting would drain my mana. If I use magic for everything, how would I protect you when it matters most?”

“I protect myself,” she said.

“Yes but in the rare case, like with that terror demon near Dennett’s farm, I could be useful to you.”

Sarya sighed. “Fine. I concede.”

“Perhaps I should record this day in the books.”

“And why is that?”

“I won an argument.”

“Oh you could hardly call this arguing.” She splashed him with water.

Solas smirked then lit the water up with a rune that created a wave. It rolled up and soaked Sarya’s entire face.

“Oh no–that is it!” She splashed him again and again, water continuously pouring over the edges.

He chuckled and reached forward, stilling her hands and pulling her into himself. He kissed her cheek. She cupped his face, kissing him long and deep and hard as she settled into his lap. Her hands wandered and he choked back a gasp as she rubbed herself on the tip of his cock. He could not withhold the groan though as she sunk on top of him, head rolling back with a sigh as her hand clung to his shoulder.

She was so beautiful like this. Open and pouring herself out. Letting him in. Reveling in the moment without a promise of tomorrow. Or perhaps a promise that tomorrow will be there and they’ll have each other to make it better.

He bent forward to nip at her neck and she laughed then moaned when he squeezed her ass.

“Again,” she demanded.

He obliged, more than happy to. When he did, her palm pressed flat against his chest and she leaned back, lengthening her body and exposing the scars on her chest and stomach. He kissed them. Each and every one while she rode him to her climax. She crumbled into him, chest heaving and heavy.

“Ar lath, ma vhenan,” he whispered as he pressed his lips to her forehead.

“I know,” she breathed. “I love you too.”

Then he held her close to his chest, combing his fingers through her wet hair. Warmed the water and let time slip away with her in his arms. And it was in those pockets of time that he felt peace. That maybe, just maybe, this world he had made was real and it was the better one.

[searchingwardrobes]

Ivory Runs Red: 5/6

First off, massive thanks to the @cssns​, my beta @demisexualemmaswan​, and my artist @cocohook38​. Cocohook created this amazing cover art, and she is working on something else too to go with this story. The rough sketch made my jaw drop, so I can’t wait for ya’ll to see it!

This part  is going to be a little long, but I need to address something that I got multiple comments about. Just bear with me; this is the only way I can think to clear things up. I was really surprised to see that some people were angry at David and Mary Margaret for not doing anything to find Emma and/or "allowing" her relationship with Neal. Others simply expressed things along the lines of "I hope you explain what David and Mary Margaret did about all this." The reason this reaction surprised me so much is because I thought it was clear that they HAD done something. Why would the Golds need to get rid of police files if the Swans never reported Emma missing? Why would issues of the newspaper be missing from the library if Emma's disappearance wasn't reported on? Obviously, David and Mary Margaret did something! As for Neal, they had no idea Emma was seeing him. If you'll recall, in a previous chapter, Emma told Killian she had to sneak out at night to meet Neal. So that wasn't Snowing's fault either. Also, how would any of these characters know what David and Mary Margaret did or didn't do for their daughter? This is almost a hundred years later, and Emma's memories are dulled from being a ghost for so long. The only way I could spell out clearly how Snowing handled their daughter's disappearance would be some sort of convoluted info-dump, and I didn't want to destroy the tone and mood of the story to do that. But just so everyone knows: Yes, Emma's parents were devastated. They did everything in their power to find her, never giving up hope (which is so in character for them!). They died still believing she was either still out there or that crimes against her had gone unpunished. It broke their hearts. The Golds spread rumors that Emma was some kind of slut who ran away with a guy, and the people of Storybrooke overall thought the Swans had gone crazy. So there it is, that's the back story that I just couldn't figure out how to fit in the story, lol.

I'm not mad at the questions, to be clear. I was just surprised by them. I guess I blame the show for ruining these two as parents the last couple of seasons. Maybe that's why everyone jumped on them so fast. I was also honestly worried that ya'll would be upset with me for not addressing the topic, hence this long explanation! No one was rude by any means, so don't go trying to defend me from nonexistent trolls, lol! My feelings have NOT been hurt. I simply wanted to address the questions that were asked and the misplaced anger toward Snowing. (Not anger towards me - but fictional characters!)

Okay, now that I've cleared all THAT up, let's get on with the next chapter, shall we? And I'll go ahead and warn you: this is gonna hurt . . .

Summary: When ebony flashes gold, blood runs cold. When ivory runs red, you’ll be dead. Killian Jones had heard the old rhyme his entire life. Every child did in Storybrooke, Maine. They heard it whispered in the dark at sleepovers as children; taunted as a challenge as teenagers. Killian never believed it was actually true. Until that fateful night …

Rated M for graphic depictions of violence, abusive relationships, and major character death (I mean, it’s a ghost story ya’ll, people are dead. BUT I promise, there is a happy ending. Trust me? *peeks from around a corner*)

Length: 6 chapters, complete, updated every Friday

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @kmomof4​ @xhookswenchx​ @let-it-raines​ @bethacaciakay​ @tiganasummertree​ @shireness-says​ @stahlop​ @scientificapricot​ @spartanguard​ @welllpthisishappening​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @thislassishooked​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @kday426​ @ekr032-blog-blog​ @lfh1226-linda​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @carpedzem​ @branlovestowrite​ @superchocovian​ @hollyethecurious​ @vvbooklady1256​ @winterbaby89​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @jennjenn615​ @snidgetsafan​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @lassluna​ @distant-rose​ @courtorderedcake​ @winterbythesea​ @thesschesthair​ @killian-whump​ @thisonesatellite​ @batana54​ @it-meant-something​ @xsajx​ @therooksshiningknight​ @gingerchangeling​​

Chapter Five: Run

“You’ve got to tell them what you saw - what you’ve learned,” Killian pleaded. 

Graham shook his head, his curly hair falling in his eyes as he stared at the slender hands he clasped in his. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw sported far more facial hair than it normally did, and Killian didn’t have to ask if he’d slept in the past forty-eight hours. 

“They won’t believe me.”

Killian’s jaw clenched in frustration. “But if I saw Emma, and you saw her, then maybe they’ll believe -”

“That Belle saw a ghost push Mike Gaston off the troll bridge? They’ll believe that? Really?” Graham let out a sarcastic, bitter laugh. “You really are just a naive kid if that’s what you're thinking.”

“But you’re a cop!”

“I’m still only nineteen! They’ll think we’re just over-imaginative teenagers.” Graham paused, reaching up with one hand to trace the curve of Belle’s cheek as she slept in her drug-induced prison. “That will land us in rooms just down the hall with our own IV full of an antipsychotic cocktail. How will I help her then?”

“You’ve fallen in love with her.” It wasn’t a question. 

Graham sighed. “How could I not? And how could he -” He broke off, his blue eyes flashing. “I’m not sorry he’s dead. If I’d been there and saw him hurt her -”

“Shh, I wouldn’t say things like that. Not here.”

Killian’s gaze fell to the bruises around Belle’s neck, and he didn’t blame Graham at all. It terrified him to think what could have happened if Emma hadn’t shown up.

“History repeats itself,” he murmured under his breath. 

*************************************************

Killian had scarcely arrived at the bridge when headlights blinded him. He turned away, blinking, stumbling, refusing to be stopped. 

“Emma! Emma!” he shouted. He tripped and dropped his flashlight. It broke as it hit the ground, rolling to the edge of the bridge. Now all he could see was ebony before him and radiant luminescence behind him. 

His palms scraped against the asphalt as Liam hauled him to his feet. His brother gripped his upper arms so tightly it was almost painful, and he gave him a brief shake. 

“You’ve got to stop this!”

Killian fought him. “I have to see her!”

Liam had always been broader than Killian with an unfair advantage in all their childhood tussles. Even now, Killian was no match for him as he lifted him bodily with one arm and hauled him over to his car. 

“You need help!” Liam literally tossed him into the backseat. 

“I’m not going home!” Killian tried to scramble out, but Liam just shoved him back inside. 

“Good, because I’m not taking you home.”

*******************************************************

“Why won’t you be straight with us, kid?”

Killian glared at the detective with a cynical sneer. The psychiatrist on the cop’s left frowned at Killian’s attitude. The choice of words was cruel considering he was in a literal straightjacket. His vision of the two men was obscured by the long strands of dark hair before his eyes. Haircuts were apparently seen as a luxury on the psych ward. 

“I’ve answered all your questions,” Killian finally told them wearily, “you just don’t like what I had to say.”

“Because we want the truth,” the psychiatrist, Dr. Archie Hopper, said gently. He was clearly playing the part of “good cop.” Or “good doctor.” Whatever.

“I told you the truth.”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

Killian snorted a laugh. “Tell that to Mike Gaston.”

The detective’s voice took on a harsh, warning tone. “Mike Gaston was the victim of murder.”

“The victim!” Killian cried, his voice snapping up. “What about the bruises he put on Belle? Or the fact that I nearly died when he tied me to that bridge!”

The detective’s lips curled up in a lewd sneer as he lit a cigarette. “If some horny teenager likes it a bit rough, that’s none of my business.”

Killian fought his bonds, his jaw clenching at the detective’s insinuation. He was as bad as Neal Gold, maybe worse. He had to be pushing fifty at least, and a pot belly strained at his button up shirt. His eyes widened as Killian raged.

“Bothers you though, I see.” He leaned forward. “Nobody blames you for wanting her, kid. Nobody blames you for being jealous. But murder? That’s a different story.”

“I told you I had nothing to do with that!”

The detective glanced at Dr. Hopper, and the soft spoken psychiatrist took over. “Killian, start at the beginning for us. What did Belle say when she called you that night?”

“I’m telling you, she didn’t call me, she didn’t come to my house. I saw her early that afternoon at the library. That was it. Then my brother got a phone call that there had been an accident, and we came to the hospital.”

“You and Belle were at the library together a lot,” Hopper said softly, “what did you two do there?”

Killian rolled his eyes. He hated the patronizing way the man asked the question. “We studied. Did our homework. We were friends.”

The detective snorted again, and Killian wanted to scream. “Drop the act, kid. You really expect us to believe that you spent all that time with her, all that time with a hot chick, and you never fucked her?”

Dr. Hopper recoiled at the foul language, and Killian thought his own jaw might actually break. 

“You’re just as much a misogynistic, narrow-minded, neanderthal as Mike Gaston.”

The detective grinned and slapped Dr. Hopper on the knee. “You were right, shrink, this kid’s smart.” He took another puff of his cigarette as he eyed Killian. “Smart enough to plan an elaborate murder with your knocked-up girlfriend?”

“That’s the most ridiculous - wait - did you say knocked up?”

“Hm,” the detective mused, leaning back in his chair and rubbing at his five o’clock shadow. “You didn’t know?”

Killian was horrified when a laugh slipped past his lips. Another bitter laugh followed, then another, until before he knew it, he was shaking with them. He was laughing hysterically while wearing a straightjacket. That thought made him laugh even more, and if he didn’t seem like a lunatic before, he sure as hell did now. 

“What the hell is so funny?” thundered the detective.

Killian’s laughter stopped abruptly and he leveled the man with an intense stare. “History repeating itself. That’s what’s so funny.”

A smile that he knew bordered on manic curled his lips. Yes, history had repeated itself, and this time, Emma Swan had won. 

************************************************************

They didn’t have enough to charge him, or Belle, or anyone else really with Gaston’s murder. It was officially declared an accident, and theoretically, Belle French and Killian Jones were free to move on. 

Killian wouldn’t say it was easy for Belle. She had severe trauma from that terrifying night, and she ended up losing the baby because of it. Nevertheless, she had Dr. Hopper’s patient help, her father’s support, and Graham’s unwavering devotion. Soon, though it would be a long time before she was truly healed, she was able to go home. 

Killian, on the other hand, didn’t really want to go home. For one, he, unlike Belle and Graham, refused to stop talking about Emma - refused to lie and say he made it up. He didn’t fault his friends for it; didn’t take it as a betrayal. He even understood their reasoning when they begged him to do the same and just play along, damn it. He simply couldn’t do it. Emma was too real, too precious. He knew her in a way they never would. He knew the feel of her skin, the taste of her lips. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - let that go.

The psych ward wasn’t so bad. The drugs numbed him to the point that he sailed on a sea of oblivion half the time. He’d stopped fighting, so there was no more straight jacket, no more bed straps. 

And she came to him. Sometimes the drugs meant he wasn’t lucid enough to really carry on a conversation. On those nights, she curled up next to him on the bed. She ran her fingers through his hair and caressed his cheeks. She pressed kisses to his lips, and sometimes he could respond in kind. 

Other times, though admittedly rare, they would talk. About everything and nothing at all. One night, they talked about their dreams for later, after high school, and suddenly Emma began to weep. 

“I know,” he soothed, brushing her forehead with a kiss, “you fear you can never have that. But maybe we can figure it out. If we somehow get the truth out. About your murder -”

Emma silenced him with a finger to his lips. “That isn’t it, Killian. It’s you. I have no more tomorrows but you can.”

His brow furrowed, and she sighed and soothed the lines away with the pad of her thumb. 

“But not if you keep holding onto me.”

His arms instinctively pulled her closer. “I’ll never let you go.”

She sighed, and sadness filled her eyes. She slipped out of his embrace and rose from the bed. Her skin grew white, her gown floated in an ethereal way at her feet. He frowned and scrambled to a sitting position. 

“I have to say goodbye,” she told him. She said it with an edge of discovery in her voice. Her lips turned up in a soft smile even as a tear slipped down her cheek. 

He shook his head and tried to reach for her, to leave the bed, but he had just enough drugs in his system to make his movements sluggish and ineffectual. 

“I won’t let you see me again.”

“No, Emma, please! I love you!”

“And I love you. That’s why I have to do this.” 

She was already fading away. Killian made a fist and slammed it into his thigh. Tears stung his eyes. 

“Be happy,” she told him, “for me.”

Then she was gone.

[hela-avenger]

To the Stars Who Listen- 9a

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 2177

Summary: When Loki desires to never fall in love, he casts a spell to prevent such a thing from happening. Except, well, in the matters of love and magic, you never know the result it may have in the end. Loki x Reader

A/N: Ok so I started to write this and then had to go back to edit it and then I added more and then it was all just angst and it was just getting so long and I couldn’t fix it. ANYWHO, the Halloween special will now be two parts. I’m really hoping it won’t be three but we shall have to wait and see. 

HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE! Please be safe out there! 

Tags are open! (Send me an ask/message/response.)

TTSWL Masterlist

Loki refrained from groaning as he stepped into the jet that would take them back to the Tower. Sam and Bucky were fighting over the pilot seat while Wanda was chattering loudly about the costume she had managed to find for herself and Vision. Loki catches your eye and he can tell you wish to speak to him. He doesn’t allow you the chance as he storms out of the seating area in preference of the solitude found in the back. 

The quinjet finally sets out of the compound and Loki manages to survive the short ride without being pulled into whatever conversation you wish to have with him. You most likely wanted to know the truth behind what you had revealed previously. An answer he would refuse to give you. 

Loki is almost cornered by you in the arrival at the tower but by sheer luck, you are called away by the AI allowing Loki to peacefully make his way down to his residential floor. The peace he had in mind at the return of his familiar abode is disrupted at the sight of Thor waiting for him there. 

Loki’s annoyance grows at the sight of his brother regaled in his Asgardian armor swinging Mjolnir with ease. 

“Welcome back, brother.” 

Loki just grunts in response as he tries to maneuver around the big oaf. 

“I went ahead and prepared your armor for the party tonight,” Thor continues with a smile. “It should be a merry night full of drinking and dancing. We should thoroughly enjoy it.” 

“I’m not going to that party.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I refuse to partake in Midgardian celebrations.” 

“I would think you would enjoy this one, Loki. It’s all about mischief and magic.” 

Loki rubs his eyes tiredly. 

“I am quite tired, brother. I am in no mood for festivities.”

“You never are,” Thor states, forcing Loki to stop right outside his bedroom door. “You always hide out here and avoid having any fun. You’ve been here for months, Loki, and you have failed to participate in any way or form to enjoy humanity.”

“I hate this place,” Loki responds. “Why would I try to find some silver lining?” 

“If that is the case then perhaps I should report to father that you have made no progress and have you sent back home.”

That definitely deepens the foul mood Loki was already in.  

“If I go to this party will you refrain from reporting to father?” 

Thor thinks for a few seconds before relenting.

“Yes, I would.” 

“Great, good,” Loki mutters as he slips into the darkness of his room. “I’m not wearing my armor though.” 

“Then what will you wear?” 

Loki doesn’t respond promptly slamming the door closed to Thor’s face. 

The lab was as pristine and proper as the day before you had come in and destroyed it. The wall had been repaired and the equipment that had been easily thrown before was now bolted to the ground. You let out a sigh as you try to forget that dark moment of your life when you had turned against your friends for no reason. 

You still couldn’t remember what happened but it still shook you to the very core. The truth was something everyone valued and yet you had overlooked the darkness it could truly hold. Lying didn’t seem so bad now and you miss having the simple ability. 

Shaking yourself from that thought, you scanned the rest of the room looking for the man of the hour. 

The moment the jet landed at the tower you were promptly told by FRIDAY that Tony requested your presence in the lab. 

You tried to make a quick stop towards the Asgardian floor but the AI had overlooked your floor request in preference of following its creator’s demand. 

The lab remained silent after you came in. FRIDAY had announced your presence but Tony was nowhere to be seen. You felt yourself being watched but could find no one. You were starting to grow paranoid which didn’t help when a loud bang resonated nearby.

Your head snaps towards the source of the crash and you relax when you realize it’s just Dum-E hitting against the nearby desk.

“Oh Dum-E, I thought I was…”

“BOO!” 

You jump at the sudden shout behind you. Out of pure instinct, you throw your hands in front of you causing your gauntlets to shoot out two straight lines of energy. The beams scorch two black spots on the recently repaired wall.

“Well that’s new.” 

You turn around and glare at Tony. 

“What the hell, Tony!” you shout at him. “I could have killed you.” 

Tony chuckles in response and is quick to apologize. 

“Sorry, kid,” he answers. “Didn’t realize you were Iron Man 2.0.” 

You roll your eyes at him and laugh sarcastically at him. 

“Ha, ha, ha, very funny,” you joke. “These things are the only reason I have some semblance of control.” 

“Let me see them.” 

You raise your hands and show him the golden gauntlets. 

“Interesting design,” he mutters as he grabs a hold of them, turning them around back and forth. “I’m assuming the stones are important by their placement. I wonder what they’re made of. Carbon-based, maybe? Rare space jewel? I would have to run some tests…”

“Yeah, not possible,” you comment. “I can’t take these off. Things could go very wrong.” 

Tony scowls as he lets your hands go. 

“Can’t risk it for a few minutes?” Tony asks. “I’m sure I could improve them for a nicer aesthetic and easier mobility.” 

“Tony…”

“Come on,” he nudges. “You don’t see me wearing my blasters because they’re comfortable. It’ll only be a few minutes. Five tops.” 

You hesitate and Tony pesters on.  

“Let me do this for you. It’s the least I can do if you have to wear those atrocities for the rest of your life.” 

You chew on the inside of your cheek before relenting. 

“Just be careful with the stones and be quick, please,” you plead at him. “I don’t wish to have a repeat of my last mishaps.” 

Tony snorts as he helps you slide the gauntlets off your hands. 

“Heard about that,” he snickers. “A little birdie told me and by birdie, I obviously mean Sam.” 

You laugh and shake your head at him watching as he steps towards his desk and pulls out an array of files into the screen. He flips through them quickly before stopping at one. 

Pepper Gift Ideas. 

“Um, Tony?” 

He ignores you as he opens the file up and scatters out the multiple designs he’s sketched out. You’re shocked at the multiple documents in the file but don’t have the chance to inspect them closely as Tony finds the one he was looking for. 

“Here it is,” he states as he picks the design and throws it onto the screen next to his equipment. “What do you think, kid?” 

“Oh, wow,” you whisper as you look at the design on display. “That’s beautiful.” 

“Was tinkering for a while about making Pepper her own jewelry,” Tony responds beside you. “But she never wears what I get her.” 

“I’m sure she would wear this,” you tell him. “Are you sure you want to use this design on me?” 

Tony is quick to nod. 

“You’ve been dealt a shitty hand with this power,” Tony answers honestly. “I just want to make things better for you in any way I can.” 

“Thanks, Tony,” you tell him, heartfelt at his generosity. “Really, thank you.” 

Tony clears his throat from the rising emotion and looks away. He picks up your gauntlet and begins to disassemble them. 

“Now go away,” he mutters. “Let me work in peace.” 

“You told me it would only be five minutes.” 

“Well I lied. I’m surprised you didn’t notice.” 

You roll your eyes at him and Tony simply smirks. 

“I’ll have them done soon, I promise, so why don’t you go ahead and find your partner in crime, Natasha. She’s got your costume in her room.” 

You hesitate but you’ve already done your daily exercises to tire your powers out. Nothing could go wrong. Or at least that’s what you hoped for. 

You wince at the sharp tug of your hair. You glare at Natasha through the mirror but she simply smirks in response. You had no choice when it came to getting ready for this impromptu Halloween party. Natasha dragged you into her room the moment you showed up at her door. 

You didn’t mind her help for the party. In fact, you were glad to have it as the redhead went above and beyond to have everything ready for you. From the costume to the hair and makeup, Natasha had arranged it all. All you had to do was sit there and allow her to make her vision into a reality. 

Though you would use this time to catch up with your close friend, your mind was far away at the moment. 

Ever since your last lesson, Loki had avoided you like the plague. Any attempt of trying to apologize to him was somehow thwarted by Loki himself or some outside force. It didn’t help that Tony’s impromptu invitation and the jet that followed severed any chance of forcing him to see you. 

You felt guilty.

You had crossed a line by revealing something he wasn’t ready to when all he had done was help you. You needed to apologize and you needed to do it soon. 

“Ok, spill it.” 

You look up at Natasha’s pointed stare and sigh. 

“I can’t hide anything, can I?” you mutter tiredly. Nat tugs on your hair again and you hiss at the action. “I’m fine, Nat. Just trying to settle my mind.”

“Of what?” 

You take a deep breath debating whether it was a good idea to tell her of your past week with Loki. 

Nat despised him with every fiber of her being, but you… you didn’t. 

“Loki’s been a great teacher considering I’m a ticking time bomb...”  

“But?” Nat interrupts. 

“But,” you repeat with a huff. “I keep ruining everything with this stupid power.”

“You?” Nat asks, confused. “You ruined everything? Not him?”

“Nat…” 

“I’m sorry,” she sarcastically laughs. “That doesn’t make sense. You’ve done nothing wrong.” 

“You don’t understand,” you sigh. “If you just let me explain…”

“Then explain.” 

You take a deep breath and turn away from the mirror to look at Natasha directly. 

“I have invaded everyone’s privacy. I’ve learned things I have no right knowing and revealed things without permission. You already know how guilty I felt because of it,” you explain. “Yet, Loki wasn’t one of them. He’s immune to my power as I am to his but I recently crossed a line and uncovered something I wasn’t supposed to.”

“What was it?” 

“You know I can’t tell you.” 

 Natasha huffs in response but shrugs her curiosity off. 

“So?” she asks. “What’s wrong then?” 

“I feel really bad about it, Nat, and he’s avoiding me and I just want to apologize to him because I invaded his privacy but he won’t even let me get close to him to do it.”

“He doesn’t need an apology,” Nat scoffs. “He’s a grown man. He can lick up his wounds and move on.” 

You’re starting to regret confiding in her about your situation but Loki has yet to teach you how to evade telling the truth without necessarily resorting to lying.

“I apologized to you and everyone after my first outburst,” you remind her. “You didn’t need me to but I’m sure it helped.”

Natasha lets out a breath but she knew you had a point. 

“Loki doesn’t deserve your kindness.” 

She’s being honest with her opinion but you don’t feel the same way. 

“I think differently,” you answer. “I think it’s been a long time since Loki’s been treated with some kindness.” 

Natasha's eyes narrow down at you. 

“Do you…” she hesitates. “What exactly is your relationship with him?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Are you acquaintances? Friends? Or is it more?” 

You’re surprised at the question. 

“I guess we’re friends?” you answer unsurely. “Mentor and student seems weird so yeah… friends.” 

Natasha seems unconvinced but she doesn’t speak up on it. Instead, she motions you to face forward again so she could finish up with your hair.

“So do you think I’ll have time to slip out to apologize or am I going to have to wait until the party?” 

Nat can’t avoid the snort from escaping her promptly earning her a confused look from you. 

“Loki doesn’t go to the parties,” she tells you. “Not since I could remember.” 

“Then why did he come with us in the jet?” 

“Maybe because he has to monitor you and we have to monitor him?” 

Nat’s right but you can only hope that Loki might prove her wrong. 

“If he’s there… apologize to him,” Nat tells you hoping to ease the scowl that was settling on your face. “Just don’t expect him to forgive you. He’s not apologetic, far less forgiving.”

TTSWL Tag: @catsladen @is-it-madness @manyfandoms-marvel @mejusttryintogetby @illogicalfangirl @ariel-snow-tmnt @islinglivesinshire @musicconversedance @missmadwoman @smaranshakthi @adaydreamingdragon @poetic-fiasco @like-a-wildfire @jasminecalia @ha-tep @charbokbok @setsuna-meiou31 @ms-blvck @country-cowgirl-101 @bepo-is-sorry @hufflautia @waitforthehurricanrose @fictionalhoomanofnowhere @sanniegirl1214 @telenari @anonymouscastiel12 @ddaeing​

Loki Tag: @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @thesilentbluesparrow @oddly-drawn-muse @josiehosiedaninja @hp-hogwartsexpress @sadwaywardkid @wolf-lover74 @sizzlingbarbarianglitter @sigyn-nightshade @aoirohi @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @just-a-donut-who-reads @day-dreaming-fox @heykathchuu​

All Works Tag: @jmb959 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @hellocookiecutter @steve-rogers-personal-hell @buckybarnesyard @not-zari-tak @strangersstranger @thefridgeismybestie @ariel-snow-tmnt @badhollandfluff @what-a-flammable-heart

[strawwritesfic]

Steve Rogers x Pregnant!Female!Reader: Where Gods Do Fear to Tread [Ch. 7]

Summary: If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.

Challenge: “9 Months” challenge by crackleviolet on Lunaescence Archive -- Abortion

Rating/Warnings/Tags: T (sexual references; pregnancy; pregnancy symptoms; foul language;  crude  humor; abortion; realistic birth defect; Steve & Bucky  friendship;  Reader & Bucky friendship)

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers/Female!Reader

Tag List: @imaginesfire​

Master List

Chapter 7: Gone Forever

Maggie left you so much more quickly than you imagined possible. Twenty minutes. That was all it took. Twenty minutes, and you were no longer a mother—or, as the kind people who had greeted you at the facility would say, you were the mother of a dead baby. You felt more like the latter, truthfully. Even with her gone, you wanted to hold her in your arms.

A few hours after you’d come home from your procedure, you got out of bed. You’d thought you would feel a whole lot worse than you did. Outside of some cramping easily lessened by pain medication, you felt mostly yourself. You felt more like yourself than you had at all in the past week and a half, in fact, and that included feeling hungry.

The apartment stayed quiet as you left the bedroom and wandered down the hall toward the kitchen. No one made a peep. You peeked into the office still half-transformed into a nursery. No Steve. You glanced into the living room as you passed it. He wasn’t there either. You saw no one at all until you reached your destination, and it was Bucky that sat at the kitchen table with a newspaper held between his hands. Steve remained nowhere to be seen.

“What are you doing here?” you asked.

Bucky looked up with wide eyes, tossed his paper down, and ran right to you. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be out of bed!” he said, dragging you back up the hall. “

“I’m fine. Bucky!” You had to shout to get him to quit pulling on your arm. Some people’s were easier to yank out of their socket than the people he normally roughed up. “They said I don’t have to rest all day. All I have to do is avoid sex and exercise until tomorrow.”

“So you feel okay?” he asked as he reluctantly let go of your arm.

“Just a bit of cramping and bleeding. Nothing too awful. Actually, I came out here to get something to eat.”

“Er…right. I can get you something.”

“Thanks.”

He nodded uncomfortably before returning to the kitchen. You followed at a slower pace. By the time you arrived, something that smelled like the stew Steve had made the night before was cooking in the microwave. Seeing that Bucky had vacated his spot at the table, you slid into his empty seat.

“Where’s Steve?” you asked.

“Huh? Oh. He’s…”

“Not here.”

“Right.” Bucky winced where he stood at the counter. Doing so rather ruined the effect of his casual shrug after. “He’s out. Asked me to watch you for a bit.”

“Why would I need watching?”

He shrugged again. Before he could try a different answer, the microwave beeped and Bucky turned to retrieve your meal. His eyes looked anywhere but directly at you as he brought the Tupperware and a spoon to the table.

You swallowed a bite of stew, narrowed eyes centered on Bucky. He, in turn, kept his gaze on the front of the refrigerator. Surely he had seen all of those sketches of him as a cat before. Steve hadn’t been in the mood to draw much lately, so nothing new adorned the fridge’s silver surface. Something was definitely going on.

“Seriously, Bucky. Where did Steve go?”

“He had a few things to take care of, that’s all. He’ll be back soon. Promise,” he added when he caught a glimpse of your skeptical expression.

What was so important that Steve had left you like that? True, you were not in dire straits. You were still sad, obviously, but now that the hard part was over with, you felt able to control that sadness a little. But that didn’t mean you wanted to do all that without your husband. Bucky acting so strangely only keyed you up worse. Something was being hidden from you, and you didn’t like it.

He interrupted your thoughts by clearing his throat. His cheeks had gone red.

“[Name]?”

“What?”

“You know I…about what those assholes said—you and me—we’re not—it isn’t like…I don’t like you like that. You know that. Right?”

“Of course I do!” Bucky’s relieved smile transformed rapidly into a scowl when you went on, “Cate’s the one that’s got the hots for your body. Not me.”

“Like hell will I go out with your crazy sister,” he muttered.

“Is that what all of this is about? Steve thinks we’re sleeping around together behind his back?”

“No, no! I just wanted you to know, I’d never…you’re my best friend’s wife, and one of my best friends to boot.”

You hardly noticed his continued ramblings over the whir of your own thoughts. Could Steve really believe that you’d cheat on him? Though you and Bucky were close, neither of you’d ever been romantically interested in each other! Then again, Steve’s serum had literally perfected him. Was it so out of the question that, with Bucky’s less-than-perfect knockoff serum, Maggie’s less-than-perfect body had been created by someone else?

“I have to talk to him right now!” you said, leaping to your feet.

“What? Why?”

“He has to know that I’d never—that we’d never—”

“[Name].” Bucky’s voice was calm enough to keep you from sprinting out of the apartment. “Steve knows that.”

“Then why isn’t he here?” you demanded.

Gently, Bucky eased you back into your seat. Your soup sat there growing cold, but you didn’t feel so hungry anymore. Not when your husband of four months was probably over at Nelson and Murdock having divorce papers drawn up right then and there.

“Steve didn’t leave you. He went out to take care of those nutty pro-lifers.”

That got your attention. “What do you mean, ‘take care’ of them?”

“Well, he couldn’t do much before your appointment, but he sure didn’t like what they said to you. As soon as he got you settled here, he set off to be that ass in shining armor we all know and love.”

Some of the tension in your chest eased. That sounded more like Steve. If he’d really thought Bucky had got you pregnant, friend or not, you weren’t sure Bucky would remain alive to tell the tale. All the same: “How do we know for sure that’s what he’s doing?”

“Oh, it’ll be on the news tonight for sure.” Bucky grinned. “I bet he calls me to bail him out of jail before long, too. He hasn’t abandoned you, [Name]. Steve loves you. More than anything.”

You smiled. “Thanks, Bucky. For everything.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Life wasn’t perfect. Maggie was still gone, and there was mourning to be done. With people in your life like Steve and Bucky, though, you had the feeling you were going to make it through just fine.

[tothedarkdarkseas]

You've done most/least favorite Murdoc and Stu illustrations, but how about: Most and least favorite Murdoc and Stu dynamics in an illustration?

Whenever I have to find artwork, I go through this massive Google drive which has a lot of older artwork, but stops somewhere in phase 5 and has nothing after that-- so by no means is this a comprehensive list, I just can't remember anything that portrays them together in a significant way after that to seek out. Behind the cut so I don't spam your dash!

I was pleasantly surprised to find there were many more I liked than disliked-- I think most of my disliked art is either solo or a group shot where the two aren't significantly interacting.

(I've also discovered while trying to make this post that Tumblr is now apparently enforcing "only 10 images per post" even in the answer to a question or text post, which is rubbish. I'll work around it.)

This is a classic one and just has an unusually non-manic, non-sensationalized feeling to it which is right up my alley. I love this style and the watercolors and ink, I'd like to see it again.

Love Stu's awful face and his pipecleaner arm draped over Murdoc. I love how huge Stu's paws look-- I just have to pretend Murdoc's look smaller and sharper than they really do here, haha.

As you may recall, the solo version of this Stu art is like, my favorite ever. It is so unhinged. The hammer! Holding the ciggie that way! The sunglasses and smirk! It is... cool guy drug stuff, you have to assume. But I do love this Murdoc as well, and appreciate that you could see them as in-sync bothering Jamie and Damo, or just looking right past them to squabble with each other. (PS- "Jarvis: See His Plums!")

*burning hair smell*

This doesn't have much of a "dynamic" to it I suppose, but it's unique.

Murdoc's face does detract from what could otherwise look like a fairly serious bit of artwork (...ignoring the planes and guns and robot as well, of course) but I think it's worth including. I do love the "neon rot" aesthetic of Plastic Beach, but I like that this takes a much more muted and therefore somber-looking color palate, yet it shows the two seeming more comfortable together than I actually believe they were.

This is cheating a bit as it looks like it's from one of the little 360-degree house tour things, but I will count it!

I just enjoy the pure chaos of this picture.

I have to trim one more picture here to fit under the 10-photo limit, so I'll downgrade this to an honorable mention: I do really love this artwork, and to me it has a definite vibe, I can feel a dynamic around their characters that really matches my characterization, but I suppose it doesn't really show their shared dynamic exactly.

Least favorite is a brief list:

This is definitely an all-time least favorite for me. The dynamic at play is obviously at ends with my preferred one, but the height fuckery is equally to blame. Stu is not that small! Murdoc is not that big! This is an outrage!

I don't get particularly upset about any of the cartoon violence as I take it all to just be slapstick, and it's not present as either a comedic or serious thing in any of my own work; I just think of the two things as totally removed from each other and that, for me, is fine. But still, if asked I'd say I don't love how buff and angry the sketches for Murdoc in this storyboard look, nor how small and pitiful Stu is. I just don't find it to be an especially exciting or interesting dynamic.

I am out of photo space, but special mention goes to the dog lead picture I guess-- I don't hate it really, I think Stu looks quite peeved so I can work with the idea of this being a photoshoot and Murdoc's talked them into this photo against Stu's wishes (and he's gonna be in a foul mood all day because of it, and probably spit in Murdoc's drink) but y'know, I suppose I don't like what it's done for The Culture around the ship, haha. If I'm being candid about that! But I think there are some quotes that have done worse than that picture did, so it's not a massive source of ire.

[that-scouse-wizard]

Sightseeing Part One

A/N: Hello everyone, welcome to this little one-shot of mine. I love the friendship between David Willows and Judith Harris that I and @judediangelo75 have developed. So, here’s a tale of David showing Judith around Liverpool, his home city.  Originally, I’d intended to show both the muggle and wizarding side of the city but then it got longer than I thought it would and didn’t want it to be a slog. So here’s part one to briefly show the muggle side, part two should be coming soon to show off the wizarding side.

Context: This takes place in the summer between second and third year so David and Judith are about thirteen here. Also my first time writing David’s mum, Rue (should be mentioned, her face claim is Fiona O’Carroll). Some mild spoilers for my ideas but I hope you all enjoy especially you @judediangelo75!

Word count: 2867

MC friends: Judith Harris ( @judediangelo75 )

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

5th of July, 1986

Judith Harris hated the summer holidays, some people would be able to enjoy it, likely going to somewhere abroad with their family but that simply wasn’t an option for her. For Judith, leaving Hogwarts for several weeks meant being stuck with her mother. 

She tried keeping her head down but living under the same roof meant little chance of escape from being constantly subject to her mother’s judgements and cruelty. The tension at home was always so suffocating.

Recently though, she had received a letter from someone she knew, David Willows. The younger brother to Jacob Hall, a friend of her own brother, Jamal. Both of them had gone missing in their search for the Cursed Vaults, she supposed it was fitting for their younger siblings to get acquainted. 

First impressions when they had arrived at Hogwarts, David was stand-offish, sharp-tongued and short-tempered. He wasn’t afraid to go for low blows in a verbal spar or physically fight people much bigger than him. Oftentimes, they had stayed out of each other’s way. She never tried to pick a fight with him. Although, unlike most of their peers, he had never been unkind to her. 

Their friendship was a fairly recent development, only beginning at the start of their second year when they tried out for the recently vacant positions as Beaters on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. Practice together meant more interaction especially as they both came under the mentorship of Erika Rath, Slytherin’s top Beater. It was during these practices that she had seen a different side to David.

Though he was aloof, they shared a remarkably high number of mutual friends, the most prominent of which were Penny Haywood and Rowan Khanna. When Judith had asked the two about their fellow Hufflepuff, both had spoken fondly of him. If they vouched for him, he surely couldn’t be that bad? 

Though he was snarky, that tended to be when he was aggravated by someone he didn’t like, he had a tendency to give his friends good-natured ribbings. Judith had happily returned the teasing, especially when it had come to her own and David’s respective crushes on Orion and Erika.

Though he could come across as aggressive with a foul temper, it took specific things to put him in such a mood. Namely... rumours about Jacob, especially so if someone dared to openly compare the two brothers. His ferocity wasn’t just to defend himself either, he had very nearly started a fight with an older Hufflepuff when they had made a derogatory comment towards Judith. A fight would have started if professor Sprout hadn’t intervened. They had barely known each other for a month at that point yet he’d still stuck up for her. Of course, she could handle herself but the sentiment was appreciated.

Other than that, Judith and David shared a love of art. Drawing together in silence, maybe occasionally asking how the other’s sketch looked, a peaceful respite from the stress they were under. They quickly gained a reputation on the Quidditch pitch as Hufflepuff’s star Beaters after their team handily defeated both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor 

Their titles as the ‘Heroes of Hogwarts’ had only served to connect the two further after conquering the Ice Vault. 

All in all, the two of them had formed a decent relationship.

Still, it was a surprise when Goliath, David’s eagle owl had arrived with a letter inviting her to come visit Liverpool for a week. An opportunity she had practically leapt at. Thankfully, the owl had found her bedroom window first. Judith shuddered to think how her mother would have reacted if she found out she was receiving letters from a boy, no matter how platonic the nature of it was.

Keeping that fact about her friend a secret from her mother was definitely the only reason she was currently making the journey. She was sure David would agree to making plans in advance if they wished to do something like this again, lest she risk her mother’s ire.

She had purchased muggle train tickets as soon as she could, sending Goliath back to his owner with the day and time she was expected to arrive. Though expensive, it was the swiftest, and most direct mode of transport between London and Liverpool.  

At least the weather had been nice with hardly a cloud in the sky. It had been relaxing, watching the landscape go by slumped back in her seat as the train had weaved its way through both city and countryside. Though it wasn’t nearly as hot as it could get in Barbados, it was still warm enough to justify her current attire, a yellow sundress with matching sandals. 

“Now approaching, Liverpool Lime Street.” The automated voice of the train echoed. Judith stood up smiling at the announcement as she retrieved her suitcase from the overhead luggage area. That was her stop, the end of the line, it would be nice seeing David again.

-------------------

Liverpool Lime Street was a large station, two cylindrical dome roofs made up of mostly clear glass and metal provided cover for all train platforms, giving it a tunnel-like appearance. Archways made of stone and mostly filled by windows supported the upper half of the building from the front. Great, red pillars held up the right side, creating a pavement for both foot traffic and a road for vehicles into the station’s car park. 

David paced about, unable to keep himself from showing excitement. Wearing a plain grey tee shirt, denim jean shorts and black sandals for the hot weather. Occasionally looking around watchfully through the throngs of people going about their business. 

His letter to Judith had asked for her to find the car park at the station and she would be sure to run into him. From where he was, simply turning left after arriving at one of the train platforms, then continuing straight would assure it. 

It was about quarter past eleven, the time Judith said she was likely to arrive in her letter back. This would be the first time he had invited a friend around in a long while. 

Frankly, although he was excited, he couldn’t help but feel nervous about the whole thing. Though he and his mother Rue had reconciled somewhat, she had tried to persuade him into inviting someone other than Jamal Harris’s little sister. She assumed they were just Quidditch teammates who happened to share a history with the Cursed Vaults and that was it. 

It was only when David had told his mother the full story of their delve into the Ice Vault that she had relented. The curse had begun its most dramatic transformation midway through their match against Slytherin for the Quidditch Cup. Ice conjured by the vault had begun encompassing the school, threatening to overcome it entirely. 

Together, they, alongside Bill Weasley and Penny Haywood had made their way to the vault. Breaking the seal on the door had caused Penny and Bill to become trapped by the cursed ice; as well as unleash its guardian, an animated suit of armour held together by ice and frost.

In the midst of the Ice Knight trying to carve them up, Judith had used an Incendio that had briefly drawn its attention from David after he was cornered. Whether his mother liked it or not, Judith had saved his life. An invitation to his hometown was the least he could do for her.

He had initially wanted to face the vaults on his own. Though, that plan seemed doomed to fail before he had even set foot on the castle grounds after he had bumped into Rowan. Now, Judith was a part of an ever-growing circle of friends that David was slowly building up, an addition that he was glad for. 

He hadn’t thought much of her when he first arrived at Hogwarts. She had made no effort to seek him out, which was just fine for David at the time. Playing Quidditch with her though had shown him there was more to Judith Harris than first met the eye. 

Underneath her quiet exterior, she was fierce, witty and a hell of a lot stronger than she looked. The first time they sparred together, David hadn’t been expecting her to use a back kick on him. While she had at first been worried she overdid it, David had shrugged it off despite the sizeable bruise it had left on his stomach. If anything, it had just convinced him it was a good idea to spar with her further. Nothing would keep his own hand-to-hand combat skills sharp like fighting an experienced opponent.

A splash of bright yellow caught his eye, quite distinct amongst a sea of other colours. A dark-skinned girl about his age with long, brown-black locs tied back. Her gold eyes looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings before finally landing on David, getting a beaming smile from her. There was no mistaking who it was.

“Judith!” He called out enthusiastically, grinning back. 

“It’s good to see you David.” His friend answered, walking up to him and giving him a brief hug. One that he returned.

“Same here, welcome to Liverpool.” He replied, grandly gesturing to the outside of the station.

Judith rolled her eyes playfully, giving a brief scan of the view. There was a busy junction that ran alongside the station, vehicles coming from at least three different directions. A Neo-Grecian-style stone building and a white tower tipped with a room with blue windows dominated the view. Impressive in its own right but it would definitely be better to explore the city with David to really see what it had to offer.

“Thank you for the invitation, shall we?” Judith’s implication was clear to David, time to head off.

“Of course, mum is waitin’ for us in the car park. Just a heads up, she can be a bit... intense.” David warned.

‘Oh joy.’ Judith thought sarcastically, hoping David’s mum wouldn’t be an exact copy of her own...

She wouldn’t have long to wonder, moving along a pavement that ran parallel to the train platforms, towards the car park, separated from the rest of the station by a wrought-iron fence. A few cars were in it, without their owners of course. All except one.

In front of a silver Ford Escort stood a woman. Pale-skinned with shoulder length dark brown hair. She was dressed in a grey pinstripe suit, a pale pink shirt under it being the only other colour. Curiously, a small, sharp and serrated tooth was hung around her neck by a black thread. She held what appeared to be a red snakeskin handbag.

Brown eyes were fixed on the pair as they approached her, though especially on Judith. Clearly David had his mother’s eyes, ones that were intent on analysing Judith for their first meeting. Watching her warily in silent judgement, a stoic expression not giving anything away.

Judith could see what David meant. She didn’t like being watched ordinarily, it made her feel like she was being judged. Under Rue Willows’ gaze though, she couldn’t help but feel a nagging sensation at the back of her head, one that commanded attention. Not cruel exactly but not friendly either, it made Judith squirm. 

“I-it’s nice to meet you, Ms Willows.” Judith greeted quietly, anxious to see if there was any change in the woman. Receiving nothing but another glance over.

“Ahem.” David coughed, trying to defuse the tension. 

It worked, Rue finally spoke up after that prompt, “A pleasure to meet you too Judith.” She replied curtly, her accent making it clear she was from Ireland. She turned her attention to her son, taking a large pouch out of her handbag that clinked as she moved it before tossing it to David. “I was thinking, David. Maybe you could show Judith around the city centre? Even show her Under Mersey. Just be back by five, if you can.”

David’s eyes widened both at the statement and the amount of bronze, silver and gold staring back at him as he looked inside the pouch. Sure, they had talked about loosening the tight restrictions that had troubled their relationship since Jacob’s disappearance but something like this so soon was unexpected.

“Thanks mum.” David answered, sounding grateful for it.

Rue’s features softened slightly as a smile tugged at the corner of her lips, “You don’t want be carrying your case everywhere you go, do you Judith? Let me take it while you and David are out.” She asked, holding out her hand, sounding just a bit friendlier with her offer. Though despite it being phrased as a question, there was clearly no room for argument.

Judith handed her case over, “Thank you, Ms Willows.”

Rue only gave a nod of acknowledgement and a quick “Have fun.” as she put Judith’s case into the boot of the car before driving off.

“I see what you mean, intense is certainly a word for it.” Judith stated, “Question though, what’s an ‘Under Mersey’?

“Well, y’know how Diagon Alley is in London?” David asked as he started walking, getting a nod from his friend, “In every major city across England, Ireland, Wales and Scotland, there’s a place for wizards to go to, Under Mersey is Liverpool’s.” Judith hummed in understanding at that, she had never been to a wizarding community outside of London.

“But, how about a brief tour of the muggle side first? There’s a couple of iconic places in walking distance from here. Any other bits of history, I can just tell you about.” David suggested.

“Whatever you want David,” Judith shrugged, “This is your city, let’s see what it’s got.” The two friends stepped out onto the streets of Liverpool catching the scent of the sea on the wind. The general style reminding Judith of the inner city of London. Buildings being tightly packed together, only allowing roads through. Little to no space for alleyways turning the city centre into a maze of roads.

David grinned at her statement, “Well then Miss Harris, on your right you will see St George’s Hall. A big concert venue, mostly for dead posh events.” He said, making a show of it as he pointed out the stone building Judith had seen previously, “However, if you fancy more modern tastes, to your left you’ll see Radio City, Liverpool’s local radio.”

Judith chuckled at her friend’s showmanship, “Are there any music venues we could go to?” She asked as the two of them crossed the junction, content to follow David’s lead.

“Closest one to us is the Cavern Club. Mostly does local bands, Jazz, Rock and Roll, R&B, that sort of music.” Judith grinned, that was the sort of music she could get into, David wasn’t done with his little tour as they began walked through the streets, “Though it’s only open on a Thursday nowadays. It’s not the original, that was the cellar of a warehouse on Matthew street that got filled with cement when they were goin’ to construct part of an underground railway but it didn’t happen in that part of the city. They tried excavating the place to reopen it but there was too much damage to the structure. So they just built a new one on the same street.”

Judith’s brow furrowed at that, it was definitely an interesting piece of the city’s history but in retrospect it seemed to have been a waste of time.

“But Liverpool itself has been around since 1207, though it didn’t gain much prominence as a port until the 17th century.” David explained before pointing off further in the distance. “Up that way is the Pier Head, used to be where a lot of the goings on at the docks were handled earlier this century. More recently though, Liverpool produced one of the most famous bands in the Muggle world just over twenty years ago. They performed in the original Cavern Club, speaking off, we’re coming up to Matthew Street, right now.”

David suddenly turned onto Matthew Street, Judith following close behind him. It was clear to see where he was heading with the street being devoid of any foot traffic.

The Cavern Club.

Judith cocked an eyebrow at this, “I thought you said this was only open on Thursdays?” She asked as they now stood in front of the black archway, the doors of the club very clearly closed and likely locked tight.

“Oh it is,” David confirmed, “But this also the only way I know of to get into Under Mersey.” He continued, stepping beneath the neon sign of the club into the archway. 

“How do you do it?” Judith asked, giving him a slightly sceptical look.

“Take my hand, brace yourself, and you’ll see.” David said, offering his hand to her. Judith took it tentatively, joining him at his side. David tapped his foot six times, the first two beats were slower than the next quick four before he then said, “Hey Jude.”

At first, Judith thought he was addressing her, though she only managed to get out a “Wh-” before she felt her stomach lurch as she and David fell through the pavement beneath them.

[maatryoshkaa]

young god | chapter 7

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 5.5k

warnings: mentions of mental disorders, foul language, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of alcohol

description: from jisung’s psychoanalysis to the crime investigation, nothing seems to be adding up. jisung and hyunjin have an unpleasant first encounter, and a conversation with hyunjin’s grandmother leaves you with more questions than answers. hwang hyunjin wanders the streets like a ghost, and the police are hot on jisung’s trail.

watch the trailer here!

07| seeing ghosts

You unlocked the door to your apartment and stepped in, the space as dark and cool as a tomb. 

You made a beeline for your room and chucked your bag onto the desk, rummaging through your closet for a comfortable hoodie. With a relieved sigh, you flicked on your table lamp and let the warm glow soften the darkness. The sun had gone down during your walk home, the busy sounds of the city hushed by the chirping of crickets and the rustle of the evening breeze. Jisung had held your hand the whole time -- two or three of his fingers gently hooked around yours and lightly swinging back and forth as you walked.

He had waved you goodbye from the stairwell -- heart-shaped smile and all -- but even as you propped open your laptop and shuffled through your notes, the feeling of his fingers lingered on your skin. You felt the blood rush to your face as Jisung’s voice -- soft and achingly vulnerable -- echoed in your ears.

Promise...you’ll never leave me?

You slammed your notebook down with unnecessary force, violently shaking your head as if trying to fling the thoughts away. Damn it, y/n. Focus! The notes you had scribbled looked as if they were falling off the lines of the paper. With a deep breath and a light slap to your own cheek, you began typing them up.

Patient: Han Jisung

Age: 20

Memories and short bits of dialogue flashed in your mind as you read over the papers. 

Session One. 

Patient has undergone mandatory psychological evaluations in the past, in educational institutions. 

Mentions racing thoughts, rapid heartbeat, and possibly palpitations when in the presence of the therapist. **(May simply be conversational and therefore unreliable). 

Suffering from nightmares as of late; sleep problems. Appears uneasy when speaking about said problems. 

End of session.

You frowned. Straightforward enough. Slightly strange, if read out of context -- but nothing that stuck out in particular. Biting your lip and shrugging, you flipped to the notes from today.

Session Two.

Questions were focused on family and childhood. Patient looked 

Your fingers stalled on the keyboard, Jisung’s expression from earlier flooding your memory. How his eyes had widened like a deer in headlights’ when you’d asked about his family. And -- had you been imagining it? -- they way his voice had wavered when he finally answered. Frowning, you shook your head -- no, no. You were probably just overanalyzing things, right? 

Still, you found yourself typing out the one detail that had always been nagging at the back of your mind --

Patient looks upset at any mentions of family and childhood

At this, you hesitated again. You had barely known the boy for two weeks. There were things that Jisung wasn’t telling you about his childhood, that was for sure -- but wasn’t it normal not to know everything about each other yet? And it’s not like Jisung comes from a broken family or something, you thought. After all, he did say that his mother loved --

You froze.

Slowly, as if like a ghost was whispering in your ear, you felt an icy cold chill trickle down your spine, Jisung’s hollow voice echoing in your mind.

“My mother...like I said, she loved unconditionally. Patient, nurturing, kind...everything, well, you could ever want from a mother.”

Loved?

Past tense?

Your hand shot for your notebook and you practically ripped through the pages, looking for any other quotes you had written down.

“I don’t think my family was like everyone else’s.”

“My mother’s eyes were always so...loving and caring.”

Your eyes widened, a horrible sinking feeling in your gut.

“It sounds like your mother loves you a lot, then, huh? That’s so cute.”

“Y-yeah, she did.”

“Your father?”

“I wasn’t close with him. He was never...never around, so…”

What the hell had happened to Jisung’s parents? 

You barely suppressed the urge to bang your head against the table. Am I stupid? How had you not noticed what he’d been saying? What else had you glazed over and swept to the back of your mind?

You reached into your bag and pulled out your textbook, mumbling under your breath as you scanned the glossary. Mood swings. Nightmares. Anxiety. You’d read about this combination of symptoms before, hadn’t you? Sure enough, your fingers landed on the page you had been searching for.

POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER

The words glared coldly back at you as you read aloud, “Patients who suffer from PTSD are those who have experienced or witnessed a traumatic event in the past. Any mentions or reminders of this event can trigger the patient and send them into a distressed state. Symptoms include…” you felt a lump in your throat and swallowed thickly. “Nightmares, inability to concentrate, and an exaggerated startle response at any mention of the traumatic event.”

Your thoughts immediately wandered to Jisung’s sudden flashes between moods -- his bright, blinding smiles, easily swept away by the cold, stormy look in his eyes. How he sometimes seemed so far away, expression glazed and unfocused. And now, with what he had mentioned about his family…

Jotting this down with an increasingly uneasy feeling in your gut, you continued flipping through the textbook, skimming through familiar case studies and theories. Words leapt out at you from the pages and made your stomach turn: Abusive childhood. Case study: Jeffrey Dahmer. Psychopathy. Case study: Ted Bundy. 

You held your head, groaning, and slammed the textbook shut. Were you really looking at serial killer cases to compare your boyfriend with right now? If Jisung could see you, he’d probably think you were being intrusive and paranoid -- trying to diagnose someone just because a couple of symptoms matched up. You’d been lectured in class over and over again that it wasn’t your job to speculate and form baseless assumptions -- rather, that was exactly what made an irrational therapist, but...it almost felt like you were trapped neck-deep in quicksand. The more you tried to stop thinking about the secrets Han Jisung seemed to be hiding behind his dark eyes, the deeper you found yourself sinking.

It was nearly midnight by the time you finished the outline of your report, cicadas languidly chirping outside your window as you leaned back in your chair and yawned. In the end, you had included a bit of everything -- from the most harmless theories to the darkest case studies. Skimming over your notes warily, you shut your laptop and rolled into bed, completely drained. Speculations. That’s all they were -- it couldn’t hurt to write down all the possibilities, right? 

You shook your head before finally drifting off to sleep, a relaxed smile on your face.

What were the chances that Jisung was hiding anything serious, anyways?

────────

Bang Chan threw another shot of espresso down his throat, not tearing his eyes from his papers. His fingers were vibrating slightly from the amount of caffeine coursing through his veins, and he swore he could feel his heartbeat all the way to his toes -- but frankly, he couldn’t care less.

He’d received the crime scene files an hour earlier -- sketches, photographs, coroner’s report, witness statements. He’d spent the better part of the night arranging and rearranging them like a madman doing a Sudoku puzzle. Everything was fanned out now, his desk looking like a filing cabinet had exploded all over it. Cold cases, his own theories, even research he’d done on the side…

And yet not a single damn thing was adding up.

Every lead Chan had gotten had steered him into nothing but dead ends. He’d never seen anything like it -- the same type of killings, occurring within the walls of what was supposed to be the safest school in the country. They had occurred at irregular intervals at first -- a handful in one month, followed by a four month period of uneasy quiet before the killer had struck again. He could count the cases off of his fingers by now; Chan had read them so many times, raking through the files for even the slightest of clues.

First, it had been an arson in one of the health sciences laboratories -- one male student pronounced dead at the scene, ghastly chemical burns having melted away most of his facial features.

Then there was the body found hanging from the rooftop of one of the dorms, skull practically crushed from blunt force trauma.

The list went on and on, small details linking what had otherwise seemed like a spattering of anonymous murders. The killer was a pyromaniac, for sure -- more than half of the deaths were fire-related -- and might as well have been related to the Hulk or something, because the rest of the victims had been killed -- seemingly -- by bare hands.

Even Minho seemed reluctant to answer his questions, and Chan couldn’t blame him -- the sheer lack of evidence found at each crime scene was embarrassing. He could hear the coroner’s exasperated voice in his head:

“No fingerprints -- the killer probably wore gloves. No murder weapon, so no DNA to sample off of, either. Heck, there isn’t even that much blood spattering to analyze, Detective.”

That ruled out the usual causes of murders taking place in Miroh Heights -- drunkards who took a bar fight too far, crimes of passion, domestic violence. No, Chan shook his head, his brain feeling like mush slopping around in his skull and making him wince. They were dealing with someone much, much more complex.

Chan had a fistful of blond hair in one hand and a cup of nearly-empty coffee in the other. What was this killer’s M.O.? Serial killers almost always had a motive, and their victims usually had some things in common. Chan flipped through the victims’ profiles, gears in his head beginning to turn again despite his drooping eyes.

Na Jangmin, Victim #1. Cause of death: Smoke inhalation and respiratory burns. Chan remembered interviewing his classmates, and being surprised at how indifferent they had been about the supposed tragedy.

“He never saw us as his classmates, you know. He’d pick on the first-years like fresh meat. They say half of the new med students dropped out because of him.”

Interesting. He flipped to the next file, tapping his pen against his lip.

Park Beomsoo, Victim #2. Cause of death: cervical fracture and asphyxiation from hanging. Found nearly decapitated and swinging from the rooftop balcony of a dorm building. What had been interesting about this case, however, was the sheer amount of date rape drugs found in the man’s system during the autopsy.

“Rohypnol, mostly,” Minho had informed him. “Along with traces of GHB -- enough to cause brain damage for life. The man was likely already knocked out for good by the time he was hanged.”

This had been baffling until Chan had investigated further, and found out about the man’s reputation.

“He’d slip pills into girls’ drinks at the club,” one of his friends had told Chan, “and was proud of it, too. All he’d brag about was how many half-conscious girls he’s taken advantage of.”

Chan exhaled with a low whistle. That couldn’t be a coincidence -- the killer had to have known about Park’s disgusting habits. So the victims did have something in common -- although it wasn’t like any case he’d ever seen before.

None of the victims had been, per se, good people. They were, interestingly -- and revoltingly -- enough, monsters of another kind. They were people who wouldn’t be missed, simply because they were hated so much already.

Huh. A killer targeting killers. Interesting. But how? And why? Did the killer have some sort of fucked-up sense of justice?

He tapped his fingers anxiously. All his hopes lay on the evidence they had collected from the Yellow Wood attacks -- but the crime lab had yet to hand it over to his team. He grimaced at the memory of the body, whose head had caved in completely and rendered the victim practically unrecognisable. How could there not be a single trace of incriminating DNA from something so...brutal? And then there was Yang Jeongin, who, as far as he knew, was still in critical condition at the hospital. If only he would wake up, maybe Chan would finally get a lead…

Chan didn’t even notice the sun beginning to rise outside of his window until the first ray of morning light pricked at his eyes, making him blink in disoriented confusion. His burning pupils flickered to the clock. 6:25 A.M. Damn it.

He kicked his chair back and threw on a wrinkled suit jacket, stuffing all his notes into his briefcase before promptly stepping out of his office. Work never ended for Detective Bang.

Chan glimpsed his reflection in the shop windows as he made his way back onto Miroh Heights’ campus, running his hands through his hair in a feeble attempt to tame his bedhead (was it even a bedhead if he hadn’t touched a bed in 48 hours?). His eyes caught the familiar storefront of Glow Cafe and he immediately steered himself towards it. Wouldn’t hurt to grab himself a fresh cup of coffee, and maybe he could look at the crime scene again with fresh eyes.

The barista -- Hyunjin, was it? -- was scrawling something on the chalkboard sign propped outside, stumbling to his feet and brushing the chalk dust off his hands when he saw Chan approaching.

“All right, Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin gave a small smile that looked more like a grimace, his tired eyes wandering behind Chan. The detective didn’t have to turn to know he was staring at the spot Jeongin had been found -- the barista looked like he was seeing ghosts. Chan took a deep breath before plastering a reassuring smile on his face, throwing an arm around the younger boy’s hunched shoulders and steering him into his cafe.

“I’m gonna need you to make me a cold drip, kid, because I feel like dea--” he caught himself, clearing his throat awkwardly. No death. No death. “Like shit. I’m feeling like shit.”

But Hyunjin didn’t even seem to hear him, wordlessly making his way behind the counter and starting the coffee machine.

Chan watched him and sighed, pulling out a chair and collapsing over a table. Seconds later, the diner door swung open, the windchimes ringing brightly as two familiar faces walked in.

“Good morning, Chan. How’s--bloody hell, you look like death.” Woojin’s eyebrows shot up when he joined Chan at the table, looking the sleep-deprived detective up and down. Behind him was Han Jisung, backpack slung over his shoulder.

Chan grimaced and checked his reflection in one of the empty glasses. Sure enough, his eyes were puffy and ringed with layer upon layer of dark circles, and his mop of dandelion hair was at the point of no return. “To hell with it. What brings you two here this early in the morning?”

Jisung and Woojin exchanged a look before Jisung spoke up, grinning his usual sheepish grin. “I set my alarm way too early and couldn’t fall back asleep, so I went out for a morning walk. We bumped into each other, and were both in need of some coffee.”

Woojin nodded, pulling out a chair for the younger student. “I take it you’re here for the same reason, Detective?”

Chan grinned. “Guilty as charged, Captain. How--”

A sudden crash rang through the empty cafe, cutting him off. All three heads snapped up to see Hyunjin standing over a broken pot of coffee, glass shards splaying all over the floor tiles and the dark, bitter liquid seeping into the crevices. 

Chan jumped to his feet, holding his hands out. “Hey, you okay? Don’t move, I’ll get a mop. Uh, where do you keep your mops?” The detective’s voice trailed off when his eyes landed on Hyunjin’s face. The barista’s hands were still frozen in place, but his eyes were livid and staring straight at Han Jisung.

“Why the hell are you here?” Hyunjin was speaking through gritted teeth.

Jisung blinked. “Is...is it too early? Sorry, dude, I can leave if--”

“Why are you always interfering with the investigation? You were at the crime scene for no particular reason, and now you’re here again.” Hyunjin’s voice was getting louder and louder. “It’s pretty damn suspicious if you ask me--”

“You seem to be more of an interference than me,” Jisung replied, standing up abruptly. All childlike humour had vanished from his expression. “Rushing the investigation, hanging around the crime scenes despite not having an ounce of experience.”

“My friend is in the hospital, and nobody fucking knows why--”

“Jisung!”

All four men turned towards the direction of the voice, and saw you waving cheerfully through the window. Unbeknownst to the situation, you pushed open the glass doors and ran up to a bewildered Jisung, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “What brings you here?” You turned to Hyunjin. “Hey, ‘jinnie, I just thought I’d come early today, since I’ve been arriving late for the last couple of shifts. You know Jisung? He’s the blind date!”

You smiled at Chan and Woojin, who both nodded back but seemed at a loss for words, their gazes flickering between the two boys and you. Hyunjin’s face of confused shock mirrored Jisung’s, words finally spilling out of both boys’ mouths at the exact same time.

“This is your boyfriend?” “This is your friend?”

You blinked, taken aback at their raised voices. “I--yes? B-but--”

Hyunjin narrowed his eyes at Jisung. “So you’re the one y/n’s been talking nonstop about? Is this a joke?”

Your stared at him. “Hyunjin!” Your eyes fell on the shattered coffeepot at his feet and you yelped. “Holy frick, what happened? Hold on, I’ll get th--”

You were interrupted by Jisung shoving his chair aside with a loud bang. His expression wasn’t exactly angry, but you could see his fists and jaw were clenched so tightly they were shaking violently. “Fine. I’ll get going, then.” He looked to you, sighing. “See you later.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Hyunjin cut you off. “No, you won’t.” 

Giving Hyunjin one last long, wordless look, Jisung strode out of Glow Cafe.

When he had gone, you turned on Hyunjin, fuming. “Hwang Hyunjin, what the fuck--”

“Do you really have to date him? Him?” Hyunjin threw his hands up in exasperation.

“Why on earth are you so worked up about who I date?” 

“The guy’s suspicious as hell, y/n! I have a bad feeling about him. And I don’t fucking like it.”

You sighed, reaching behind the counter for a dustpan and rag. Woojin took them from your hands and handed the rag to Chan to clean the spill, and you turned back towards Hyunjin. “Look, I know you’ve been shaken up lately. We’re all on edge, Hyunjin. Lashing out isn’t going to help.” You rubbed his back gently, and, despite his expression softening slightly, his brow remained furrowed. Exhaling slowly, you tried to change the subject. “Is your grandma awake? We should make sure she takes her medicine.”

After making Chan and Woojin a new pot of coffee, you and Hyunjin headed upstairs to the studio apartment where him and his grandmother lived. Here, the walls were made of old red brick, foggy panelled windows letting in weak strains of sunlight. Still, Hyunjin insisted it was cozy, the wooden frame bed his legs were too long for shoved against the windows, his architecture sketches and designs hanging from the walls. Down the hallway was his grandmother’s room, which Hyunjin paid much more attention to than his own -- keeping it as clean and comfortable as possible.

Hyunjin’s parents lived and worked abroad, leaving Hyunjin in the custody of his grandparents. The moment he’d gotten into Miroh Heights, he’d moved into the shop his grandmother had started, and had eventually also taken up the responsibility of storeowner once her dementia had worsened and his grandfather had passed away. Nowadays, she seldom got out of bed, Hyunjin being the only one taking care of her and keeping her company.

When you entered her room, Grandma Hwang was sitting up in bed, a newspaper in her hands. Upon closer inspection, you saw that it was the morning paper from two days ago: MURDER AT MIROH HEIGHTS, with the burnt-down flat on the cover.

Hyunjin quickly pulled the newspaper from her hands, tucking it away under his arm. “Don’t let her read the newspaper,” you remembered him telling you once, “I don’t want it to upset her. I don’t know why, but she’s started saying these strange things ever since the murders began. I don’t want her dementia to get worse.”

“Good morning, Grandma Hwang,” you smiled at her, patting her hand. She turned to you, looking as if she were staring straight through you. Hyunjin reached into her bedside cabinet for her medications. “Have you taken your medicine today?”

Slowly, the old woman shook her head, her eyes landing on the newspaper under Hyunjin’s arm. “Familiar…”

You frowned. “What’s familiar?”

She lifted a crooked finger, pointing straight at the burnt-down flat. “The old Han house...from years ago. So familiar. So...so long ago…”

Hyunjin and you exchanged a look. Are you sure she’s just rambling? You mouthed at Hyunjin, who nodded, but his expression was unsure. I’m gonna get her some water, he mouthed back, and disappeared from the room.

A few moments of silence passed as you watched the old woman, the soft morning glow smoothing out her wrinkles. Not being able to suppress your burning curiosity, you blurted, “Why--why is it so familiar?”

Her brow was furrowed in deep concentration but her eyes were blank slates, hands gesticulating meaninglessly. “Pastries...the pastries, need to deliver the pastries to all the houses. All the houses except the Hans’--” she shook her head wildly now, voice trembling. “No, no, not the Han house!”

You could feel your heart leap to your throat, a cold sweat beginning to form on the inside of your palms. Even if she was just rambling, like Hyunjin claimed, it made you extremely uneasy. “Why not the Han house?” You pressed, your own voice quavering slightly.

“Nowhere to go, my dear, nowhere, nowhere, went up in flames--” she gasped, hands clutching her face as she babbled. “So much burning, Lord help me...and...and everyone...burned to ashes...except for that tiny, little boy. Crawlin’ out--”

You heard Hyunjin clear his throat from the doorway, and the old woman’s voice faltered. He was holding a tall glass of water in one hand and shot you a look as he reached for his grandmother’s box of medications. You turned back, hoping she would continue, but her eyes were already glazed over with the fog of forgetfulness. 

As she swallowed her medicine, you turned to Hyunjin. “She was talking about...about delivering pastries.”

“Mm. Back in the day, when she still used to run the store, we did pastry deliveries,” Hyunjin explained, stroking his grandmother’s hand absently as she finished the glass of water. “She used to go door to door, around the neighbourhood, handing out baskets of them.”

You nodded slowly. “Was...was there ever a fire in Miroh Heights? A really big one, like -- like a house burning down.”

Hyunjin gave you a weird look. “A fire? The deliveries stopped around 13 years ago. I wasn’t there, you know. Whatever she told you, don’t listen to her. Her memories get all mixed up.” He saw your expression and frowned. “What? Did she say something weird?”

You bit your lip, but shook your head. “No. Nothing at all.”

────────

Jisung tore down the darkening backstreets, not knowing where he was going and feeling like the ground beneath him was spinning wildly out of control. Fucking hell. He had barely sat through his classes without losing it, the paranoia eating him from the inside out like a parasite. The air was cool and damp, the sky crammed with grey storm clouds knitting together ominously.

They didn’t suspect him, right? There was no way they knew it was him.

Imagine his barely concealed panic when he’d run into police captain Kim Woojin first thing in the morning. They’d talked about his major, the weather, everything but the investigation. And Chan -- the detective had greeted him just like he always had.

It was just that damn Hwang Hyunjin.

“You were at the crime scene for no particular reason...it’s pretty damn suspicious if you ask me.”

Bloody hell.

No, no, no. He couldn’t let them find out. Everyone knew Hwang Hyunjin had been showing the early signs of post-traumatic stress disorder from finding the delivery boy half-dead in a pool of blood. There was no way they’d take him seriously. 

He began limping as he wove through the alleyways, the foot he’d dropped the rock on still throbbing from the impact. He turned a corner briskly -- and slammed headfirst into a stout middle-aged man.

“I’m sor--”

“Look where you’re fucking going, punk,” the man screamed, the foul stench of liquor hitting Jisung’s nostrils and making him stumble backwards. The man was clearly homeless, judging from the state of his clothes and his matted hair. He must have wandered onto campus while the gates were still open. His milky eyes were squinty and he was swaying, an empty beer bottle swinging precariously in one hand.

Jisung lunged forward, ripping the bottle from his hands, and in one savage motion broke it over the man’s nose. The man howled in pain and Jisung raised the jagged glass again, ready to plunge it straight through the man’s open mouth -- he knew this motion well, he’d done it so many times he’d lost count--

But when he stared into the man’s bleeding eyes again, he saw a flash of your face. And he felt his entire body seize up, his arm stopping dead in its tracks.

You smiling at something he’d said. The way you’d hide your face behind your notebook when you were flustered. The smell of your hair when you hugged him tightly. The warm, familiar feeling of your skin brushing his when you ran your fingers through his hair--

The broken bottle slipped from Jisung’s hands, crashing onto the cobblestones. The man was whimpering, nose still spurting bright red blood. Jisung’s gaze flickered from one of his milky pupils to the other. Blind. He let go of the man’s tattered shirt collar, breathing hard as he turned around and did the only thing he seemed to know how to do.

Jisung ran.

Above him, the sky rumbled with deafening thunder before the clouds split open, sheets of rain pouring down on him as he stumbled down the streets. Blood was welling in his hands, crimson and sticky, and he wasn’t even sure whose blood it was anymore. All Jisung knew was that he needed to find you. He needed you by his side, to tell him it was okay, to say you would listen. To make him feel sane again.

He made it onto the main road and spotted a figure in the distance. Squinting through the rain, Jisung made out the shape of a taller man stumbling towards him. Before he could muster up the energy to turn away, the man had already reached him, hands shooting out to grab Jisung’s shoulders in a vicelike grip. Blood roaring in his ears, heart leaping to his throat, Jisung forced himself to look up.

It was Hwang Hyunjin.

Jisung immediately shoved his blood-soaked hands into his pockets, forcing himself not to yell when shards of broken glass dug and sliced into his palms. His mind was racing, running over a million possible things he could say. But Hyunjin didn’t even look down -- his gaze stayed on Jisung’s face, eyes glassy but narrowed.

Jisung realised with a start that the barista had been drinking. 

Hyunjin’s face was twisted into an expression of raw, tormented grief -- the kind of sadness that could only be felt when one was heavily intoxicated. “I s-see him ev’ry time I close m-my eyes,” he suddenly choked out, and Jisung didn’t have to ask to know he was talking about Jeongin. “His c-cold hands, the pool of b-blood, the poor kid--”

Jisung tried to wrench himself from Hyunjin’s grasp, but the barista didn’t budge. This was bad. He had to get out, had to get away, before Hyunjin sobered up and recognized him--

As if he could hear Jisung’s thoughts, Hyunjin’s grip on him tightened, the barista’s voice barely a whisper. “Who are you, Han Jisung? What are you hiding?”

Jisung felt his heart stop. “There’s nothing--I’m not hiding anything!” He stammered, feeling Hyunjin’s dark gaze bore into his own. The blood on his hands were beginning to seep through his pants, and it took all of his willpower not to cry out in pain. There was blood on Jisung’s face, too; he could taste it trickling into his mouth with the rainwater, but he could only hope it was too dark -- and that Hyunjin was too far gone -- to see.

Just as abruptly as he had grabbed Jisung, Hyunjin let go of his shoulders, looking like he was either about to cry or throw up. The taller boy pushed past Jisung, shambling down the street and disappearing into the thick veils of rain. Jisung watched him go, a sick, hollow feeling in his gut.

Above him, the rain began to fall harder.

────────

You woke with a start to a crack of thunder, eyes snapping open and your chest heaving. Your clothes were soaked through with a cold sweat. You’d had a nightmare after going to bed early, but any recollection of it was already beginning to fade away.

There had been a killer in your dream, covered in hot, crimson blood and surrounded by endless fire. Screams and children wailing echoed in your ears, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t remember the killer’s face.

On your bedside table, your phone buzzed, sending your heartbeat into overdrive. Calm down. It was a dream -- just a dream. Shaking, you reached for your phone, reading the notification that had startled you. And just like that, you blood ran cold again.

DANGER

ACTIVE SERIAL KILLER AT LARGE

10:44 P.M. AN ATTACK HAS OCCURRED ON CAMPUS. POLICE BELIEVE THE PRIME SUSPECT IS THE PERPETRATOR OF THE MIROH HEIGHTS MURDERS. THE KILLER IS STILL ON CAMPUS.

MIROH HEIGHTS IS ENTERING LOCKDOWN.

REPORT ANY SUSPICIOUS PERSONS TO MHPD IMMEDIATELY. 

RESIDENTS STAY INDOORS.

You nearly dropped your phone, fumbling with it to check the time. 10:46 P.M. This was real. This was happening. Bits of your nightmare came back to you in hot flashes. A sudden burst of lightning and a rumble of thunder sent you burrowing underneath the covers, terrified tears beginning to form in your eyes. Pulling the comforter close, you pressed the Phone app and called the first person you could think of.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Be--

“Hello?”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding as soon as Jisung’s familiar voice filled your ears. “I-I’m sorry,” you gasped, voice trembling uncontrollably, “did I wake you?” 

There was a long pause before Jisung finally answered. “No, of course not. Is everything alright?”

“I--I’m scared,” you mumbled, chewing on your lip. The sound of Jisung’s voice, and even his breathing, was already beginning to calm you down. “Did you -- did you get the alert too? There’s a s-serial killer on campus right now.”

Jisung’s legs had threatened to give way the moment he heard your voice, pressing his phone to his ear like a lifeline. Despite your voice sounding small and shaky, he felt his erratic heartbeat beginning to steady. He quickly skimmed over the lockdown notification, cursing underneath his breath. Shit. Breathing hard away from the receiver, he tried to sound as calm as possible when he brought it back towards his mouth. “Yeah, I just got it.”

Your ears strained, and you frowned -- you swore you could hear something that sounded like heavy rain coming from the other end of the line. “Are you...outside right now? Get home as soon as possible--”

“I’m home,” Jisung interrupted you, a small smile in his voice. “Bad service, yeah -- a lot of static. Probably the storm outside.” The lie tasted bittersweet on his tongue. His hair was drenched in water, dripping onto his face as he spoke. Even through the tinny phone, he felt a rush of warmth fill his hollow chest, the corners of his parched lips tugging upwards. He could almost see you curled up in blankets in your bed, hiding from the storm outside. 

No, he corrected himself with a pang, you weren’t hiding from the storm.

You were hiding from him.

Jisung unclenched his fists, broken glass falling from his palms and leaving half-moon shaped cuts in his skin. You’d called him the moment you felt scared. You had trusted him. Jisung felt the water droplets sting at his wounds, his hand feeling as though it were burning away. 

Who am I?

Was he the boy you loved, the one who made you laugh, the one who made you feel safe?

Or was he the depraved serial killer that sent everyone he loved running?

You heard Jisung clear his throat on the other line. “Listen, don’t be scared, okay? The killer, he -- he won’t hurt you.”

You laughed, just the sound making Jisung’s breath catch in his throat. “How do you know?”

Jisung tilted his head back, face to the sky, feeling the torrents of rain wash away the tears that had begun to well up in his eyes. With the hands of a wanted murderer, covered in blood that wasn’t his own, he pressed the receiver closer to his mouth, lips curling into a sad smile.

“I just do.”

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 127

127

Sitting on Shiro’s bed beside his brother, Keith felt devastated all over again. Yes, Shiro could confirm that he had been held with Lance, and that Lance was doing relatively okayish all things considered, but that was it. He couldn’t explain why they’d been returned in one piece, or how. No one had any of the goddamn answers he needed, and now Shiro was as helpless as him given both their boyfriends were missing.

Describing the cell they’d been held in, Shiro remembered a fair deal, even able to sketch out the rough details of the room on the iPad Coran have given him. He’d said Lance hadn’t given up wanting to get out and get back to him. His idiot boyfriend more concerned about what Keith was going through than his own situation. It was so Lance that his chest ached. Hearing that Shiro and the others had been used as a distraction, made Keith feel utterly stupid for not taking Lance with him. He felt so fucking useless he couldn’t bring himself to contribute to the conversation. Seeing Rieva and Matt reunite stung. The couple nuzzling into each other as they peppered kissed between assuring each other they were okay. That Rieva would be shot when the others came back without a scratch made no sense in any sane world. At least he wasn’t Sam. Colleen had ripped the older man a new one for making her worry, Sam sheepishly apologising, though he wasn’t in any way to blame.

On Shiro’s other side sat Krolia, a down little towards Shiro’s knee, rather than up at his side like Keith was. Shiro hadn’t let go of his hand since his grey eyes had fluttered open. Keith knew his brother needed the physical contact as much as he did. The trace evidence had been processed and passed onto Kolivan and the other Blades for processing. Meaning he was once again useless. This feeling fucking sucked. Before Lance he’d never known love the way he did now. His heart all broken, barely held together by the lingering thoughts of his beloved boyfriend... His brother, the ever workaholic, wanted to watch Lance’s abduction video for himself. Keith didn’t think he was strong enough to watch it again.

Knowing Lance was out there trying to get back to him only drove him to want to start working everything over from the top again, despite knowing there wasn’t some magical clue to find. He hated to admit it, but maybe this time Lance would have to save himself. Maybe this time all those promises would be broken and he’d never see Lance again... Maybe if he hadn’t been so goddamn stupid he wouldn’t have lost the love of his life, and be left almost all alone again with his family... but this was different now. He’d let down everyone in the room by losing Lance... like... like he’d let down his father by not being there in his final moments.

“Keith, you need to calm your breathing down, kiddo”

He was working himself up too much. He needed to sleep but just couldn’t

“Sorry...”

“We’re going to figure this out”

“How!? He’s still missing! Curtis is still missing!”

A sleepy Keith could be a very cranky Keith

“And we’ll work this out. You’re not going through this alone. We’re all here and we’re a team, kiddo”

He knew that. He just... he wanted to hear them blame him. To acknowledge this was all his fault. He didn’t want pity. He didn’t want them to blame the people who took Lance and Curtis without blaming him for letting it happen. Coran had expected something... they... they should have gone together as a group. They should have left earlier. He shouldn’t have spent the last time he had with Lance oiling and maintaining his blades. Miriam was now confined to resting there at VOLTRON because he’d let this happen. He couldn’t forgive himself. Not until he had Lance back in his arms and even then...

*

Lance eyed his new cell mates in suspicion. An invisible barrier between them and him and Curtis. Lotor had shown up and now he was here, and Lance didn’t know what to make of it. Matt, Shiro, and Sam had been taken away. Gas pouring down from the ceiling, knocking everyone except for him out. Then Lotor had been brought down. Acxa, Zethrid, and Ezor unconscious and traded for his three unconscious friends, Lance torn between rushing their captors and not placing the others in danger, and being confused as hell over why Lotor was being imprisoned when he was like a prince to the vampire community. Despite his usual bragging mouth, Lotor remained tight lipped. The scent of human blood clung to him, though the vampire didn’t seem to care. Then again, he wasn’t starving like Lance. Lance could see the way Lotor was shaking. Fists and jaw both clenched tightly. Whatever Lotor’s plan had been, things hadn’t gone the vampire’s way and Lotor was seething with fury. The questions Lance had for him couldn’t be voiced. He feared Lotor would snap, or his ego would make his head go fuzzy again. So instead, they watched each other like the two caged predators they were as their friends slept by their sides, Lance could only wait for the others to be returned, then they might finally have the numbers to turn the tide on this captivity thing.

Hours passed, Lance worn out from being on edge. This was the longest Lotor had kept his smart comments to himself. Lance wondering if the vampire was planning his escape, or simply not talking because he was sulking. It wasn’t until Curtis started stirring that he felt he could finally breathe easily. Rousing slowly, Curtis blinked up at him. Lance uncomfortable sitting in one spot so long that he’d moved Curtis to rest with his head in Lance’s lap. Sleeping gas was more effective on Curtis than Lance had thought it’d be. Curtis drooling enough that Lance was concerned he’d been going to drown on his own saliva. Groaning, Curtis went to sit up, Lance holding him down by the shoulder

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Take it easy”

“What... happened?”

“They gassed you guys... and took the others away. I’m sorry”

He should have fought their captors... or generally done something. Their friends still hadn’t been returned. Lance feared that they were doing horrible things to them... horrible things that they had planned for them. Curtis groaned again. Lance imagined he most probably had a headache from the gas

“How... long?”

“A few hours”

Lotor finally spoke. Lance jumping as he wondered if Lotor had been mad at him and that’s why he hadn’t spoken

“Lotor?”

“Your friends are gone. Thinking of them won’t change the situation”

“What do you mean they’re gone?!”

Lotor knew the whole time and was only saying this now?

“I mean they were traded as they were unnecessary objects”

His friends weren’t fucking objects! He... he was relying on them to come back. He didn’t know how to protect anyone! He wasn’t a master strategist! He was just a simple vampire who was near on starving. Growing at Lotor, his ego slipped, hand tightening on Curtis’s shoulder

“If that’s all you’ve got to say for yourself you can shut the hell up”

“I’m merely stating the obvious. Or did you perhaps think they’d return to save you?”

“What are you even doing here? Did you betray Allura?!”

Curtis groaned. Lance realising his nails had started piercing his friends skin. Quickly he released Curtis in shame

“I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“No... my head hurts... what do you mean Shiro’s gone?”

“I traded myself and my generals for your friends”

Lance scoffed

“Right. That’s why all of you are here. Sure”

“That little conniving bitch Narti sold me out for the promise of a pardon upon return. We’re being held until passage can be secured. It seems my mother is quite eager to set eyes on you”

A shudder ran down Lance’s spine. Honerva may want to see him, but he had zero rush to lay eyes on her. And what was this about Narti? She was silent, moody, sullen and judgemental. But she was supposed to be Lotor’s faithful little witch. His witches were under VOLTRON’s protection because they were with Lotor. Whatever she’d been offered had to be more than just a pardon... If anyone was going to betray Lotor, Lance would have had his money on Acxa ditching him first. She always seemed somewhat annoyed watching him... It went to show you never knew what people were really thinking... It also explained Lotor being in such a foul mood. He always got what he wanted. Lance expected him to be tucked away from all of this after all his preaching about Sendak being too dangerous. His pompous arse probably thought he could simply waltz in and demand their release or something equally egotistical.

So. Then what happened now? Lance knew where the gas release was, but that wouldn’t be any use against the vampires who’d brought Lotor down... Maybe Lotor had gone against Sendak? But then... then that would mean Shiro, Sam and Matt hadn’t been released. If Lance was in Sendak’s position, he wouldn’t have released a hunter. Shiro could have been a future bargaining chip. Then again, Sendak probably saw humans like cattle. So weak and insignificant that there was no point wasting resources on keeping them alive. Trying to objectify his friends left him mixed up inside. He didn’t want to think of them like that. The lives of his friends weren’t worthless. There was safety in numbers and now that number had been cut by three dependable people. Lance knew Zethrid and Ezor had helped Keith, but what would they make of the betrayal of their friend?

“Do not look so alarmed. If you obey, things will go much easier for you”

“Fuck you. Of course I’m going to worry about my friends”

“Really? I think you should be more concerned with yourself. You’re letting your true nature show. Have they not fed you?”

“No. They don’t feel us”

“Ah, then we are lucky we have humans here. You must be starved”

“Not so starved that I’d stoop to your level. And don’t act like you understand when you stink of human blood”

Lotor moved his hands, appearing to be examining them

“I had a small rat problem to deal with. That particular piece of vermin won’t be causing any more trouble. It had the nerve to betray me. The nerve to set us both us. It had this coming”

So Narti was dead. Dead and her blood was what clung to Lotor. How could he sit there so calmly? Did he really feel no remorse for taking Narti’s life? Once again, if he was Sendak, he would have imprisoned her. Tried to draw as much information from her as possible about VOLTRON. Did Lotor kill her to protect that information? Or did Lotor kill her to spare her what was to come? Why was he trying to justify death? There were other things he needed to know

“Does anyone know you’re here?”

“I was asked to leave by Allura. I had grown rather fond of not being under the thumb of my father... but she wouldn’t listen objectively. She had no desire for me to stay any longer, and since you make for the most interesting of specimens, I decided I may as well be where the action is”

“Are you saying you did this for me?”

Lotor shrugged, a moment passing so long that Lance knew he wasn’t going to get an answer to that question. Like, if Lotor was trying to do a good thing, he could have at least said as much in his own way

“Then do you have some kind of plan?”

“Not to die. Though, I may face some backlash. Sendak was quite taken back to learn the true paternity of that child in your belly”

Lance opened his mouth to immediately deny what Lotor said, until it hit him and he promptly shut his mouth. Lotor had said “child” not “children”. Had Narti informed Sendak it was twins, the lie would have been found out the moment they examined him. They could test for paternity, but that would take time. If Sendak contacted Honerva and informed her, she may want evidence. She may also be more inclined to not hurt the baby if she thought it her grandchild. The thought of being held by Lotor sickened him. As did denying Keith was the father of their twins. He was proud to be Keith’s boyfriend. Lying brought time, but he wasn’t comfortable with at all. If Lotor was going to lie like that, he’d preferred the man said Matt, like their baby would some kind of vampire cross werewolf. Fucking Lotor.

Lotor raised his voice, confirming what they’d thought suspected over being monitored

“For now we should rest. I doubt my mother would be happy to hear of your treatment. You could lose the child without blood, and she would lose the chance to study you. I doubt anyone would wish to stand before Zarkon and have that conversation”

“You know I only drink from blood bags”

If they were listening, Lance wanted to make that very clear

“Because you’re weakling without the stomach for fresh blood. You’d be unstopped if you fed on fresh blood”

Hopefully their little “talk” had reached someone who’d bring him blood. Poor Curtis had to put up with two vampires now, and he didn’t want to vamp out on his friend. He’d sit and behave, then fuck Lotor, he was going to find a way to get him and Curtis free of this. He and the twins were getting back to Keith. He was going back to his boyfriend, no matter what it took to get back there.

[jimtheviking]

@notasapleasure​​ tagged me in this, so blame her :p

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag some of your favourite authors!

1) Untitled Ingrid/Felix/Sylvain fic 1, Fire Emblem: Three Houses - "Where is he? I'm going to kill him!"

2)

Worth the Effort, Marianne/Hilda, Fire Emblem: Three Houses

- “Lady von Edmund? A letter for you from Lady Goneril.”

3) Sunshine, Dedue/Mercedes, Fire Emblem: Three Houses - Sylvain entered the medical tent hesitantly, as if he weren't sure what, exactly, he was supposed to do. His armour was still streaked with ash and mud from the battlefield, and his face was so pale that Mercedes' thought the blood at his waist must be at least partly his.

4) Don’t Hold Back, Claude/Byleth, Fire Emblem: Three Houses (NOTE: This is just smut, so be warned) - It was late, far too late for anyone to be out and about on the monastery grounds, let alone a student, but Claude had never been one for following the rules. Especially when they got in the way of what he wanted. And right now, he wanted - needed - to be in a certain someone's room.

5) Untitled Ingrid/Felix/Sylvain fic 2, Fire Emblem: Three Houses - Sylvain didn't quite know how he'd gotten himself into this situation. Or, rather, he knew how, just not why he was in it in the first place.

6) Untitled between ANH and ESB fic, Han/Leia, Star Wars - A heavy silence hung over Home One's main briefing room, its two inhabitants locked in a battle of wills, silently daring the other the speak first. The guards posted at the door looked at one another nervously; the last exchange they'd heard had been heated, to say the least, and with two of the most mutually antagonistic members of the Alliance inside, it seemed likely that something had gone wrong

7) Untitled pre-TLJ Star Wars fic, Finn/Poe, Star Wars - The smell of cheap tabacc and stale malt assaulted Finn's nose as soon as he entered the cantina. Why he always found himself back on these desert planets was a mystery to him, but at least Tatooine wasn't unbearbly hot like Jakku. He stood at the doorway, his eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness and skin prickling from the relative coolness.

8) Untitled SW:TOR fic, OCs, Star Wars: The Old Republic - Jamaar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between gloved fingers. He inhaled deeply and centred himself, pushing away the rising frustration inside him. Boraas was his brother, and while he couldn't condone all of his actions, family was still family. Even the Jedi Order acknowledged that. Occasionally.

9) The More Things Change, Wilhelm Reinhardt/Ana Amari, Overwatch - The Beast was massive. Far larger than anything Reinhardt had ever seen or fought before. Save the Titans, of course, but he had an entire Strike Team with him when those monsters rampaged across the battlefield. Its shoulders were humped with snow, and had his armour not shown its heat signature, he would have sworn it was a hill, rather than an Omnic.

10) Relieved, Celes Chere & Kefka Pallazzo, Final Fantasy VI - Celes sat at a thick wooden desk, pouring over a tattered parchment. Haphazard heaps of maps and sheaves of paper were stacked in every corner of the command tent, but the desk itself was free of clutter. A pile of neatly stacked reports sat in the corner, weighted down by a dozen wooden disks and a handful of ornate Figaroan coins. She sighed and let the sheepskin fall to the scarred desktop as she rubbed her eyes, trying to figure out how she would convince the mayor of the city that she had already stretched her supply lines to the limit. This occupation was getting more and more difficult every day, and the lack of resupply from Vector and the sorry state of her army hardly helped matters. She had barely a hundred soldiers available to her that were uninjured and healthy enough to fight - half a thousand, if she counted the walking wounded - and only a dozen suits of Magitek armour in operational condition.

11) Something Pretty, Edgar Figaro, Final Fantasy VI - Edgar stared over the parapet, the desert lit with dozens of tiny points of light. Fires from the camps of the nomadic Firegs who gave the desert, the kingdom, and his family their name. High above, a hundred thousand more points of light filled the sky.

12) Sketches, Relm Arrowny, Final Fantasy VI - There's been a lot a fightin' and stuff around home lately, an' me an Gramps volunteered to fight against the Empire with these rebels callin' themselves the Returners. Silly name, like somethin' outta an Esper-story.

13) Misunderstandings, Edgar Figaro/Terra Branford, Final Fantasy VI - Edgar paced in front of his window, the cool breeze doing nothing to soothe his foul mood. It had been nearly a month since Locke had made his way to South Figaro, and there had still been no word from him. The thief was prone to disappearing for months at a time, off on his treasure-hunting escapades, but this time, something was different. What was even more worrying was that his brother had sent no word as to his whereabouts either. The last time he had seen Sabin, he had been floating the opposite way down the Lethe. While he had made a joke at the time, he couldn't help but feel a pang of concern over his brother's safety.

14) Choices, Edgar Figaro, Final Fantasy VI - The moon hung bright and round as a new-minted coin in the desert sky as a young man paced along a sandstone parapet and stared out into the vast expanse of sand.  He could have nearly anything he wanted, he knew; a word to the right people and any jewel in the world, any food, any song or story, even any woman, would be his.  Anything, but what lay beyond that desert.

15) Untitled Pacific Rim sequel fic, OCs, Pacific Rim - We'd beaten the Kaiju back in 2025.  Everyone knew that, knew about Marshall Pentecost's sacrifice, about how he and Chuck Hansen blew themselves apart in a thermonuclear fireball to clear a path for Marshall Mori and Raleigh Becket to charge a refurbished Mk. III Jaeger through the Breach so that they could overload their reactor and blow 'em all to hell.  Everyone knew that.  That's why we loved them, that's why we were able to repopulate the coastlines, that's why we're not starving half to death in the interiors anymore.  We're starving half to death all across the world now.

I’m just gonna tag some people I know write stuff, you can do this if you want to, or not, whatever!

@swedishwarriorwoman​, @catofthecanals289​ @tarantula-hawk-wasp​, @shouldhavebeenadancer​, @gaygarrusvakarian​, @stunt-lads​

[truelovevoltage]

Ice Princess - Krioff

“Anonymous said: For kriof, he notice that mc would carry around a box with markings. It turns out that she used to be a princess that has ice powers, which cause her parents to be afraid of her except for maid. One day she and the maid decided to have a sleepover together as way to help mc feel better; she was so happy her powers got unlock which led to accidental maid die. After her death, mc found a way to lock her powers which was the box. Afterward he and mc became close and end up falling in love. I hope it help”

Y/N and Krioff weren’t always close as they are now, they use ignore each other presence when one of them passes by. But for Krioff to ignore someone while he walks down the hall is normal, it’s nothing new. Y/N on the other hand was used to greeting everyone she met, that is until the incident happen. Ever since then, she wasn’t the same Y/N anymore. 

Krioff noticed the small box with markings that Y/N would always carry whenever there’s a lot of people around her. No one’s really suspicious about it because it looks like something she’d hold to carry her things such as her reading book, pencil and paper because she tends to sketch sometimes. 

One day Y/N came out to the backyard and she sat at her most memorable spot with her maid. Krioff can only watch and observe her from afar but he did notice the box beside her again. It made him curious what was inside the box that she carries around and wanted to confront her about it. 

He walked towards Y/N, “May I sit here?” He asked. 

“That’s fine, as long as you don’t bother me.” She stated. 

It was now or never, he was going to ask her about the box no matter what. Curiousity killed the cat they say, but curiousity is killing him softly and wanted to get over with it. “Just one thing though... Y/N what’s in that box? And why do you carry that around?” 

Y/N stopped what she was doing and drop her pen. She looked at Krioff and he was determined to know what was in the box. She sighed, “Well if you must know... You might as well listen. But let me tell you this I am not repeating it okay?” She looked at him before starting her story. 

”First of all you should know by now that I tend to push people away because she’s afraid that she’ll hurt them, even her own parent feared me. Why? You might ask, its because of the power that I possess” 

Flashback

Her parents were afraid of the power she posses and could possible harm them or the kingdom that they rule. They didn’t see Y/N as their daughter but they saw her as a threat, this meant that they did everything to keep Y/N away from the public and the eyes of their people. No one knew what the Princess Y/N looked like unless they’re inside working in the castle. 

Although she has ice powers, she feels like the love from her parents are colder compared to it. She never understood why her parents were very distant to her, but whenever she saw a maid’s love to their child, she felt envious. Sometimes she’d wonder if her parents regretted having her at all or that they wished she was never born. 

One day her parents appointed a maid to take care of Y/N. She was around her age and didn’t have any family, the maid was taken in and they’d train her in order to have a place to sleep in. Y/N didn’t know the importance of a friend or feeling love and wanted because she was never given that kind of affection from her parents. But everything changed when the maid came into her life. 

Y/N was happier and would smile a lot. But because she was quite young, she didn’t know how to control her powers just yet. That was easily solved due to the young maids observation. “Your Majesty, I think the Princess’ mood can either cause greatness to our kingdom or the opposite of it.” Both the King and Queen looked at the young girl thinking that she’s crazy. “What do you mean by that exactly?” The King asked. 

“I have noticed that whenever the Princess is happy or in a good mood it’s always warmer around her or the weather outside in general even though it’s the peak of our winter season. But if she’s in a foul mood the temperature drops therefore there are time during our winter season comes early. However this is just an observation Your Majesty, it is just a theory.” 

The King and Queen thought about those times where their winter came sooner that they’d expect that’s why the people in their kingdom would start harvesting or travelling to neighbouring kingdoms to trade their crops. They wanted to test this theory and maybe they’ve been doing everything wrong. Maybe it was time to stop getting scared of their own daughter and maybe start showing her some love. 

It was hard for the King and Queen to show their affections at first and it took Y/N by a surprised by the sudden turn of tides that her parents have been acting, not that she hates it or anything but she loved the attention. She was finally getting the attention she wanted from them from the longest time and that was because of a young maid’s observation. “Thank you, it seems like you know our daughter well more that we do.” The Queen thanked the maid. “I don’t have a family anymore but I know how much they loved me and when I saw the Princess, I wanted to help her. There is nothing you should be thanking me for Your Majesty.” 

Years have passed and the Kingdom was doing well. There were no more unpredictable winters and Y/N was finally happy. As they grew older their friendship grew stronger. They weren’t a Princess or a Maid, they were bestfriends, sisters even. No one could separate the two and she was the one who showed Y/N the feeling of being loved. And because the Maid made Y/N happy, the King and Queen did not object Y/N’s wish that the maid will sleep in her room with her rather than the maid quarters. It was the least they can do for helping them how to control Y/N powers. 

One night on a full moon Y/N invited the maid over to her room. Y/N wanted to know what the world was like out there. “Your Highness the temperature is dropping but the surroundings were still as beautiful as ever.” 

“Man, I wish I could go out there someday.” Y/N sighed, she was jealous. She really wants to see the outside world and experience it herself rather than hearing stories. Just then Y/N stomach growled loudly and caused the her and the maid to laugh. 

The two of them ventured out to the kitchen trying to make minimal noise because they didn’t want to wake up the people in the castle but the two could stop giggling. Y/N was very happy that day that her powers slowly started to show. The maid knew her powers and she thought that it was very cool that Y/N has powers like that. 

“Are you going to make your special shaved ice again Your Highness?” The maid beamed with happiness. 

“You’re never going to get tired of eating the shaved ice I make huh.” 

“Never!” She replied causing Y/N to chuckle. 

Even though they tried to be quiet, the Queen walked down. “Mother!” Y/N yelped in surprise as she hid her hand behind her back and hoped that nothing happen. Regardless of how much she wanted to stop her powers then, most of it hit the maid square on the chest and Y/N only noticed when her bestfriend fell down to the ground. 

“No, no, no. This can’t be happening. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!” It was starting to get harder for the other girl to breath because her chest was struck with Y/N’s ice powers. The Queen stood there in shock, she didn’t know that she would witness this, she knew that it was an accident as well but that didn’t erase the feeling that she might be Y/N’s next victim. “Your Highness please don’t cry. I know it wasn’t your fault. It was an accident so please don’t cry. You don’t want me to remember your crying face now do we? And I must say this is the only time I can say that you have an ugly cry.” Y/N knew that she was trying to make her feel better and she also knew that she’s trying to take tension away. 

“Come on now Your Highness, please smile for me. And promise me that you’ll always be happy no matter what, at least for the both of us.” Y/N could only nod as she cried holding her best friend in her arms. “Can you please smile one last time for me Your Highness? Seeing your smile always made everything better for me.” Y/N wiped all her tears and showed her a smile. “I’ll always remember you Your Highness. I hope you’ll always remember me.... Farewell, my friend.” Her hand went limp and Y/N cried. The Queen woke up the King and told her the news. They needed to think something fast. 

The King and Queen new that your powers could either benefit them, or be their worst nightmare, either or, they weren’t going let this happen again. They already neglected her before and that made things worst, now all they could do is guide her and seek help on how to control her powers. 

The King thought of an excuse why Y/N needed a new maid and everyone believed them. It was also easier because that maid didn’t have any family therefore no one will look for her even she’s gone. 

Ever since the death of her best friend she would try to distance herself from others even her parents. She was afraid that she’d accidentally hurt them just like how she did to her only friend. The King and Queen assured her that it wasn’t going to happen, they will do everything to help Y/N control her powers even if it takes years. 

Each day that Y/N mourns for the death of her dearest friend she promised herself not to leave the room anymore unless it’s an important matter. She took out on of the gifts that the maid gave her three years ago when she went to town and shopped around. That was the only thing she had in remembrance of her and she would think about the happy moments they had as she held them. The maid already helped her once when she noticed that Y/N’s mood affects a cold and early winter or warm winter at its peak. And now her gift is acting as an absorber of her powers to lessen it or possibly helping her control it without Y/N even realizing it. 

End of Flashback

“And that’s the end of the story. I keep this box around me to keep me from hurting other especially the ones that I love.” Y/N stated. 

Krioff can only look at her with admiration. He didn’t know that she went through a lot. Plus he couldn’t believe that her own parents even hated her for in the beginning. They didn’t even bother loving her first and showering her with the love she needs but he was glad someone what there to show her what love was and he wouldn’t mind if he’s going to be the reason why she opens up to people once again. 

He knows that its still too early to tell but he wanted to get to know her more and make her happy. He just wanted to be there for her because she doesn’t have anyone else. He wants to fill that void in her heart and although it’ll be a challenge he will take that challenge head on and conquer in no matter how long it takes. 

[simpcircus]

Shadows

Pairing: Satan x reader

Word count: 1.8k

Warning (s): None

A/N: Enjoy a short Satan fic!

The soft sound of pencil strokes filled in the air; a nice addition to the comforting silence between you and your boyfriend, Satan. 

He was there, sitting quietly with his book in comfort. His posture was relaxed and his eyes were focused on the page he was currently reading - aware at the fact that you were sketching him.

It was during these private moments with Satan that you could truly admire the details of his facial features. You love the way his soft, fluffy golden hair sway lightly in the soft, chilly breeze that had entered his room through the window. The hue of his beautiful emerald eyes reminds you of the trees in a forest and some rare, priceless gemstones.

Your gaze slowly made its way to his lips, the memory of your first kiss with Satan appeared in your head. You remember how incredibly soft his lips were and the thought of wanting another kiss from him right now had caused a slight blush to appear on your cheeks.

"Alright- Hey wait, no, you have to stay still-" your blush intensified as you moved your head slightly to the side, dodging his sudden kiss. 

"Satan!" you keep dodging before holding your sketchbook in between his face and yours to block his attempts, but he still managed to land his lips on your right cheek. It wasn't long until he pulled away and let out a chuckle leave his lips.

It was rare to see him acting all playful like how he was at the moment but when it happens, you deeply cherish it.

Your lips stretched into a smile before you cracked into soft laughter. "Would you please be kind enough to not kiss me while I was trying to focus on my sketch? I can't believe you've done this."

Satan wasn't fazed by your words at all. In fact, he started smirking at the sight of your reddened face. "Don't think I didn't notice the way you looked at my lips." There was a visible spark of amusement in his eyes as he spoke, the book he was holding in his hand was now long ignored.

His words earned himself a playful eye roll from you as your hand scrabble for an eraser to fix a stray pencil stroke on your sketch. "Well I was trying to focus and capture your details. You agreed to let me sketch you, so you have to stay still." 

You had to admit; you were quite surprised that Satan would even agree to let you sketch him. He could've just decline your request but here he was, teasing you instead of staying still in his seat with his book.

"You did a great job at sketching me though. Are you some kind of artist back in the human world?" Satan had set his book to the side before resting his chin in his palm, leaning forwards to eye your sketch of him. 

"I wouldn't really call myself one. It's just a hobby." the soft smile on your lips was still evident and you had no idea how in love he was with it. "But I guess I'm flattered that you find my sketch pretty." Your eyes darted up from your sketch to look at him.

The comforting silence was now once again surrounding the two of you as you stared into each other's eyes. Being with the demon was never awkward, no matter the situation - unless one of you are in a foul mood.

"Satan" His name left your lips, gaining a soft hum from him a response. "How does it really feels like? To be under someone else's shadow?"

Your question caught him off guard as he scanned the look on your face. Why so sudden? Where did the question even came from? You were no longer sketching as your focus was now directed fully on your lover, who was now sitting in tense.

"Unpleasant." His answer was short, yet so strong. You can almost feel his wrath slowly radiating off the avatar of wrath himself. 

By all means, you weren't trying to anger him by asking such question, but lately, you've been feeling the same thing as him. Being under someone's shadow.. being under Lilith's shadow has made the other brothers see differently of you. It's like they have forgotten about who you really are. They see you as a replacement for Lilith, and that thought alone hurts your soul.

Now of course you didn't hate Lilith for this. She wasn't at fault. If anything, you were upset with the demon brothers. You noticed how quick they were to change their treatment towards you as soon as Lord Diavolo and Barbatos declared you as Lilith's distant descendant. 

Satan wasn't exceptional from this as well, but as time had passed, he was the first brother who had seen you for you. He was the only brother who actually understood the feeling of being under someone else's shadow.

He understood you, just as how you understood him.

"What's wrong (y/n)? Did any of my brothers upset you?" Oh you have no idea how Satan was going to kill whoever it is who had made you upset. The Avatar of Wrath is definitely not a demon you want to mess with. He is known as one of the strongest demons in hell for a reason.

His question caused you to shake your head with a small smile breaking into your face. You love how caring and protective your boyfriend is towards your safety and wellbeing. 

"They did nothing to me, but I have to say that they were being too kind to the point where I got scared for myself." Satan carefully listened to you, his face showing concern. "What if they'll forever see me as someone else?" At this point, you have set down your sketchbook on his desk and reached out to hold his hands. 

His hands were warm and they gave you the comforting feeling you needed at the moment. Satan wasn't planning on pulling his hands away from yours anytime soon. Why would he anyway? 

"We can't control what they think of us, unfortunately." His voice was soft as he spoke, his grip on your hands tightened before he brought them up to his lips. "But do remember that I really love you for you, (y/n). You're amazing just the way you are and I couldn't ask for more." You love this affectionate side of Satan. While he wasn't too big on PDAs, Satan has always been really intimate with you when you were alone.

"Would you be interested in joining me for a midnight stroll?" 

You took a quick glance outside of the window before agreeing to go on for a stroll with your boyfriend. It might be a little cold outside but it would be worth it, considering how magnificent the stars illuminating Devildom's sky are. Besides, a little bit of cold shouldn't bother you that much.

Or so you thought.

Your figure was shivering despite your efforts to conserve body warmth as you walked side by side with Satan. He had long noticed your discomfort with the low temperature of Devildom's night time today and has been trying to convince you to go back inside. However, you were simply too stubborn for that.

"I hate to repeat myself, but I think it's best if we go back (y/n). Tonight is clearly too cold for you and you could get sick if we stay out any longer." A frown was visible on his face as he slid his dark blue outerwear off from his body, only to drape it around your shoulders. He was aware that it wouldn't do much since the material of the clothing piece wasn't really heat retaining, but it's better than nothing.

You weren't paying too much attention to him since you were already gawking at the stars above you. They light the almost tenebrous sky like snowflakes in the night, yet appear still, like an old photograph. The twinkling of the stars were enchanting, making the view look more brilliant than it already was in the first place. The silver moon was huge and bright as it hung on the sky, complimenting the scenery.

The stars hit different in Devildom to be compared to the human world, you thought to yourself.

While you were too busy skygazing, Satan was silently staring at you to admire your breathtaking features. He captured the way your eyes sparkled and how your lips tugged upwards just by looking at a simple scenery. The thought of you existing in his life has made him think; how lucky was he to have you as his lover.

You are basically the embodiment of perfection for Satan - your flaws and all. He never knew he could truly love a human with all of his heart until he met you.

"You do know that staring at someone is rude, right?" Your tone was playful as you spoke, your lips stretched into a grin to see a light blush on his cheeks when he realized that he got caught. Without any warning, you surprised your lover with a peck on the lips and Satan didn't take too long to decipher the situation as he leaned in and kissed you sweetly.

You were still hugging yourself to stop the shivers, but it looks like the weather wasn't being too nice to you today. You were quick to pull away as soon as you could feel a sneeze coming up after a slightly stronger wind blew at the both of you. Satan was once again frowning, seeing that now you were actually getting sick.

"That's it. We're going back (y/n)" The way he spoke with his serious facial expression has left you with no room to argue. The next thing you know, he was already dragging you away with him to return to his room. While he wouldn't outrightly admit it, the demon himself was starting to get affected by the lack of warmth outside.

While you were being dragged away by your lover, a smile appeared on your lips. You have never thought that there will come a day where someone would deeply love and care for you. The man of your dreams have finally showed up in your life after years of waiting and you couldn't feel more than grateful for it. Satan is definitely a true blessing.

That was until something hits you hard; you are currently in a different timeline. 

The Satan you first fell in love with was a different Satan in a different timeline. Of course, you have another version of him who really loves you and even declares you as his lover, but would it be the same with the 'original' Satan? The one who truly held the key to your heart? 

Does he even feel the same way towards you?

"Anything's bothering you?" His voice entered your ears, pulling you back to reality from your trail of thoughts. You were quick to shake your head and dismiss his worry. 

Maybe it's best if you enjoy the moments you have left with this version of Satan. At least you were able to get a taste of how being loved by him feels like, even if your feelings are unrequited once you return to your original timeline.