#i have not proofread this we die like illiterates

[breathlessheartbeat]

Succubus

Inspired by @deliciousbeats89 resus thought this week: 

Resus thought of the day: A sucubus comes to you in the middle of the night. After taking your soul after making you orgasm they decide you are too fun and start cpr desperate to bring you back to make you their pleasure slave.

TW: blood (but tasteful); dub-con? maybe? 

You can read part 2 HERE

-----

She came in the dark of the night. And she was a vision. 

At first I thought I was dreaming. Half awake, I tried to blink to see if she would fade, turn into a strategically placed pile of clothing. 

But no. Her curves were real. Solid. Her thighs could make thunder if they clapped together. Her abdomen was strong, but not muscular. Her breasts were ample, barely caught by her pentagram bra. Her lips were plump. Her nose was round and pretty. And her dark eyes were full of malicious intent. All of these parts I really liked. 

Her entire skin was red. Stop sign red. Traffic light red. Volcano lava red. She had horns spreading from her forehead and curling towards the back of her head. Her ears were pointed. 

Her black hair was half up. Her maroon lips smiled, biting her lower lip. She climbed on top of my bed, walking on all fours until she was on top of me. I thought it was a dream at first, but it couldn’t be. I could easily see my clock counting 3AM and you could never tell the time in dreams. The feeling of the sheets under my fingers was very real. The wind from the AC, the noises from outside. 

Sleep paralysis, then? I thought. I must be the first case of a good one. 

Then, she reached her hand and touched me. 

The tips of her fingers were curled into black claws, as if they were stained by a very very dark henna. She put her palm against my chest and moaned low in her throat. When she smiled, I could see the tips of fangs. 

“You will be such a delicious little meal...” 

I opened my mouth, but found I had no words. What could I say? There wasn’t even the most distant part of me telling me I should be afraid someone had broken into my apartment. All I could think of was her: her touch, her words. 

She knelt, one big thigh on each side of me and she kissed me. 

My heart immediately went into overdrive. It beat so fast I could feel it everywhere, my body pulsing in tandem with it. It was impossible to describe what her lips tasted like. It was like food to a starving woman. My arms went around her and she let out a small chuckle of approval. My belly shook with the strength of the desire that flooded down to my legs. 

She pulled away. I felt a deep sense of loss. My hands tried to hold her back and she just chuckled again. Her lips were upon me again. On my face, on my neck. Everywhere she touched, fire. I could barely breathe. I let go of her, grabbing at the sheets. My chest was heaving as she made her way down. At first, she just pulled at the collar of my pajama top and then, it was cut by her long claws, laying next to me. She continued her trail of kisses until she found my now uncovered breasts. She took one in her hand and squeezed. I let out a sharp yelp of pain. It quickly turned to pleasure, so fast it made my head spin. 

Her talons had broken skin. I didn’t even mind. Her face turned to my left breast and she took it in her mouth, sucking at the tip, again and again until I thought I would die and then unlocking her jaw to make her mouth big enough to take my entire C-cup into her mouth. She bit down. 

Wetness took over my panties. 

She had her fun with my breasts. She put her head between them and nuzzled them, licking at the trails of blood she had left. It burned and I loved every second of it. She then touched her ear to my chest and sighed deeply. 

“Just hear it thumping… so lively… such a pity…” 

I wasn’t sure if I was missing bits of her words. The world had turned pink with pleasure and sudden love. I wanted to be in this moment forever, I wanted her to never leave, I wanted her… 

Her mouth continued down my belly. Kissing, nibbling. Her hands held my hips down because they kept bucking upwards. My insides were a twist of burning hot desire. I was going to explode very soon. 

Then he hit my mound and I could take it anymore. I came. I came hard. I closed my eyes and let out a pained moan, back arching slightly off the bed. The woman sniffed what had come out of me and tsked. 

“Oh, look at that. So quick… you humans used to be harder to please.” 

With that, she grabbed my legs. One moment all of my back was against the mattress. Then, only the top part of it. She had raised me and her nose was against my folds, pushing, exploring. She was kissing, she was sucking. Her tongue found my clitoris and I screamed, my legs shaking on her shoulders. 

She was ravenous. She ate my pussy as if it was the meal she had mentioned earlier. Her fangs brushed against the sides of my labia and felt like final judgement was upon me. She lapped and circled and sucked and I couldn’t breathe. 

Literally. I felt like oxygen wasn’t quite reaching my lungs. My heart, that had been beating in time in my ears since she had arrived, gave a painful twist. And yet, I couldn’t feel an ounce of regret. 

I came again, with a roar that I didn’t know could be lodged in me. I was exhausted. Sweat covered my body. My lips tried to mumble a request for time, but she was at me again. At my core. 

Her tongue went inside me. It was pointy and slitted. And it grew. And it grew and it grew, going inside me. My eyes were bulging out, unable to believe. I could feel her going inside me: touching my cervix, my uterus, everything inside, twisting it inside out. 

I shook violently. My back was raised from the mattress. I tried to kick, but I found my legs to be heavy as lead. A choking sound came from my lungs. Ah, yes. Air wasn’t enough. I needed her, her, her. My heart was going so fast I was surprised it didn’t explode. I came a third time and I heard her laugh with amusement as her face was squirted with my juices. She licked her lips. Her black eyes in my dark room were heaven itself. No. Not heaven. Something else. 

It wasn’t just my cum on her over extended tongue, that was dropping all the way down to her breasts. No. There was light in there too. A magical essence of something. She touched it, straddled me, smudged it in my face. 

“Your soul, my sweet. Isn’t it beautiful? It’s delicious. Congratulations.” 

She leaned down and kissed my face, licking what she had smudged there, as if she couldn’t miss a lick”. 

“Now be a good girl and don’t move.”

She kissed me. Hard. My lips immediately went numb. Her tongue asked for passage and I just opened for her. I was weak, unable to do anything else. It dominated, demanded space. I opened my mouth for her as much as I could, but it felt like there was always more for her to explore. Her tongue continued down as if it was a serpent, reaching all the way down to my throat and continuing, much like it had did under me. 

Of course some part of me reacted. My hips tried to lift from the bed, but she was holding me down. My chest shook under her, trying to fight, but her hands went to my shoulders, holding me down. 

I couldn’t breathe. I tried and I tried, but she was blocking my airway. I could feel her moving down my throat and it revolted something in me. I struggled harder and she held me harder. I felt something in her tongue suck. My eyes rolled back in pain. My chest was burning and my heart was no longer as loud. It was erratic, stopping more than it was pumping. My hands fell to my side. My strength left me. 

She continued to suck on my body. Some part of me could still feel it. The part she was consuming. My soul. For a second, I could watch me from her eyes. I was pale as I had never been before, my lips turning blue. All of my skin bore red scratches were her fangs or talons had been. My body was all twisted in the bed as if I had been in a fight. Bruises were forming wherever her much heavy body was holding me down. 

Finally, she was done. 

She sat up, put her head up and pulled her tongue out of my throat and back into her own mouth. She let out a heavy sigh, closing her eyes and licking her lips. 

I knew, then, I was supposed to be gone. I couldn’t still be watching. Something was wrong. 

“The other succubi said this might happen. That there might come a day when I wouldn't finish a meal. That I would want to protect one soul. That I would want to feed on it more than I once.” She murmured to herself, her feverish eyes watching the same ceiling my now blind fixed eyes were. She looked down at me, my battered body. She leaned over, caressing my face. “I left a little bit in there. There’s enough for you to make more. Now, we just need to fix this, don’t we?” 

The tip of her talon touched the spot on my chest over my idle heart. 

She held my face, stiffly tilted it back and blew into me. My throat was raw from her tongue, but my starved lungs took air just fine. Then still straddling me, she put her hands on top of my chest and started compressing my heart. 

[howaboutcastiel]

I Don't Know How

Summary: Well… what the hell do we do now? Steven orders some trinkets, Marc applies for some jobs. Steven’s unknown past starts to catch up with him. This chapter may be a bit underwhelming as a standalone, but it’s still got that sweet sweet angst and hopefulness that I pray keeps my readers well-fed. Masterlist.

Word Count: 3.4k (These will start getting longer soon) No proofreading we die like illiterates

~~

When Marc and Steven finally got their living situation back into order, it became clear that there was not much for them to do to pass the time. Steven’s job at the museum was long gone, but not that he could complain. He was happy to never be yelled at by Donna again. Marc had no more work to do either—something he had not said in several years, as Khonshu had dragged him to every corner of the world in a constant thirst for vengeance. 

They tried at first to enjoy the lack of responsibility. Steven picked over every book in his library, reading everything from textbooks on architecture to contemporary novels about teen-aged romance. Eventually, Marc had to stage an intervention when The Complete Works of Shakespeare had turned Steven’s entire inner monologue into iambic pentameter. 

Marc, in contrast, had much more difficulty figuring out what to do with himself. He couldn’t sit still long enough to watch television—and unlike Steven, reading was definitely out of the question. His immediate thought was to take up woodworking or some other productive, creative skill, but that had quickly abandoned the thought of bringing raw materials into the already-crowded studio flat, even after Steven offered to get rid of some books to make room. Marc tried for a while to focus on bodybuilding, and it would have worked out wonderfully, except for the fact that he simply didn’t know when to quit and his alter didn’t take kindly at all to the sore muscles and chalky protein shakes. Finally, he was out of ideas. Marc had exhausted every coping skill he’d used since childhood. The only one he had left was choosing not to front at all, which Steven fought tooth and nail to remind him was counterproductive. 

“I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do,” he admitted to Steven. “I can’t just sit around all day. It just makes more sense for you to handle the body. You have a routine, and I only seem to be making things worse every time I try to do something.”

Steven was having none of it. “You’re not making things worse. You just need to find something you enjoy doing that’s actually healthy. Why don’t you try video-games or something?”

“Call of Duty isn’t all that fun when you’re a combat vet, Steven.” He tried his hand at less violent games, actually starting to enjoy MineCraft quite a bit, but Marc felt ridiculous spending his time in front of a TV screen. 

“Don’t you know how to just relax?” Steven had finally asked. It was more of a jab of frustration than anything, but Marc had taken the question to heart. When was the last time he had just relaxed?

“No. I guess I don’t.”

So, after several heated discussions, the two of them agreed that it was time to apply for a job. The pay wasn’t really a point of concern—Marc’s mercenary earnings totaled a small fortune that could support them for years to come—but the sense of purpose was something that both of them dreadfully needed. Steven enjoyed his leisure time, but he didn’t function well without the routine. If left with the body all day, he’d often forget to eat or he’d fall back into the habit of staying up most of the night. Marc needed the structure just as much. He was used to keeping himself busy, too busy to worry or leave his mind to wander to its darker places. A full-time job would allow him to continue that pattern, at least to the extent that Layla and Steven would let him. 

They filled out applications in Steven’s name and in Marc’s, depending on who would likely be doing the bulk of socializing at work. Steven Grant applied for several positions at local colleges, narrowly avoiding any places with connections to the British Museum. He applied for marketing, teaching, research, and anything else that would permit him to continue collecting knowledge about random corners of the earth. The only issue, he contended, was that Steven didn’t have any certifications for jobs in such areas. Technically, his employment records at the museum were the only proof of experience he had, and “has read several hundred books in the last two months” was a far-from-convincing area of expertise to put on a resume. 

“If we’re careful, I can get you some documents to bulk up your applications,” Marc finally offered when he saw Steven close one too many job applications requiring a college degree. “Maybe the guy that made your ID for the museum job is still available. Or I guess I could call Lagaro, if she’d even talk to me…”

“You made a fake ID for me?” Steven interjected. “How the hell d’you do that?”

Marc shook off the question. “I think it’s best that you don’t ask me that. Just be glad my guy’s good, or you’d never have gotten that job at the museum in the first place.”

“Suppose that’s true.” Steven tore his attention from the application sites, instead pulling up an Amazon tab to look for more home decor. The place was looking even more lackluster now that it was organized and free of sand. “I guess, now that I think about it, everything of mine must be a forgery.”

Marc grumbled at the Return of the Jedi poster on the screen. “If it makes you feel any better, so is mine. Hard to renew your passport when you’re an international fugitive.”

“Thanks, mate. That does not make me feel better.”

Steven had had to practically force the information out of Marc, but he’d come to learn that episode 6 was his favorite Star Wars movie. There was something about the final battle with Palpatine that he cherished a lot—a father protecting his son at the price of his own identity, maybe, or perhaps it was the notion of being able to choose good over evil no matter how far gone one already was. Regardless of the reason, Steven had noted the information and now he was ordering a poster to hang above their desk. It would accompany the Cubs poster that was already in shipping. Steven made a mental note to watch the trilogy once he finished his current book series. Despite his reluctance to admit it, Marc seemed very fond of the franchise, and he wanted to see what all of the fuss was about. 

In the meantime of waiting for a few counterfeit degrees and certificates, Steven stepped aside for Marc to fill out some applications of his own. The jobs that he looked for were much simpler. Marc did best with manual labor, something that required less interaction with other people or at the very least wasn’t contingent on his customer service skills. He applied for a few landscaping jobs, stocking positions for chain stores, and clean-up crews for larger city events. He made quick work of matching Steven’s number of applications, mostly because he didn’t feel strongly about any of them. 

By the time they had gotten Steven’s ‘credentials’ in place, they had already been rejected from most of the positions. Neither of them could remember the application process being this difficult before, but then neither of them had done much job-searching either. Marc’s discharge from the military had been the last time he was looking for work, and his position as a mercenary had not exactly followed the typical hiring process. Steven honestly couldn’t remember how he’d managed to get his museum job, but he wasn’t entirely convinced by Marc’s assurance that his connections to artifact dealers had nothing to do with it. 

Steven managed to land an interview with an antique shop near Docklands, as well as an online university based in the United States. Marc landed two interviews as well, one for a dock-loading position at a furniture store, and one for the position of groundskeeper at an estate in the suburbs. They had butted heads over which position to take—given the choice of more than one of them, that is—until the interview with the owner of the West Wickham estate. 

She had arranged the meeting to be in person. It wasn’t difficult to understand why, as she had had enough of a difficult time with the simple phone call to plan the interview. Her name was Mrs. Bamford—a feeble old woman who couldn’t have been younger than eighty-years old. The estate that she owned was nestled into the affluent suburbs in West Wickham, easily concealed by the endless rows of near-identical houses that ran in each direction. When Marc first arrived on the property, he had noted to Steven how overgrown the whole place was. Mrs. Bamford was obviously unable to do much upkeep herself, having the expected limited range of mobility of someone her age. She had beckoned him inside cheerfully and, aside from the layers of dust on all of the furniture, the inside of the near-mansion was meticulously ordered and clean. 

“Such a nice day, isn’t it?” She had asked while offering him tea and biscuits. Marc politely declined, both because he wasn’t hungry and because the biscuits sitting on her kitchen table looked to be rock hard and nearly as old as her. Mrs. Bamford wore a permanent warm smile that only widened when she sat down opposite Marc in the dimly-lit study. He tried to sit straight, though the chairs with which she’d furnished the room were barely fit for adult bodies, more resembling children’s toys. 

“I must admit, I was very surprised to read the qualifications on your application,” she began. Mrs. Bamford pulled her reading glasses down the bridge of her nose as she rustled the papers in front of her. “It’s quite impressive, really. I couldn’t imagine why you’d be looking for a job such as this. So tell me, Mr. Grant, why are you interested in groundskeeping for my estate?”

…Mr. Grant?

Oh. Shit. 

Marc recalled now how he’d absentmindedly attached the resume to his application. He hadn’t even thought twice about checking if it was the right document—it had said resume in the title, after all. He must have applied for the groundskeeper job under Steven’s name, with Steven’s credentials. Well, Steven’s fake credentials, but all the same. Of course this woman was wondering why a man with experience exclusively in academia and marketing was wanting to work a shit-paying position as a glorified landscaper. 

“Oh, well…” Marc tried to think up an explanation before the silence could draw out too long. He couldn’t very well tell her that the resume was fabricated, could he? He certainly wouldn’t correct her on the name she’d referred to him with. She would have some questions for sure, though, if Steven himself did peek out for a chat. “I’m in a… transitional stage right now. The office jobs are not—I don’t think I can do those anymore. I want something more simple. More, uh… hands on.”

Yeah, okay. That sounded convincing enough. Mrs. Bamford furrowed her brows at his response, clearly thinking it over with great scrutiny. 

When she finally spoke up, he couldn’t make out her tone. “Do you want this job for what it is, Mr. Grant, or for what it’s not? I would like some assurance that you’re willing to commit yourself to maintaining my home.”

Marc was quick to respond. “Yes ma’am, I am willing to commit. I applied for this job because I want this job. I can promise you that I’ll take it very seriously.”

There was a rumbling feeling inside of Marc that grew as the interview went on. This old woman—her feeble stature, her soft and warm voice, her ability to assert herself in spite of them—made him anxious to please her. His answers grew more genuine and casual then, as it occurred to him that he truly did want this job. He wanted to take care of this woman, to make sure her home was as safe and beautiful as she wanted it to be. As she started to wrap up the interview, Steven’s voice echoed softly in his head. He hadn’t spoken this whole time, and Marc hadn’t even been sure he was listening. 

This is what mum was supposed to be like. 

And that little statement, as quick and quiet as it rang in their mind, was enough to make both of them as sure as a person could be that they certainly needed this job. The words cut into Marc, compressing his lungs and stabbing his tongue, and another warm smile was sent his way by Mrs. Bamford as he cleared his throat. 

“You sure you wouldn’t like a cuppa, dear?”

He shook his head, pressing his mouth into a somber smile that substituted for the pleasantries he couldn’t manage to choke out. The interview had gone well up to this point, and he certainly wasn’t going to ruin it now with an emotional outburst. Marc’s chest rattled as he tried discreetly to suppress the burning in his lungs. Mrs. Bamford continued on explaining the expectations of the position, until a pregnant pause made his brain short-circuit for a moment. 

He blinked at her, replaying the sentence she’d just said in his mind. 

She’d just offered him the job. 

Simple, flexible hours. Mediocre pay—not that it mattered. All that she asked was for him to check in with her regularly, at least twice a week, and to do it in person. She didn’t take kindly to fighting a losing battle with her email and flip-phone, which already pushed the limitations of her technological skills. As long as the grass stayed cut and the weeds stayed out of her flower garden, she wouldn’t complain. He touted a list of meticulous tasks for him to complete, but it wasn’t hard to grasp that she was just happy to have someone around to help. Marc promised himself he would check every box on her list, he’d keep the place right to her liking. Especially the flowers.

He and Steven shared enthusiasm in quickly and fervently accepting the job.  

~~~

That night, when the two of them got back to their flat, there was a package waiting by Steven’s door. They knew immediately that it must be the Cub’s poster, plus a few other rogue decorations that Steven had bought. Marc let go of the body, leaving Steven to excitedly unpack everything. He’d bought several knickknacks that matched Marc’s sci-fi interests, but the item that warmed him the most was one he had almost forgotten about.

A new decoration for Gus’s tank. 

Well, he supposed now that it wasn’t Gus’s tank anymore. It was decidedly not-Gus’s tank. Plus the new second fish that he’d left Marc to name, now aptly called ‘Fish.” The decoration was a stone Millennium Falcon meant to look like it had crashed at the bottom of the tank. It was hollow, allowing for fish to swim freely in and out of it, and it would be a nice contrast to the barren look of the tank as it was now. Steven pulled it out of its packaging, chuckling softly to himself as he held the spaceship in his hands. 

“Hey Marc, bet you’ve always wanted to fly this thing, haven’t you?” Marc conveyed a gesture reminiscent of rolling his eyes at Steven. “Got to admit, it paints a grim picture though, doesn’t it? Having it sat at the bottom of the tank, like someone’s crashed it. We can just pretend that what’s-his-name made it out safely before that.”

“Han Solo.” Marc grumbled.

“Hmm?”

“His name. Han Solo.”

“Right,” Steven chuckled again. “Still haven’t got ‘round to watching those with you. Maybe we can watch them with Layla some time. Until then, though, guess I’ll just have to make up my own story for what a spaceship is doing at the bottom of my fish tank.”

Steven managed to place the decoration without making too much of a mess, but a few splashes of water did stream down the sides of the tank. He pulled everything off of the front of it, trying to save the postcards from water damage. It wasn’t until he found himself staring at the text “Welcome to Austria!” that Steven paused to examine the cards he’d only now realized were not from his mother. 

“You sent all of these.” It wasn’t a question, more like a resignation to a fact that Steven was surprised hadn’t hit him up to this point. Marc surged forward as Steven’s breath began to quicken. His hands, their hands, were cold and shaky. For the first time, Marc had no idea what Steven was thinking. 

“Yeah, bud. I sent them.”

There was silence for a while. Marc half-expected Steven to yell at him, or that the grief would overtake the both of them and they’d become a crying mess, just as they had been so often since their return to London. Nothing of that sort happened, though, and Marc grew more uneasy as the silence droned on. Steven flipped the card over in his hands, catching his nails on the edges and dragging them down in a rhythmic motion. 

“That must have hurt you a lot,” Steven finally said. That was probably the very last thing Marc expected to hear. 

“What?”

Steven’s grip turned harsh, crumpling the paper. “It must have been painful, yeah? Pretending you were her. Pretending that—that she was still here.

…pretending that she cared.”

Marc wanted to protest, to claim that it didn’t hurt him. To repeat the mantra he’d told himself this whole time, that he would do whatever it takes to keep Steven safe. No matter the cost. He couldn’t lie to himself now, though, and he damn sure couldn’t lie to Steven either. 

“I thought it would help. I thought, maybe… you wouldn’t ask why she never answered the phone.”

“Yeah,” Steven sighed. “I think maybe I should have asked that sooner, shouldn’t I? I should have noticed so much of the stuff that was out of place. There was a lot of stuff out of place.”

“You weren’t supposed to notice, Steven. That’s the—” That’s the whole point of you, Marc had to stop himself from saying. “That’s why I did all of this. You needed the hope. The—the happiness.”

Steven shook his head. 

“I just didn’t realize that every time you gave me that hope, every time you fought for my happiness…” He put his head in his hands, dropping the card on the table. “That it cost you so much of your own.”

~~~

Before he officially started, Marc took a day or two to survey the grounds of the estate. It wasn’t the overgrowth that unsettled him, but the sheer inaccessible condition of the entire property. He thought it was a wonder that Mrs. Bamford had managed to go about her life without falling on the muddy, moss-covered steps of the porch. Several of the stones in the path to her drive were cracked or moved and Marc could have torn the railing clean off of each of the staircases with a half-hearted yank. Some sort of accident was bound to happen.

He was already forming a plan to order new banisters as he left the grounds. Marc may not officially be starting until the first of the next week, but that didn’t stop him from planning to throw himself full-force into whipping the home into shape. Marc said goodbye for the night to Mrs. Bamford before shutting the gate behind him. He was half-way to the bus stop when a ping on his phone alerted him. 

Layla: Leaving for Dubai in the morning. Sort of a last minute thing. 

Then, a few beats later.

Layla: Wouldn’t mind seeing you before I leave. Just in case, you know? 

Layla: You busy tonight?  

So, by the time the bus arrived at the stop, Marc had himself a date.

~~~

Listen... I know this is not how the hiring process works. Leave me BE.

@n1ght5h4d3-24 @magicwithaknife @rmoonstoner @nervouslaught3r @unavoidabledirewolf @kbakery @mccn-bcys @gingermous @avatarofseshat @damreonsgirl @dragons-are-my-favorite @k8esilver @competentpotato @theconsultingdoctor10 @rayrlupin @moony-artemis @nerdory10 @valkyrieace

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[bekahdoesnerdshit]

Scrawled on the first blank page of a stolen spellbook:

Day 1: Already working on a way to get you back; some rich old lady knows a way to get the magic we’re gonna need. She reminds me of that shitty “migration and language” professor you had, so you can imagine how much fun dealing with her has been.Met a weirdo in a mask who you’re gonna hate, and a little illiterate wizard who’s gonna give you a heart attack. Also been dealing with the burgermeister’s swaggering little attack dog, and you know how I prefer to deal with guys like that. I’d say you’ll hate him too, but I’m pretty sure you’re not gonna have the chance to meet him. Shame.

Stupid how quick I forgot how to not miss you. I hated you for decades, and having you back for a week was enough to ruin all that hard work. Really appreciate that, Hugh.

Day 2: Almost died today. Figured you’d want to know, so you can yell at me about it later. In fairness, it was because I was trying to be a good person. I could have just taken Kai and left, but I didn’t.…thought about doing it, though. Didn’t fucking matter in the end, but I guess I wanted you to know that too. That I tried to do the right thing. Anyway. Ireena’s dead. Turns out vampires here only know one trick; pick a fight nobody wants, kill one person, and leave. Izek’s(1) dead too though at least, so let’s count our victories where we find them. And then. And fucking then. That rich old bitch who’s supposed to help me get you back? Decided that our deal is off, because she got Strahd to do her dirty work for her. And then she had the fucking audacity to lock me up in her stupid, ugly house. I’m writing this now to keep from going to town with my crowbar in here until something happens. You’ll have to excuse me if my handwriting is shit right now; I’m fucking furious.

…I can’t believe this smug, entitled dickhead is keeping me from spending the night with you.

…I’m gonna pry up a floorboard and take a shit down there.

(1)Sorry. Izek is the ‘swaggering little attack dog’ from before. Dropped his name with a lot of confidence there before remembering I’d given exactly zero context. Thank god I had so fucking long to sit and proofread this thing tonight!

Day 3 Got screwed over for having a shred of empathy for someone who just lost someone they cared about. Started to forget that I’m the only one here who gives a shit about saving you but don’t worry: I got a swift kick-in-the-dick reminder and now my head’s back on straight. Not making that mistake again.

Strahd showed up in Vallaki which, I cannot stress enough, is not my fault. Not for lack of trying! But I didn’t get to help kill the burgermeister or hand over the anti-vampire bones. This mess is deeply, entirely, not my fault. Anyway. He made it clear that he calls the shots there now, and you know what? Say what you will about the guy, but he knows how to make a fucking entrance and command a crowd. I bet his Lang201 students never fall asleep during his lectures.

At least one good thing came of today: got to see one of the consorts(2) beat to shit and left to die. Other than that we picked up another stray (this one had a huge book of Barovian history; you know I started tearing through it immediately), fought some fucked up werewolves, and… oh yeah! Got backed into a corner and forced to waste a day helping out this random family and their vineyard, instead of going to Krezek after dropping Uke off. Like we had planned. Like I said, kick-in-the-dick reminder.

I don’t care what anyone has to say about it; I’m going to Krezk. Alone, if it comes to it. I’m not chasing after some fucking- gem, or whatever. They can figure it out on their own.

(2)Not Antonio. The one who killed Ireena, who I would have loved for you to meet. God, that would have been great. …great for me, that is. You would have hated her. And I would have loved that.

Day 4 I won’t admit that it was a fun fight. You’re going to be the only person who ever reads these, but I still won’t give them that satisfaction. As far as they get to know, I was mad to be forced to go and grumpy the whole time I was there. And to be clear; I was. Mad about it, that is. But it’s…fine. Because I’m so fucking nice, I’ll be the bigger person and let it go. We’re heading to Krezk in the morning, so at least we’re back on track.

Oh by the way, I took Dylan to get a tattoo for her last birthday. She said she wasn’t gonna tell you until she moved out, but she told me I could tell you if we ever spent twenty minutes together without fighting. She was obviously joking, but here we are. We’re well past twenty minutes, I think. It’s a little rainbow beetle on her bicep. It’s pretty cute, I think she did the sketch herself. She handled the whole thing like a champ.

Day 5 Spent most of today traveling to Krezk. Spent the rest of the day in Krezk. Great stuff.

Going to see the Abbot tomorrow. Supposedly he's the guy that can fix you, and I’m gonna knock him around until he does. See you soon, hopefully. I’m getting bored of journaling.

Day 6 Fuck them. Fucking spineless, brainless, self-righteous cowards. Sanctimonious hypocrites. Bastards.

I don’t answer to them. If they think that I’m going to bow down and let them rip this chance away from me without fighting back, they got another fucking think coming.

I’m not leaving Krezk without you. And I’ll burn the bridges I have to to make it happen.

forget he exists when you look away stay focused

writing in notebook. about us? followed us

[The writing is jumbled, scattered and hard to read]

puts thoughts in your head

Forget he exists when you look away

[Crosswritten with the previous line, illegible]

trades in secrets? knowledge? have to assume he takes it. BAD IDEA

Day 7 I didn’t write that.

No. Obviously I did. I hacked through my t’s at that annoying angle I picked up from you, and looped the l’s together in that way I picked up to annoy you. No one else has breathed on this thing in the last week. Obviously, I wrote it.

But I don’t remember doing it.

Am I going

Alright, alright. No point freaking out about it; let’s take it one step at a time. Way I see it, there’s three explanations:

Someone took and wrote in your spellbook since the last time I opened it, which was earlier this afternoon (found your weird Elder Tongue transcription by the way. You’re gonna be so mad if I crack it without you)

I’m not I’m starting to My mind isn’t reliable. Unlikely.

I wrote it, I’m right, and there’s a creepy little pervert skulking around the shadows.

Number one’s impossible, the only time your spellbook isn’t in my holster is if I’m writing in it. Leaves two and three, and between one where I’m losing my mind and I’m not, well. If there’s one brain I trust, it’s mine.

Day 8 You’ll never guess who showed his stupid, ugly face again.

Mhm. That’s right.

Y’know, I’ve been thinking about it the last few days, what I’d do when we ran into him again. I thought I might try to play it cool, not give him the satisfaction of having got to me. Get in some quips about not having to pay alimony anymore, or about getting full custody of the kids. I don’t know. But when I saw him, I just- I saw red. I didn’t hear a word out of his mouth, I just. I just shot him. And hit him. Over and over and it felt

Did it feel good? We didn’t kill him. I don’t think we came close. He almost killed Zavisza. Would have too, if Strahd hadn’t shown up to monologue at us again. He wants one of our tagalongs (both of them, technically, I guess. We gotta stop taking in strays) and instead of just letting him have the guy he wants (So sorry to see you go! Best of luck! We’ll miss you! Etc.) our stupid, self-important paladin and his dumbass little savior complex—

I can’t even put how stupid it is into words. Thank fuck I’m lucky enough that you’re going to be unlucky enough to have to sit through it with me. You’ll see. You’ll be just as annoyed as I am.

But. Apparently, there’s a scroll of Raise Dead in the ruins of a swamp town south of Vallaki. This is it, Hugh. This is- It has to be. It has to be. We’re going to go to this stupid swamp, we’re going to find this woman and take her scroll, and I’m gonna fix you.

See you soon.

Day 9 Another travel day. You should be proud of how responsible I was, even with Flips trying his hardest to get us killed by goading us on into the swamp tonight. We’re camping out here on the edge, and we’ll head in fresh in the morning. If nothing else goes wrong (one can dream), I’ll get my hands on that scroll and have you back tomorrow.

And, well. When something does go wrong, let’s at least hope it’s a quick detour. Because otherwise, we’re going back to Plan D(3).

(3)The “D” is for “De-face”, of course. Look, it made me laugh. You can lecture me about that joke being in poor taste tomorrow.

Day 10 Berez is, uh. Was, I guess. Berez was It was a shitshow. Who cares.

Almost got myself hanged when we went back to I mean. Who fucking cares.

Hugh, I’m scared. Terrified. Everything has gone wrong every step of the way to get you back, and this is going to be the same. Borris was dead when we got here, the scroll was gone. Who’s to even say it’ll actually be in this stupid tower when we get there? What if someone else has used it? Burned it? What if it doesn’t work, if resurrection just doesn’t work here? What if it does work but you come back wrong? Hurt? Broken? A rat?? What if this was all for nothing?

If I keep saying “tomorrow”, eventually I’ll be right.

[threelivesthreeworlds]

MO YUAN AND SHAO WAN in the most recent Pillowbook Extra   :   A Compilation   -   because Admin Ro knows you’re gonna ask, so she’s delivering before you ask ;)

i.

     Though Father God did not like Mo Yuan's hands to be covered in blood and for him to stop war with more war, it had only been seven hundred years since Mo Yuan came between the war of the five clans before he led the celestial gods into victory against the Ghost Clan and the Sprite Clan and ended the battles between the five clans that had lasted hundreds of thousands of years. The era of war between heaven and earth had finally drawn to a close.

      After this, the Ghost Clan and the Sprite Clan became subsidiary to the Celestial Clan, and the weak Human Clan became protected by the Celestial Clan as well, even if they did not need to pay tribute or bow to them. The Demon Clan was also confined to the Southern Wilderness according to the treaty signed between the two clans.

     After hundreds of thousands of years of chaos, the universe seemed to welcome a long reign of peace. High God Mo Yuan was about to perform the investiture of the gods of the eight wildernesses at the peak of the nine heavens, ending the era of the old gods and welcoming the age of the new gods to create stable order between heaven and earth. But during this time when he had little time for anything else, the ancestral goddess of the Demon Clan, Shao Wan, who had always sympathized with the Human Clan, had burned through the Ruomu Door that separated the Realms with the ten billion mortal realms with the soul-fire of a Phoenix and sent the Human Clan to the billions of mortal realms. She herself, having used up all of her immortal power, feathered and turned to ash.

      At this time, the evil breath of the ten billion mortal realms had been placated, but it still soared with burning wind and burned, and was not a place where the Human Clan could thrive. But to this, Shao Wan already had a plan - before she gave up her soul, she went personally to Guyao Mountain to ask for the help of the light god Zuti, who had been in seclusion there.

     Zuti went directly to the mortal realms after Shao Wan feathered at her request, and sacrificed herself to the chaos to give birth to all things so that the Human Clan can live peacefully in the Mortal Realms and helped the Human Clan separate from the Four Seas and Eight Wildernesses of the gods entirely, and thus ended their hundreds of thousands of years of relying on other strong clans and inevitable fate of becoming extinguished with time.

      Shao Wan feathered. The Ruomu door opened. The Human Clan moved. Zuti sacrificed to the chaos. The heavens and earth were shaken, and the four clans gossiped among themselves.

      In the Eight Wildernesses, there were clear-sighted elders within the Sprite Clan that privately agreed - according to Mo Yuan's steely methods and unfeeling heart, since the Demon Clan has lost their leader God Shao Wan, he would, of course, take up arms and horses and raze the Demon Clan to the ground and complete his great work of uniting the heavens and the earth. The Investiture of the gods would probably be postponed indefinitely.

     But, outside the bounds of the predictions of these wise elders, the Celestial Clan did not ready their armor and  set up their soldiers. Six days later, the ceremony of investiture happened on time at the peak of the nine heavens.

     On the day of the ceremony, upon the highest seat, High God Mo Yuan wore white robes and his face was like jade. The handsome god, having changed out of the heavy armor and back into light-colored robes, seemed to have returned to the graceful, elegant young man of the Water Marsh palace of learning who had been like the orchid of the mountain. But it was, after all, different. The cruel fight and killing on the battlefield for seven hundred years had painted the orchid with blood, and that grace that had previously been stainless and pure was now mixed with ruthlessness and the stench of blood. The force and power that was hidden deep within his gaze had become the force of a god king.

      The ceremony of investiture continued for seven days. Since Pangu's splitting of the sky and the earth, after nearly five hundred thousand years, in the eight wildernesses, there was, for the first time, gods at their posts, and in the universe there was, for the first time, a tome of rules that decreed the order the five clans must keep, symbolizing the final end of the chaotic and war-filled era of the ancient time.

     Every leader of the three clans, gods, ghosts and sprites alike, were commanded by the young High God who wore light-colored robes but had such a forceful presence and believed deeply that under the rule of this God King, that era of endless, hopeless war really would end, and a peaceful era would arrive.

     But what no living thing in the eight wildernesses could have predicted was that three months after the ceremony of investiture of the gods and the four clans had begun on the right path, the God King they had placed their faith in and relied on disappeared.

      The gods looked in heaven and earth for him for three years, and no one could find any trace of him. Everyone finally accepted that their God King had vanished, abandoning what he had barely built. But no one knew the reason for why he did this.

      Some young god who liked to read plays in his spare time and had a great imagine theorized to his friend: "Do you think his disappearance is due to God Shao Wan? See, God Shao Wan had only feathered for a short while before he decided to disappear. Legend says that during their time at the Water Marsh palace of learning, he had some feeling for Go Shao Wan......"

     His friend did not believe it and offered a great rebuttal: "What kind of feeling? The kind of feeling between sworn enemies? Everyone knows God Shao Wan and our god has always been archenemies. Even if you said that he had suddenly tired of ruling the four clans and left it and ran, it would be more believable! Look at Bi Hai Cang Ling's Donghua Dijun, that's what he's like. Even though he fought beside our god and fought so well I thought back then if our Celestial Clan managed to unite the heaven and earth, whether our god or Dijun was going to rule, soon after Dijun said he was tired of fighting and wanted to go into seclusion at his old home in Bi Hai Cang Ling."

     The young god was reminded by his friend and remembered Donghua Dijun's actions and suddenly thought his friend was very reasonable, and nodded heavily: "The eight saints of the Shouhua Wilderness each have their strange tempers. Our god is also one of the eight saints, so maybe he had a fit of a strange temper too......"

      The god of gossip, High God Zhe Yan who lived in the Ten Miles of Peach Forest and had been the classmate of Mo Yuan, Donghua and Shao Wan, walked past these two young gods after having turned himself invisible. And hearing this conversation, he looked toward Zhangwei Mountain and sighed, feeling wronged on the behalf of Mo Yuan and Shao wan. Though these two had been in a tug-of-war for thousands and hundreds of thousands of years, those in the universe knew none of these and at the end of it all, and at the end when they spoke of the two, could only call them sworn enemies, as if they were nothing else to each other aside from that, as if they had nothing left, and it made him sigh.  

ii.

     It was a few hundred thousand years ago.

     The Water Marsh palace of learning used to have eight legendary figures, titled the Eight saints of the Shouhua Wilderness by the students. Though there were eight memebers of the eight saints, they were split into two parties - one party was made up of four Celestial Clan members, Zhe Yan, Qing Qiu's nine-tailed fox Bai Zhi, Xiluo who had by now entered the Western World, and Father God's son, Mo Yuan, who was their leader. The other party had three members from the Demon Clan. There was Shao Wan, and Xiluo's younger brother Sejia, and Xie Ming who had by now turned into the Underworld. The ancestor of demons, Shao Wan, was the leader of this party.

     Aside from the four gods and the three demons, there was one saint of the eight that did not connect himself to a party. This figure was Donghua.

     At that time, the gods and the demons were sworn enemies, and so the famous group of the Eight Saints of the Shouhua Wilderness always fought amongst themselves, and as the leaders of the two parties that were always fighting, Mo Yuan and Shao Wan were always on the palace of learning's school newspaper, and so at that time Shao Wwan's name was more well known than Donghua's, but according to martial capability, the one who could fight with Mo Yuan was not Shao Wan, but Donghua who did not get into much mischief and didn't get on the school paper.

     Even though he was a ruthless someone who had overcome everything with his two fists and by his own power to become the ultimate fighter in the universe and turned every demon and sprite he encountered into his henchmen, Donghua did not get up to much mischief in the palace of learning. Zhe Yan thought this was  mostly because he didn't show up to school much. When Donghua sometimes came to school, it was to sleep under the Master's watchful eye. In comparison, though Shao Wan was the school delinquent who frequently got up to mischief, this school delinquent never missed a class.

      Donghua and Shao Wan had been friends since they were very young. Zhe Yan remembered that Donghua, who never really showed up to class, would always borrow Shao Wan's notes for the monthly exam. But why would the school delinquent take serious notes? For the first few years of school, Donghua and Shao Wan both failed every class that required note-taking, such as scripture and mathematics and history, and were only not held back because their high scores in archery and tactics and spellcasting dragged back their score average. From this one could tell that they were truly good at fighting.

     Later, the school newspaper reported that the internal conflicts between the Shouhua Eight Saints were on the rise, and the Master, who had the habit of reading the school paper, was extremely worried. Though Mo Yuan was a gentleman like an orchid, during that time, the Master who had been brainwashed by the paper thought he and Shao Wan would break out into a fight every time he looked at them. After a fearful moment of thinking, he separated Shao Wan and Mo Yuan, who had been sitting at the same table, and made Xie Ming Shao Wan's new tablemate, and Donghua, who had previously not had much interaction with Mo Yuan, became his new tablemate.

     Zhe Yan thought it must have only been because they were sitting close together that Donghua copied Mo Yuan's notes twice, and then somehow tied first of their class with Mo Yuan that monthly exam.

     Even though no one said anything, but most of them thought it must have been the work of Mo Yuan's notes, and the notes suddenly became the most precious item in the whole school. But the next month Mo Yuan got sick and didn't come to school, and no one could borrow his notes, including Donghua. Without Mo Yuan's notes, everyone still had their own, and could barely prepare for their monthly exam, but Donghua was a person who did not take notes and had to find someone's to copy. Coincidentally, Shao Wan, whom he used to borrow notes from, was also not at school, and so Donghua copied Bai Zhi's notes, and then came first again that monthly exam.

     Everyone noticed, and of course, Donghua noticed too, that as long as he wasn't so stubbornly idiotic as to copy Shao Wan's notes, he usually could take the top score.

     Zhe Yan remembered that after that Donghua usually copied three people's notes, Mo Yuan's, Bai Zhi's and Xie Ming's. Because they sat close together, he copied most of Mo Yuan's notes. But aside from copying notes, Donghua seemed to have no special relationship with any of them, and didn't speak much to them except to borrow notes and to return the notes.

iii.

     Zhe Yan thought for a moment, and changed up his line of questioning. "Mo Yuan," he paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, "Even though Celestial Clan's ruthlessness has been building up recently, Mo Yuan isn't a god that likes war. The humble gentleman like the orchid of the mountain has never been a warmonger even during tactics lessons, and this you know as well. Not to lie, seven hundred years ago when he decided to walk onto the battlefield and join the war between the five clans, it shocked Bai Zhi and I greatly. But I heard that the night before he made the decision, he met with Father God and Shao Wan, and so in all of these years, I always guessed that Father God and Shao Wan must have said something to him so that he made that decision, right?"

iv.

     With a clacking sound, a black piece fell upon the go board, and Dijun very uncharacteristically interrupted him: "Mo Yuan decided to unite the five clans originally to stop Shao Wan from opening the Ruomu door and feather for the sake of the Human Clan. But he didn't know that fate could not be defied, and the Ruomu door still opened, and Shao Wan still feathered. Everything he sought no longer has meaning, and so of course he won't stay. A man with a heart like shredded ash has done a great service already to wait until the four clans have gotten on the right path, but you would complain that he left without appointing a successor for the Celestial Clan?"

v.

     Within the Water Marsh, they ran into High God Mo Yuan, who had been missing for a long time according to legend. Looking at Dijun's expression, he hadn't seemed too surprised by the fact that High God Mo Yuan was in seclusion here.

     High God Mo Yuan was her aunt Bai Qian's Master, and so ever since High God Mo Yuan had woken from his seventy thousand year sleep from sealing away the Ghost King Qing Cang, Feng Jiu had seen him a few times. Then, the god had been stolid and reliable, peaceful and quiet, and inspired feelings of respect and admiration at a glance. But the High God they had met in the Water Marsh, though he looked no different than he did in two hundred and sixty thousand years, had a different air around him. If she was to say that in two hundred and sixty thousand years, High God Mo Yuan was a piece of jade, then this deity was like a blade stained with blood, hiding its sharpness for exhaustion and without conflict with the world, or else like an orchid nourished by blood, physically situated in a hidden valley outside of the world and heart in endless hell.

     The history books did not record the reason for which Mo Yuan had disappeared after creating the new age of gods, and so Feng Jiu did not know what this matter had to do with Shao Wan, and when she saw this god in such a state, though she was curious in her heart, she knew it was not a good time to ask Dijun.

[dcarhcarts]

"I'm not scared to be seen, I make no apologies, this is me." Lily for Anya maybe?

“I can tell, really.” A giggle shakes out of her. Anya’s not used to having - an aunt. It’s all very strange, having a family. Rather - learning to be a part of one. She isn’t quite sure how the world fits, all of a sudden, Anya and Anastasia, the street sweeper and the Grand Duchess, suddenly one and the same. In Nana’s drawing room she is simultaneously beloved granddaughter and a near perfect stranger. The little spirited child dancing in her grandmother’s memory and the woman who until very recently slept under a bridge or tucked away under a tree or under someone’s doorstep, shook frost out of her hair and cleared it from the street every morning. Two images that should not have intersected, except in a fairy tale - and yet.

At the Neva Club though, everything seems to turn on its head anyhow. ”It’s like you were on fire on the dance floor.” She says to her aunt, marveling at it - Lily’s a firecracker, even if she doesn’t always show her hand in the service of the Dowager Empress. Anya marvels at the switch - it’s almost day and night

@mortalmenagerie / greatest showman starters i think but too lazy to tag oof

[anywherebuthere]

I had a dream about you last night || j.p.

James Potter x fem!reader

“Even when you’re gone, you are all that haunts my dreams.”

Wordcount: 1969

A/N: Happy (belated) birthday to the only man ever <33 I am illiterate, so I had a mental breakdown writing this <3 please enjoy!! special thanks to @anchoeritic and @gxtitobxby for supporting me via discord and for making fun of the time I got hit by a car :)) @skullsontess07​ I finally posted it pls don’t hurt me <33

Warnings: alcohol, allusions to sex, death, bad writing, especially towards the end. barely proofread because I don’t believe in mistakes <3 /j

Please do not repost this!! I do not consent to this piece of fiction being published on any other site besides tumblr unless it by my doing.

The ticking of the grandfather clock thrummed in James’ ears as he tipped back the empty bottle, the smell of whiskey heavy in the air. He leaned his head against the cold surface of the white plaster wall, scanning the textured ceiling with misty eyes. His home, still half furnished, was riddled with traces of something better forgotten. Even with the weight of alcohol on his breath, his mind is running with memories and daydreams of her. 

He closed his eyes, forcing the imagery away. In the distance, a train chugged on, its lone whistle echoing in the night, and James can’t help but be pulled into an uneasy slumber, memories still flashing through his mind like a broken film. 

-

“Prongs, you git! We’re going to miss the train if you don’t hurry your fat arse.” Remus shouted, frustration seeping into his humoured voice. 

“Relax Moony, we’ll be fine,” he replied, breath heaving slightly from sprinting across Platform 9¾, just narrowly having avoided knocking over an elderly witch. 

As the four boys approached the entrance of the cart, the train’s departing whistle blared. They boarded quickly, though not without receiving a glare from a crew member.

Hurrying down the corridor, the boys glanced through every compartment window, though each appeared to be full of giggling sixth years. That is, with the exception of one.

Near the back end of the Hogwarts Express, was, at last, an empty compartment save for a singular figure slumped against the window. With no other choice of seating, the gaggle of boys slipped in silently, Sirius and Remus snagging the seats opposite to the slumbering girl, their pinkies linked as they whispered conspiratorially amongst themselves. 

Peter, as adverse to the female race as ever, took the seat closest to the door, leaving James to be wedged between the mousy blonde and the stranger, careful not to bump her with his broad shoulders.

The train ride was filled with hushed whispers as the marauders discussed this year's prank for the welcoming feast, a customary tradition they held sacred, as to “start the year right.” 

As they began going over the mechanisms of their plan, they felt the train begin to swerve as it approached a sharp turn. The compartment shook slightly and James suddenly felt a weight on his right side.

He stiffened, glancing over to see that the girl’s head had lulled over from the compartment wall and onto his shoulder. James recognized her as a student in their year. Y/N, who had tutored Regulus the same day that James had helped Sirius prank him as petty revenge for a now long-forgotten argument. 

And well, perhaps James had wanted her to notice him for once. If so, it had been a successful endeavour as he remembered the way her face had contorted in anger, though her attention had remained just as elusive for the remainder of their fifth year. So… perhaps not so successful.

He flushed at the memory. She was now even prettier than the year prior.

“Oh? Is that a blush we see, Moony?” Sirius taunted, nudging Remus with his elbow as he snickered at James’ scowl.

“Bloody hell, piss off, will you? You’ll wake her–” 

He felt her suddenly stir beside him, brows creasing as though on the cusp of consciousness. 

James held his breath.

The moment passed as Y/N nudged her face further into the crook of his neck before settling back into a peaceful slumber.

Perhaps he wouldn’t need the prank to start the year right this time around. 

-

It seemed that sixth year would be a good one for James. 

In the early morning of a mid-March day, an unlikely scene unfolded between the shelves of Hogwarts’ library. There he sat beside a bleary Y/N, voice still drowsy with sleep as she read aloud a passage from the Herbology textbook perched between them.

Initially, James had detested the thought of having to wake up at such an ungodly hour for the sake of a project. No other time had fit, not with his Quidditch practices and her absurd number of tutoring sessions. 

Though now, as the early rays of sunrise filtered through the library’s mullioned windows onto her skin, James thinks that there is nowhere else he would rather be.

He thinks this moment will be ingrained in his mind forever. 

“–once a century, the Flutterby bush produces flowers able to attract the unwary.” she paused to yawn, eyebags evident as she turned to meet James’ gaze. She scrunched her nose and he swore he swooned at the very sight. “Are you even listening to me, Potter?”

“I’m always listening to you,” he replied, tilting his head. She grins in response and he notices just how beautiful it is. 

She shifted her gaze back to the textbook lying in their laps, picking up where she had left off.

“Its scent adapts–”

James leaned forward suddenly, capturing her lips in his. The book fell closed between them.

Immediately, almost though by instinct, Y/N reciprocates, moving her lips gently against his as her hand cups his cheek. James finds himself gripping that hand as his other wraps around her waist, finding the small of her back and pulling her impossibly close against him.

She tasted of cherry chapstick and peppermint bubblegum, and though there was nothing particularly special about those flavours, on her, James swears that he could drown in his intoxication alone. Her perfume wafts through the air, the scent causing him to groan against her mouth. 

When they separated at last, his head was swimming in euphoria, his expression dazed. Y/N blinked up at him, sleep wiped entirely from her expression.

“Its scent adapts itself during these times to attract said unwary.” she finishes, sounding breathless still, voice trailing off as James began to laugh hysterically.

She rolled her eyes, smiling sheepishly. 

When James still couldn’t stop laughing, Y/N gripped his haphazardly tied red and gold tie, using it to pull his soft lips against hers once more and he was sure in his mind that there would no one else for him.

-

Beneath a great oak tree in the courtyard lay two figures. Under the tree’s twisting branches, they hid in its cool shade from the sweltering afternoon sun. Few places aside from the castle offered shelter from June’s blistering heat and as the semester approached its end, they finally allowed themselves to rest in the gentle breeze. 

James was leaning against the thick trunk while Y/N’s head lay in his lap. His elbow was resting on her abdomen as she drew on his hand, doodling intricate flower designs alongside some… less desirable things.

He felt his heart swell with joy as her laughter filled the summer air and before he could catch himself, he blurted out the thought that had been weighing in the back of his mind since they had started dating.

“Do you ever think about your future?" 

He felt the scratch of her muggle pen slow, as though pausing in thought.

"I want to grow old and die surrounded with people I love, knowing I lived a long and fulfilling life. You know, typical boring stuff," she replied after a moment's consideration. Her eyes twinkled with more, though Y/N never indulged in half-thought-out plans. 

"What about you?" she questioned with the tip of her head. James didn’t need time to think about it. He had known his answer since that fateful September morning when she had slept on his shoulder throughout the entirety of the train ride.

"I don't care what my future is as long as you're there" he answers truthfully.

Y/N flushed, her ears heated. She looked away, the corners of her lips turning up in the barest hint of a smile.

James freed his hand from her loose grasp, hooking her chin to look back towards him before leaning in to kiss her.

Even after all these months, he relished in the taste of her lips. He doubts he’ll ever be able to get enough of the feeling.

He doubts he’ll ever be able to get enough of her.

-

The sun was setting in the west on a quiet evening, its golden rays shining on the slick skin of two lovers as they untangled themselves from the sheets, unable to hold in their laughter when one got his foot stuck in the knot of their crochet blanket. 

The air hung heavy with the scent of sweat and endorphins as Y/N laid back, her body still bare, not bothering to cover it.

James propped his elbow beside her head, careful not to press on her spread-out hair, his face filled with ecstasy and pure bliss. 

He will never get used to the sight of her in his bed, giggling as the sun reflected off her silky skin. The image of her underneath him is cemented in his mind, permanently lodged there as solid as concrete. He knows now with absolute certainty that there would be no one else for him. 

James’ smile widened further as he nudged his nose into the crook of her neck, leaning in to place a kiss there when his vision blurred.

It was no longer sunset. Rather, the two of them were now enveloped in the dark of night and James is certain he hears the echo of a familiar spell ring off in the distance.

He pulls away from Y/N’s neck. 

She was no longer shaking with laughter, but rather, writhing in pain. There were lacerations all across her torso and James felt something sticky underneath his hands.

They were laying in a pool of her blood.

Panic clawed at his throat and though he had never been averse to the sight of blood, yours was an exception. The taste of bile clung to his tongue. 

“No... No no no no no,” he whispered in disbelief. Swivelling his head, outside the window, he spots a cloaked figure wearing a mask of silver disapparate. 

“No!” 

Grasping for the wand strapped to his side, he murmurs a healing spell, gasping for breath when the wounds remain open. His head was spiralling as Y/N shook her head almost imperceptibly, grabbing at his wrist with a shaking hand.

Carved into her arm was the word “MUDBLOOD” and James felt his vision turn red, suddenly hyper-aware of the blood pumping through his veins.

“James…” she rasped. He gripped her shaking hand.

“Why isn’t it working? Why?” he cried, tears streaming down his face, struggling to breathe.

“Whatever our souls are made of,” she gasped, blood spurting out of her mouth. Her beautiful mouth, the one that tasted of cherries and peppermint, was covered in thick, crimson blood. “you and I are connected.” 

“No! Stop with this rubbish, you’re not going to die!” he sobbed, gripping her bloodied hand like a vice. She continued as though he hadn’t even spoken.

Perhaps she was too far gone to hear him.

“Wh-whatever is beyond this life,” violent ruby coated her mouth as she coughed, blood splattering onto her smooth skin. “Promise me, y-you’ll find me again.”

“I promise,” he cried, sobs racking through his body. 

But she was already gone.

-

James woke with a start, gasping for breath with the taste of blood and “promise” still coating his tongue. He was alone in a house built for two.

In his fitful sleep, he had knocked over the empty bottle of whiskey beside him.

She had hated whiskey.

Had. 

A fresh wave of misery washed over James, adding to the dull pain that never seemed to go away, throbbing through him as naturally as the blood in his veins. It wasn’t enough that she existed still within every corner of their shared home.

Even in his dreams, he is haunted by her memory.

ㄧ

@catching-the-train-to-hogwarts