#idk man i drew this in the middle of the night

[xenomorphicdna]

So what's the deal with the guardians anyways?

Like what do they do

Nah I bet they wear cloaks

At least that's what I thought when I first saw em so I'm really just rolling with that idea

I can imagine guardians came after the first echos right, as they were made to keep things out that didn't have the karma to ascend safely

I kinda feel like they were early designs of iterators before the ancients actually came up with the idea of "hey we should make big calculators to do the real big thinking"

And before the iterators there were the guardians just sorta assigned to study the void sea perhaps

[chaotica-forgets-to-draw]

We rest in the blue covered by the night and your ghost lies in my arms

[zae-heeyyy]

Recalcitrance

Summary: You and Ms. Grimshaw just can't get along. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader Word Count: 1,763 Tags: fluff, kissing, high honor Arthur Warnings: camp violence, angry Arthur, suggestive themes

a/n: I have mixed feelings about Grimshaw. I think she's a very enigmatic character. Still, based on interactions I've seen with her, I feel this isn't too far off. These always end up super long for some reason. Idk how that keeps happening. Anyway, I hope you enjoy; thanks for reading!

recalcitrance: resistance to authority or guidance, often characterized by defiance or disobedience. It implies a refusal to comply with rules or expectations, despite attempts to persuade or control.

You and Abigail Roberts went way, way back. Working girls stuck to a code; part of that code was looking out for each other and ensuring you returned after one of your "shifts." Abigail ran away for a while, leaving you to assume she'd met a rich man and settled down.

When you met her again, she introduced you to Dutch Van Der Linde and company; you fell in with them shortly after. Since then, you constantly scrubbed blood from clothes, slept on the ground, and ate whatever game Pearson could find for the stew. Many girls you knew would never trade that life for this one, but you had a family to return to, even if they weren't the most conventional. And amidst it all, you'd found something you didn't think possible for you. 

You were drawn to Arthur Morgan instantly. The little things spoke volumes for you—how he checked on you in passing, the moments spent playing dominos together, and his overall politeness towards you. The bar was in hell, but he treated you so differently than any man ever had. Arthur's dumb cowboy act didn't fool you for a second, and you were captivated by him.

After one too many inadvertent shoulder grazes and incidental hand touches, the chemistry between you had become undeniable. Following a game of dominos he let you win, the stocky man asked you to take a walk with him. You weren't too far away from camp before you found yourself pressed against a tree by him in a heated kiss. So many thoughts swirled around your head. You were in the middle of nowhere; it was pitch black, and you were being hunted by the law, yet there against that tree was the safest you'd felt in a long time. 

Then, on another fateful night, you were alone with him at the campfire while everybody else had settled down. A sly smirk crossed his face, and he scooted closer to you, grabbing and kissing your hand. You giggled, maintaining eye contact as he kissed up your arm, gradually, a low groan escaping him. One thing led to another, and he guided you into his tent. You let him have you, and you, him. 

It was then, when you were on the brink of your climax, half-lidded eyes staring upward into his, that you finally understood what people meant by lovemaking. When it was all over, you got up to leave out of habit, but he drew you back into his arms and asked you to stay.

Since then, you've been his girl, and he made sure everybody knew, always kissing you before he left for a job, settling you into his lap at the poker table, or sneaking you away from your chores to spend time with him. You saw each other for what you were, not the labels that had been applied to you. And you loved him so much.

For the first time in a long time, your life was good. Well, mostly, except you hadn't quite mastered the life of navigating Ms. Grimshaw. Over the almost year you'd known her, she was rarely nice to you. She seemed more tame when Arthur was around, but he wasn't today.

By noon, you had gotten sick of hearing her voice, and she seemed more ornery than usual. The nagging was constant: do this, don't do that, do this faster, do this slower. You wished she'd shut the hell up and leave you alone. Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, you saw her speed-walking towards you.

You were sitting, about to light a cigarette, when she approached, red-faced, huffing, and talking fast, "There you are," she started, putting a finger in your face. "Sitting around like always. I have had it with you!" You stood quickly out of instinct and opened your mouth to speak, but she cut you off. "You're useless around here, so why don't you go into town and start selling yourself again. At least then you'd finally be carrying your weight!" 

Her words stung like branding, making your heart race and your eyes sting. The few people left at camp had gone quiet. Mary-Beth looked on nervously while Karen was glaring at the older woman. Your heart pounded in your ears, and you spoke faster than your brain could process.

"All you're good for is being an ugly, hateful bitch." As soon as the words left your mouth, she swung on you. It was a backhanded slap that stung and broke the barrier that was holding back your tears. You recoiled, holding your stinging face.

"Know your place, girl, before you end up somewhere worse than on your back. Now get!" She pointed towards the edge of camp.

"Screw you," you said, quickly wiping away a falling tear, "I'd rather fuck every man in town before I keep letting myself be treated like this." You stepped up to her, " Want me to leave? Well, I'm goin."

And you did. You collected what little belongings you had into a bag and charged out of camp, eyes forward and your head held high. Tilly and Mary-Beth tried to stop you, but you marched down the dirt path until they couldn't see you anymore.

"Look what you gone and did you old hag," Karen spat, "Oh, just wait til Mr. Morgan gets back. Bet you won't be so high and mighty then." 

Arthur didn't ride in until sunset; he searched for you before even getting off his horse. His face fell confused by your absence, and just as he was about to inquire, Mary-Beth and Tilly approached. He knew instantly that something was wrong.

"What, what is it?" His eyes searched theirs. They looked at each other, silently debating who'd break the news to him. It was Tilly who stepped forward, putting a calming hand on Arthur's arm. She talked low and cautious, "Arthur, she—her and Ms. Grimshaw—they—" She was cut off by Karen and Ms. Grimshaw beelining towards them.

Karen's voice boomed, speech slurred. "Go ahead, tell 'em." She waved her beer-clutching hand between Arthur and Ms. Grimshaw, defiantly meeting Susan's gaze before tearing her eyes away to meet Arthur's. "That wench Grimshaw smacked her across the face and ran her out!"

Clenching his fist involuntarily, he leaned into Karen, talking low and steady. "The hell are you talking 'bout?" His chest was rising and falling quickly now.

Ms. Grimshaw stood resolute and waved him off. "This doesn't concern you, Mr. Morgan. This is my camp, and these are my girls and my rules," she finished, arms crossed, staring at Arthur.

Stepping close, he imposed his broad figure on Ms. Grimshaw, flashing a smile that was anything but inviting. He took on a tone he rarely used with the women.

"Oh, Susan, that's where me and you disagree. This may very well be your camp, and you can make up all the rules you want, but she's my girl." His face had straightened into a scowl by the time he finished.

"Well, I'll—" she began incredulously, hands still on her hips, but Arthur threw up a halting finger.

"Look, Ms. Grimshaw, I respect how you run this camp, but that girl, she's off limits. Now, I'm gonna find her and bring her back, and you can raise all the hell you want, but if you lay a finger on her again—" 

"Arthur..." Tilly cut in warningly. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, ending his conversation with Susan. "Where'd she go?" he asked no one and everyone at the same time, speed walking to his horse.

"She took off down the road," Mary-Beth called out, but his horse was already kicking up dirt. Riding as fast as he could, he reached the nearest town at record speed. He hitched the horse outside the train station, forcing the doors open with his shoulder. The place went quiet, everybody focusing on the sudden disturbance. Arthur ignored the looks he was getting, scanning faces for yours. Spotting you took no time, and you stood as soon as you recognized him. He rushed to you, taking your hands in his; concern riddled his face— a rare sight. Guilt washed over you as you looked up into his eyes; you opened your mouth to speak, but he started before you.

"You alright?" he asked, looking you up and down. Dirt had stained the hem of your skirt, and your eyes were tired; his frown grew as he looked you over. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your head to his chest and nodding.

"Wasn't gonna go, just needed to get away for a while," you murmured into his chest. Rubbing your back soothingly, he exhaled with soft, relieved laughter. One arm still around you, he gently tilted your head to meet his gaze with his free one.

"Don't you go walking out on us. Least without tellin' me first."

You agreed with a quick bob of your head, and he pulled your chin in towards his, kissing you on the mouth. He withdrew and gestured to the bench you'd risen from earlier; you both sat. Arthur wrapped a big arm around you, and you buried your face into his shoulder.

"That woman hates me," you grumbled with a pout. Arthur squeezed you closer, and a faint grin formed on his lips.

"Nah, she never liked any girl I brought around. Give her more time." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "It's all outta love, I think," he concluded. You huffed at that, disbelieving.

"She got a funny way of showing it."

"Sure," he chuckled again. He sat for another minute before gently nudging you off his shoulder. Grabbing your bag and standing, he asked, "So you gonna come back with me?"

You tried to sulk but couldn't when he was standing there waiting patiently with his hand out. You finally relented. 

"Fine, but I ain't just gonna take it next time," you declared, taking his hand. A big smile stretched across his face. 

"You ain't gotta do nothing you don't wanna. If any of those fools have a problem with it, send 'em to me." You made your way out of the train station, hand in hand. You paused, gazing at him with a quirked eyebrow.

"I can handle myself just fine, Arthur Morgan." Another chuckle built up in him as he threw your bag on the horse. He turned to kiss the top of your head before grabbing you by the waist and lifting you up on the horse.

"I know, darlin'."

[starfxkrreloaded]

speaking of old concepts… the new drew pics have me feening for bf’sdad!rafe again like crack in the 80’s!!! idk how we can bring him back but i need to have hot, nasty, sweaty, problematic sex with this old man or I’ll perish in the sun

like heLLO?!

bfs!dad!rafe ohhhhh ive missed him lowkey. he's literally so bored and disinterested in his son because cycles and whatnot and while he may not be as bad as rafe was, he's not very smart. rafe's confused as to how he even got you really. so many nights it's the three of you relaxing after dinner while your bf drones on and on, you're trying to hide your boredom and rafe doesn't even attempt to. all he's thinking about really is you sneaking into his room in the middle of the night so he can show you how a real man does it.

[e-pluribus-unum-e]

Haunted (1/?)

A/N#1: This is a Mattheo Riddle x OC fanfic, I did this just because I struggle with writing "Y/N" over and over again. I feel like an actual name for the reader helps you connect better, and I already struggle with being a personable writer. Please forgive me. The OC is named Veralynn Post, she goes by Vera. Idk her middle name yet so don't ask. She has long curly blonde hair, it reaches to her mid to lower back, it's also very poofy (think Hermione Granger). She has amber eyes, almost like whiskey and honey. She's 5'2 and a Hufflepuff. And she's from the US of A 🗽. It probably doesn't make sense why she's in a wizarding school in England but bare with me. Also I'll probably have smut in this at some point but that won't be until they're well into their 7th year.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Mattheo 🥵, my terrible writing, eventual smut but not until much later in the series

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Fem!OC

Summary: Vera's best friend finds herself in a whirlwind romance with none other than Theodore Nott. Vera reflects on her own love, how ever unrequited it is, and wonders when she'll finally confess to the man that holds her heart in his hands. 6.0k+ words

A/N#2: Dear Reader, Hello! This is the start of my very first attempt at a series LOL. I've written for my own enjoyment for years, but never on a blog or anything even similar to Tumblr. Last night at 2 AM I was hit with inspiration after hearing a series of songs play one after the other that reminded me so much of our baby boy Matty <3. So I have a timeline worked out and a list of songs I want to incorporate, one song per chapter, but that list is constantly changing because I'm trying to find the best ones possible to make this work. Also I'm starting them off in 6th year because yes, while they are minors, I need the time afforded to me by starting them off that young. No smut, NO SMUT, will happen before they're both well established 18 year olds in year 7. Please let me know how I can improve with my writing, it means a lot. It is my absolute pleasure to present you with the very first chapter in my Haunted series, When Emma Falls in Love. ---Sincerely, Me

When Emma Falls in Love

When Emma falls in love, she paces the floor Closes the blinds and locks the door When Emma falls in love, she calls up her mom Jokes about the ways that this one could go wrong She waits and takes her time 'Cause Little Miss Sunshine always thinks it's gonna rain When Emma falls in love, I know That boy will never be the same

Emma Hemlock is my best friend. I met her at Platform 9¾ on our first day at Hogwarts, and ever since then, we've been joined at the hip. With her dazzling blue eyes and her straight brown hair, her tan complexion, and her warm smile, she drew the boys' attention immediately. They would scramble to write her love letters, asking her on dates and whether or not she'd give them a chance. And she never said yes. Until, now.

Theodore Nott had been asking her out since 3rd year, always being met with a resounding "NO." He even asked me for advice!-- "C'mon Veralynn! What's her favorite flowers? Does she like butter beer? When does she-" "PISS OFF THEO"-- (spoiler alert: we didn't get along). But it seems he finally 'wore her down.'

That's such a terrible expression. At least, that's what Emma says. She explained that 'no, he didn't wear me down, I just finally had the courage to say yes.' Or something like that. In all honesty, her hesitation to say yes in the first place made sense. Theo had gained the reputation of a ladies' man, him and the rest of his crew. Draco Malfoy, Lorenzo Montague, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, and Mattheo Riddle.

Mattheo.

A man who could simultaneously get my heart racing out of fear and attraction. Fear of him, fear of the attraction, attraction because of the fear, however, you want to put it I don't care. But we'll get back to him later. Right now, it's all about Emma and her love life.

Emma finally said yes to Theo's persistent nagging, making him quite literally the happiest man in all of Hogwarts. No seriously, he ran into the Great Hall shouting "SHE SAID YES! WE'RE GETTING MARRI- OW, DAMN IT VERA!" (I may have thrown a dinner plate at his head).

So here I am. Waiting, sitting on the couch in our dorm, my arms wrapped around a pillow as I sat on my legs, watching the door in anticipation. They started dating in the summer. Emma's family had decided to spend their two months break on vacation in Italy. They ran into the Nott's while they were there. I have a theory that Theo caught wind of where the Hemlock family would be that June, and he begged his parents to let him go spend the summer in their family villa.

All that being said, they had had a whirlwind romance that didn't end when the warmer months came to a close. It's only the second week of our 6th year and they've gone on a total of four dates. It's almost hilarious how utterly whipped Theo is for her. That boy will never be the same.

Creeeeak. The door was pushed open—interrupting my thoughts—and Emma slipped into the room. She locked the door behind herself, her face looking... oh that's weird. She paced across the floor, closing the blinds, effectively putting an end to the bright sun I was basking in. I had expected her to come in, huffing and annoyed with the latest story on Theo's escapades. But this time, no, this time was different. Her eyes held a different story. "Vera..." Her grip on the window loosened as she turned towards me. Her lip trembling, and her eyes squinting. Suddenly her face split into the widest grin she's ever given me. "Vera-" "I know." We smiled at each other, one sincere and one feigned.

"I need- I need to send an owl to my parents. I need to ask my mom- oh shit this has never happened to me before. Vera, what do I do? What is this?" She started rambling, all the while her smile remained and she ran over to her desk. She pulled out her stationary and began her letter to her mother. "Ughhh I shouldn't even be writing to her about this, it's going to end in disaster anyway!"

What made me chuckle was the way she said it. The words were foreboding, but her smile never slipped. She didn't really expect this to end in a 'disaster.' "Write your letter, Em. Tell your Momma you're falling in love." I encourage softly from where I remain seated, nuzzling my face further into the pillow between my arms. Emma nods at me, eyes crinkling yet again as she leans back over her letter.

Okay, sure, maybe I don't sound as excited as I should for my closest friend. That's not the case, I am excited for her! But now's the time when we finally get to talk about Mattheo.

Chocolate eyes, curls the color of rich dark dirt, dimples when he smiles, and the scent of cigarettes and rain that clings to him no matter where he's been. To be frank, the man is liquid fire. And everyone else in Hogwarts noticed that too. And he took advantage of that fact. He had a new girl on his arm almost every day, never coming up empty in the 'love department.' But it was never love. Everyone understood he was never and would never be interested in anything serious. The problem with this?

Well that requires a bit of explanation.

I met him the same day I met Emma. Before her, even. I had gotten lost in the muggle train station trying to find the right platform, getting bumped into by grown strangers who didn't seem to notice the lost little girl tripping under their feet. I was born and raised in America until being invited to Hogwarts, and unfortunately, my parents couldn't afford to come with me to this wild train station. So I was all alone, trying desperately to find my way to Platform 9¾.

~flashback to that day~

I huff, dragging my luggage behind me as I try my best to push through the crowd. I couldn't see many children, which gave me my first clue that I wasn't in the right place. It was mostly muggle adults going to and fro, not glancing down to notice the small poofy-haired kid all alone. My thoughts were interrupted as someone slammed into me, "OW" I cried as the luggage slipped from my fingers. It hit the pavement floor below my feet, buckles popping open as the contents spill out. I shake my head in disbelief, looking up to see who knocked into me. All I saw was the back of a grown man walking away from me, seemingly the culprit, and also seemingly ignoring the fact that he just ruined an 11-year-old's day. "Hey wanker, watch where you're going!" I jump, startled at the grumbling voice ringing in my ear.

That wasn't my voice. No, that was behind me. Turning around, I gaze upon—for the very first time—the boy who would turn my whole world upside down. He was wearing jeans, and an almost too-big-for-him flannel, his curls falling effortlessly over his forehead as he glared past me at the man who just Kool-Aided into my back.

His eyes flickered from over my shoulder to my belongings on the ground. Wordlessly, he crouched down and started folding up the clothes and slipping them back into my suitcase. "Oh- no no that's okay you don't have to- I mean- agh this is such a mess." I scramble, trying to stop him from helping any further. 'This is so embarrassing.'

I squat down next to him, working side by side to get everything packed away. His hands stopped moving at the sound of my own voice, his head turning toward me as he took in my appearance for the first time. "You're American?" "Uh-" I blush, distracted by his pretty frown. "-yeah." I finally answer, a bit dazedly. "Cool." He responded. We just sat there, chocolate eyes looking into amber, until the distant sound of a train's horn broke us out of our trance. "Riddle. Mattheo Riddle. Where are you headed?" The boy asked, sticking his hand out for me to shake.

"Oh! I'm Veralynn Post, um, you can call me Vera. Everyone does." His eyebrow raised at that. "E-Everyone back in my- HEY!" I gasp as he starts laughing. "I was just teasing you Anna, no need to fret. But seriously where are you headed?" He tried to quiet his chuckling as he lifts my bag from the ground, carrying it along with his (and refusing to let me take it off his hands).

I took out the letter in my pocket, looking at the information it contained. "Platform 9¾." He seemed to ponder that for a minute. "I don't think that exists..." My eyes widen. How could I be so stupid? He's a normal not-wizardy-boy and here I am, spilling all of Hogwarts beans to the first person who would listen. Maybe if I play it off like I'm a dumb tourist he'll just forget all about it. Wait- is he laughing? OH THIS BOY- "Man it's easy to trick you. Lighten up, Vera."

My blush deepens, but not out of embarrassment. No, I was mad. "That's not funny Mattheo, I'm genuinely lost and alone and you're laughing at me." He seemed to soften at that, his laughter quieting down. "I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing with you." "I'm not laughing." "Hmm... touché." The way he said it made me want to punch him in the face.

Mattheo seemed to notice the anger in my eyes as he straightened up. "All jokes aside, I'm headed there too. We can walk together?" He offered, looking at me apologetically. "...fine, but no more teasing." "That's too high a price." "Fine," another huff from me, "you can tease if you want to but at least make it obvious you're not being serious."

His grin grew. "You're funny, Vera."

~end of flashback~

I met Emma when we got onto the train, and ever since then, I've had an unrequited crush and a best friend. Emma was everything I could have asked for; a dear friend, a confidant, and a sister. And I will always remember that day in fondness for when I met her, but alongside the sweet memories of a friendship comes the tainted recollection of a lost love.

Mattheo and I have remained friendly up to this very moment, as I watch Emma fall in love with his best friend, Theodore. But after I was sorted into Hufflepuff and he into Slytherin, we went our separate ways. Never being close but always painfully aware whenever he walked into the room. In his defense, it's not like he ignored me or anything. We were amicable with one another, just not in each other's core friend group.

The sad truth is, is that girls tripped over themselves because the kind boy I met seven years ago grew into Adonis reincarnate. They notice him because he's effortlessly good-looking and always seems to get great grades, even when he's constantly skipping class to smoke or make out with some girl in the broom closet.

His chiseled abs, strong jawline, and generally Greek-god-like physique (thank you Quidditch) made him a heart throb.

However, the female population of Hogwarts treat him like a piece of meat. Even though they're aware that he’ll cast them aside after just one night of being in his embrace, not only being aware but wanting it because no one really wanted to love him. Him. I've had to watch as everyone acted as if he really was just a carnal beautiful body and not a soul.

Sure, his core friend group (Pansy, Theodore, Blaise, Enzo, and Draco) didn't care about his looks. From what I've observed, they genuinely care about him. But after years of almost the entirety of Hogwarts not caring, I've noticed how it's worn on him.

And it's not just Hogwarts and their obsessive drooling over him, it's his home life. His father in Azkaban, his mother dead, his brother ignoring his existence. He had an abusive childhood and the roughest of up bringings. The very same women who will beg him for one night in his bed, turn around to gossip about how he's the next Voldemort.

So very few people cared about him.

And I've noticed how it's worn on him.

I've noticed lots of things.

I've noticed how when he walks through the food line, he never takes the last of anything, always leaving it for the person behind him. How he hangs behind after dinner to pick up the plates and trays our fellow students were too lazy to clean up themselves. I've noticed that whenever a girl in our year comes into class with bruises on her body, her boyfriend is in the infirmary the next day and there are cuts on Mattheo's knuckles. How he slips treats to the magical creatures when everyone's too busy listening to Hagrid's lecture to even notice the exchange. Everyone is too busy to notice, except for me.

I've spent my entire Hogwarts career falling in love with a boy, who grew into a man, all while I remained unnoticed.

I hang on to every word I hear him mutter to Theo, to every nod he sends my way as he walks past, and the rare time he asks me for my notes after he misses class.

So here we are, back in my dorm, watching my best friend's love life blossom before my eyes. Yes, I'm happy for her. But yes, I'm also, admittedly and ashamedly, jealous.

'Cause she's the kind of book that you can't put down Like if Cleopatra grew up in a small town And all the bad boys would be good boys If they only had a chance to love her And to tell you the truth, sometimes I wish I was her

I tried to listen as Cedric droned on, talking excitedly about this new book or muggle movie or something. To be honest, I've missed about 90% of what he's said. I slept roughly two hours last night, staying up to be Emma's sounding board. 'She really has fallen hard for this guy.' I think to myself as I glance across the Great Hall. Theo was sitting at his usual table, with the usual people. One of those people is Mattheo...

Mattheo laughed at something Enzo said, leaning across the table to grab food off of Pansy's plate (much to Pansy's protest). 'I hope he has a good day.' I sigh, looking back down into my cup. I had my hands wrapped firmly around the mug, sipping the warm black nectar. Emma still teased me after all these years, calling me a "Yank" for preferring just plain old coffee over tea.

A masculine rumble broke me out of my thoughts as my eyes flickered up again to see what was happening. Oh. Theo was here. And he was yapping, per usual. What, when did he get here?

The man in question was leaning his hand onto the table to my right, looking down at Emma who was in between us. "Hey, honey..." He muttered, their voices getting collectively quieter as they got wrapped up in each other's presence.

I rolled my eyes, sitting up slightly to grab Cedric. He leaned forward, but not willingly. My hands firmly grasped his collar to pull him halfway across the table. "AH- Vera let go-" "Not until you get me a new dorm and a new table. I can't handle it anymore, DO YOU HEAR ME? TOO MUCH THEO! TOO MUCH!" I shouted, sleep deprivation getting to me.

Theo stopped whatever poem or other crap he was reciting for my friend, looking up just to glare at me. "Oh stop being the anti-Cupid just because you're jealous." I turn my head, poor Cedric still being subject to my grasp, just to glare right back at Theo.

"Jealous? What the hell would I be jealous of? The fact that y'all effortlessly behave as if you got SLEEP LAST NIGHT?" "No, jealous that no one got you flowers." "Flowers? What flow- awwww Emma those are so pretty!" I push Cedric back down, turning fully in my seat to see the pretty roses in her hands.

She smiled up at me, nodding. "Someone told him they were my favorite." Her lovesick grin made me crack a genuine smirk. I sigh, feigning disappointment as I respond, "Too bad they lied."

"WHAT?" Theo exclaimed, eyes widening in horror. "Veralynn Post quit lying to my boyfriend!" Emma cried out as I just laughed harder. "Sorry, sorry, I had to."

I straightened up my posture, leaning back over my food, finishing the rest of my coffee as the lovebirds said their goodbyes. We both watched as Theo made his way back to his side of the Hall, sliding in to sit next to Mattheo.

Mattheo.

He was looking right at me. I smiled hesitantly at him, but he just looked back at his own friends, conversation continuing like it never stopped.

Oh.

My heart skipped a beat and not in a good way. This happened sometimes. I'd think he was encouraging me, I'd make an attempt to reach out, he'd go back to acting like I barely existed. My thoughts wandered to Emma. Emma. She seemed to be a natural at taming the 'bad boys.'

She had broken down the walls of her man, her man who was so misunderstood and underappreciated. Theo wanted to be good for her. It was like she was a drug he couldn't walk away from, a book he just couldn't put down.

My final thought echoed in my head like a constant ringing in between my ears as my eyes felt glued to the man who held my heart. And I knew—I knew that while I was happy to be myself—that sometimes on the coldest of nights and loneliest of days, when the absence of his love and affection rang the loudest... sometimes I wish I was her.

Well, she's so New York when she's in L.A.​​ She won't lose herself in love the way that I did 'Cause she'll call you out, she'll put you in your place When Emma falls in love, I'm learning

It was only the start of our 6th year, but every morning felt as if I was waking up on death row. Like my days were numbered, and with each passing minute, the executioner took another step closer. I've always been able to comfort myself by saying, 'It's okay that I can't hold him in my arms. At least I can be near him.'

Being in his presence alone has always been enough for me. His aura, his being, his soul being in the same room as mine has been enough for me to be content. But with graduation comes the end of it all. The end of us. The end of him. You might be going, 'Ah but graduation is just next year! You have time!'

Time? Time? It's taken me six years to get to this point and you think one more will be the difference between my anguish and my happiness? The time needed to cause a change? When him and I, two separate souls, intwine to become just us? No. There's never enough time and I'm too much of a coward to try it now, with another year in Hogwarts, where I would have to suffer not only 6th but 7th year in embarrassment and rejection. Because Mattheo Riddle doesn't want an us.

'Who am I even kidding? There is no us, there never will be. I sound like a fucking stalker.' I scoff, aggressively zipping up my bag. Potions had ended a while ago but apparently, I spaced out, only coming to when Professor Snape closed a desk draw rather loudly. It was only me and three other students in the room with him, taking our time to pack up and clean our workstations.

"-Vera. VERA." My eyes snapped up, noticing Emma waving her hand in my face. I grimaced, pushing her hand away. "How long...?" "A few seconds." She answered, frowning. I squirmed under her scrutinizing overlook. Her eyes swirled with a flurry of emotions; confusion, doubt, concern, etc. "What? Do I have something on my face?" She frowned deeper at that.

Chuckling nervously I hiked my bag over my shoulder, leading us into the hallway as we began our trek to the courtyard. Once a week we always pack lunch ahead of time, and then walk down to the Black Lake to have a picnic together. It was the highlight of my day and the pick-me-up I've really needed this past week. 'I just hope we can get there before we run into Theo.'

Theo's been really good for her, and he's been really good to her. Honestly, never thought I'd say it, but he's become like a brother to me. I usually look forward to our playful banter and then watching him whine and pout and tell Emma she hasn't spent enough time with him, but something's been off with him lately.

His behavior is as if he's walking on eggshells around me. His glances were full of concern. His questions, 'How are you?', 'Do you need to talk?', etc., etc. have been way more persistent. Nothing about me has changed, at least I don't think it has. I have no clue how he's somehow gotten the skill to look right through my mask.

I risk a glance over at Emma, eyes narrowing. She was chewing her lip, her fingers tap tap tapping. It was a trait she picked up from me. She used to complain about how fidgety I was, constantly having to at least drum my fingers or shake my knee to be able to focus. Something that became more incessant as I would get nervous or uncomfortable.

And then I noticed her doing the same thing whenever she got... nervous. 'You must have rubbed off on me,' she'd say. Well, it's a two-way road, Emma. Because your annoyingly empathetic self rubbed off on me too.

I left her with a habit she hated, and she left me with the ability to read her emotions like a book. It had it's benefits. We push through the bustling crowd, making our way to the ‘glass room,’ as we so eloquently coined it in our 1st year. It was a room with an entire wall made up of windows and an almost simple back-patio-like door that worked as one of the many exits that led to the courtyard. It was our favorite, just because of how homey it felt.

I twist the doorknob, pulling the door open for her before following her outside. There was a small friendly match of quidditch being played on one side of the courtyard, some kids were studying, and there was just a general bustle of life out there. Both from the students and from nature. As we walked down the steps and into the grass, further past everyone, weaving through all the hubbub and finally getting away from all the prying ears, I turned toward Emma. We continued down to the lake but now we finally had privacy. 

“Emma, what’s been up with you? You and Theo, now that I mention it. It’s felt as if you’ve both been… watching me. It’s kinda weird.” I nervously laugh, running a hand through my blonde curls to push them out of my face. Our black robes with yellow accents swished with our movement, though Emma’s posture noticeably stiffened when I spoke up.

She slowed to a stop, hand reaching out to grab my own and making me halt right alongside her. “Em?-” “I know.” “Know what?” “I know you’re in love with him.” Time seemed to slow. My heart quickened and my hands started tap tap tapping. I tilted my head slightly, looking at her closer. I never told anyone, I never spoke a word about my feelings.

Which means she noticed, she caught on, and she figured it out. She’s the only one who could’ve figured it out. Theo’s too dense to have- she told him. “Love who?” I spat out, anger simmering just below the surface. She caught on to that too. “Matt-” I yank my hand from hers, stomping away from her and towards the water. “Vera! I’m not judging you- stop just stop running away!” “Running?!” I whip back around. “You told Theo!” 

Her eyes looked wet, her lip trembling as she took in my ruffled appearance. “I didn’t.” I scoffed. “I didn’t.” She repeated with a firmer tone this time. “He knows you enough to know something is wrong, but he doesn’t know what is wrong.” “My- my love isn’t wrong. It’s not the end of the world for someone to be loved by me.” I shutter out running a hand down my face as I try not to spiral.

I know she didn’t mean it like that, I know she didn’t mean to have that heart wrenching look of pity in her eyes. But I could just hear what she was thinking, my insecurities clanging like a gong in between my ears, ‘Oh Vera, how could you ever think he’d love you back?’

We stood in a field. Surrounded by tall grass and beautiful wildflowers, a lake just a few feet to our right, a tree about two yards to the left of us, and the sounds of our school echoing down the hill and filling the uncomfortable silence that fell upon us.

“Vera…” My friend’s words cut through that very silence, voice sincere. “...you love with a love so loyal, that you are content with standing on the sidelines for years. You love, with a love so fierce, that you will defend and fight and protect even when the object of your desire doesn’t take notice. You think I haven't noticed your absolute adoration toward the boy? I picked up on it back in 2nd year. You can’t keep secrets from me, you know that.” We both laughed through tears at that one.

I looked at her in shock, not knowing what to say. 

But she quickly spoke up before I could even fully process what she said before, “You love with a love anyone would be blessed to receive. But the fact of the matter is, you absolutely suck when it comes to confessions.”

My eyes narrowed at that sudden change in tone, getting whiplash from how fast she went from serious to downright insulting. It would be funny if the situation wasn't so emotional.

“You watch him from afar, you love him at a distance, but graduation is closer than it's ever been and you’re letting him slip through your fingers. I’ve watched you lose yourself in this love for long enough. It’s time, Vera. Tell him or move on but I won’t let you throw away our last years at Hogwarts just because you were trying to hold on to something you’ve never had.” I flinched at that, looking back toward the ground.

“I-I don’t know what you’re saying…” Evidently, Emma crossed the distance separating us, and I felt her hands comfortingly squeezing my shoulders. “I’m saying… it’s time you come clean. It’s time you tell Mattheo you’re in love with him.”

Emma met a boy with eyes like a man Turns out her heart fits right in the palm of his hand Now he'll be her shelter when it rains Little does he know, his whole world's about to change

So I told him I love him. 

KIDDING. After Emma surprise attacked me in that field, I ran back to our dorm and hid until noon the next day. She gave me her notes and we caught up on all the classes I missed, and then we talked for hours about him. And I told her everything.

Everything I felt toward him, everything I loved about him, everything I knew about him. She just smiled at me and rubbed my back during it all, giving nods of encouragement as I stuttered over my words.

The days went by as I tried to figure out what to do. I’d sound absolutely bonkers if I just went up to him and professed my undying affection. I’d become every other girl! ‘Except this time, it’d be a girl who truly cares about him…’ I thought bitterly to myself.

Every time I started to brainstorm on how I could run into him or get his attention, I felt like a crazy person. Like someone could peer into my thoughts and watch as I spiraled further and further into the madness of conspiracy theories and red string. It felt wrong to be so… calculated with him. He deserves better than that.

So I stayed quiet, waiting for an opportunity but not pushing it. Waiting for the stars to align and him to drop in my lap. Waiting like I’ve been waiting for the past six years. My frown deepened at that thought, heart weary as I walked into Transfiguration. Three things immediately drew my attention to the far corner of the room.

The object of my affections was actually… attending class.

He was sitting in my seat.

He was staring right at me.

I gulp, hands flexing around the strap of my satchel, nervously and uncomfortably holding eye contact with his gorgeous chocolate pools, the windows to his soul. The only way to describe the emotions swarming in those very same windows, was… curiosity? Amusement? Warmth? It was hard to tell at this distance—the occasional student walking to their seat or passing by to meet up with their friends making it hard to gaze wholly into his eyes.

‘Oh how I wish I knew what you were thinking…’ I shake my head, breaking that train of thought as well as the spell Mattheo and I seemed to be under. A shoulder bumps into me, reminding me I was planted in the doorway. I crossed the threshold, walking towards Mattheo— my desk.

“I’d say I was happy to see you but I’d be happier if I had my own seat.” I prodded jokingly as I sat down rather heavily in the seat to his left. A laugh slipped out of his lips, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile, throwing his head to the side to look at me. “Your seat? I’ve never seen you sit here, baby.” Mattheo teased, eyes glinting with humor.

I felt my cheeks burn at that comment. He said it so casually, that term of endearment that I would give anything to hear him say with meaning.

Our interactions always went this way. He'd shamelessly flirt with me (making me feel as if I couldn't breathe), I tried my best to meet his challenge (occasionally I got him to blush too), and it always ended with him walking away without a backwards glance. ‘Stop, stop thinking that. He’s talking to you, talk back!’ My inner Jiminy Cricket chides.

“You’ve never seen me sit here? Well, darling, I’d have to say this is the first time I’ve seen you in this class. It’s no wonder you’ve never noticed me sitting here.” Mattheo’s eyes widened slightly at that but his smile never faded, pleasantly surprised respond with your own pet-name. 

“Wizards and witches, quiet down!” Professor McGonagall called out, dropping a heavy book onto her desk. The sound of the loud thud echoed as the surrounding voices hushed to a silence. She had everyone’s attention. Well, everyone except for the two kids in the far corner.

We continued gazing into each other’s eyes, brows furrowing into an almost challenge to see who’d turn away first. “Ah, Mr. Riddle. Glad to see you bothered to grace us with your presence.” The older woman clicked her tongue, effectively pulling us apart, our eyes breaking contact as our heads whipped toward her. “Talk to me after class.” McGonagall made sure to stare point blank at Mattheo, voice steady and tone devoid of humor. “Fuck, she looks mad.” I put my hand over my mouth, holding in a snicker at Mattheo’s whispered comment as our teacher begins her lesson. “Stop, you’re gonna get us in trouble.” I scold, opening my notebook and reaching into my bag looking for a quill. Oh crap.

My eyes widened in panic. No quill. I started unzipping the different pockets, rummaging around, hoping that with enough silent begging and prayer, one would just magically appear. ‘It’s fitting we’re in Transfiguration… maybe the lesson will be on “Making Your Own Quill.”’

I’m pulled out of my inner grumbling with a tap on my shoulder. I was bent over toward the side, in between Mattheo and I’s tables, searching as silently as possible for anything to write with. So the sudden feeling of two fingers tapping my arm made me jump slightly.

I glance up, seeing the prettiest and most annoyingly smug grin. “If I lend you a quill, will you lend me your seat?” He asked, tapping on the chair he was leaning back in. I frown, eyebrows furrowing yet again as I sit back up. “You not only brought one, but two quills? I didn’t know you owned a notebook.” I whisper back, happily shocked to find out he had planned to pay attention today.

“No, I brought one. And trust me, it was a spur of the moment decision. Deep down we both know I wasn’t gonna use it anyway. Just take it.” He finally pulled out the writing tool from his bag, sliding it onto the wood slab in front of me.

“Mattheo I can’t take your onl-” “You can, and you will.” He smirked, insisting. "Well..." I sigh, nodding as I picked up the feather. "...Mattheo Riddle. You are my hero." "Call me any day baby, I'm happy to rescue such a beautiful damsel." His eyes glinted with amusement at my burning cheeks.

He turned back to face the front of the class, his heart stopping stupid ass grin staying plastered on his gorgeous stupid ass face. ‘He called me bea-HE CALLED ME BEAUTIFUL. What the heck is happening.' I close my eyes, breathing in and out a few times to try to get control over my racing thoughts.

'Will I ever get used to the utter heart palpitations this man causes me to have? It’s like a rabbit is trapped in my chest.’ I shake my head, looking back down at my journal.

I didn’t even know where to begin, utterly lost in this day's lecture as the past however-many-minutes was spent paying attention to Mattheo and panicking over my lack of writing tools rather than the actual subject Professor McGonagall was droning on about.

My thoughts wander back to what I was thinking of before I saw the beautiful boy to the right of me. I’ve been waiting for six years. For six years I’ve been waiting for the perfect opportunity to drop in my lap, or for Riddle to come profess his love to me, or something, anything. I can’t even remember at this point.

I was tired of it all. Tired of waiting, tired of not knowing, tired of not living just because I yearned for something I didn’t have. I dip the quill in the ink, hesitating as the tip hovered over paper. The ink gathered at the point, almost falling off and splattering on the white page.

I glance to my right, gazing fondly at him. His profile, his curls, his general posture as he tried to pretend he was paying attention but he was simultaneously fighting sleep. His eyes kept fluttering shut and he was slumping further and further down into his chair.

I look back down at the paper. I’m tired of waiting. And so I began writing.

I met a boy with eyes like a man Turns out my heart fits right in the palm of his hand Now I’ll be his shelter when it rains Little does he know, his whole world's about to change

[lilac-5ky]

The Embodiment of a Dream, pt.1 (Takasugi x Courtesan Fem!Reader)

A/N: Not me starting a new multi-part fic amidst another one and a pile of unwritten requests. But I've had this idea for a long while and the only reason it's multi-part is that I needed two parts to finish it. So, without any further ado, here's the first part, hope you'll enjoy it!

Plot: Struggling between the identity of the Kiheitai commander and his own, Takasugi starts visiting a Yoshiwara courtesan, hoping to find meaning, himself, and perhaps a bond that can't be bought.

Warning: First part doesn't include smut, but NSFW mentions are there. Also, mentions of blood, alcohol, and profanity? Idk what to warn against lmao just read and see for yourselves.

Part 2

(he's so soft and precious when he smiles i love him more than anything)

The first time you saw him, he was dressed in a long imposing coat with golden accents, an olive-green vest, and a white headband whose edges flew at every gust of wind. His expression hardened and stiff, the sole unreadable among his impressionable peers. A war general, the girls said, watching him and his company parade down the streets. And that was all they did. Fawn over his prideful posture and the sublime features of a face they hadn’t quite perceived, with the keen interest of a predator and the cowardice of a prey.

One would think that Yoshiwara was sated with beauty, and yet a pretty face rarely went unnoticed (especially when the vast majority of visitors consisted of middle-aged men with receding hairlines). But to you, all was fair game. A client was a client, and a wad of cash was a wad of cash, and for as long as you received the latter, you had no real preference for the former.

Unwilling to drown in the excessive drool that littered the second-floor balcony, you feigned an excuse regarding the stuffiness of the atmosphere and the suddenness of a client’s arrival and absented yourself to your room, the much-debated stranger soon fading from memory.

The second time you saw him came unexpectedly. The frigid man in the bright purple yukata and the contrasting haori who’d booked your company for an entire night was, unequivocally, him. An older version of him who had maintained his solemn expression and taste in golden hues and headpieces, if one considered the bandages over his left eye as such.

You didn’t speak a word of your one-sided acquaintance and led him to your quarters like you would with any other ordinary customer. Except he was unlike any other ordinary customer you had the honor of entertaining.

He was quiet. Skeptical. Withdrawn. He sat beside you and didn’t say a thing for hours. Didn’t even drink the drinks you served or give you more than a look’s attention as if this was his way of avenging your initial indifference. Perhaps that’s where he drew amusement from.

Mute stillness reigned in the room until the early rays of sunlight broke through the half-shut blinds, forcibly concluding your time together. He tossed in a few extra coins, thanked you, and left.

You’d kept company with more men than you could count, yet never in that sense. Some were cordial enough to engage in small talk and queries about your life. Others had no qualms about groping your breasts and forcing your legs open the minute you let them in. No matter how different each night began, it always ended in rustled sheets and a noticeable stain somewhere between your thighs. Such was the life of a Yoshiwara woman, and such was their sense of company.

But not his. He took pride in being the exception to that rule.

His visits were typically on nights when the moon shone brightest and the incoming tide of guests was great enough to conceal his traces. He ignored the various offers from rival houses and charged straight into yours, paying a steep price to the lady in command, who greedily seized the cash and sent him up to your room with a sardonic smile and a near-devilish “Have a good time!”

You pitied him, not because he was lacking in any way, but because he didn’t seem to be from these places. Because, if he were, then he certainly wouldn’t have spent a fortune on someone lesser than an oiran. And yet, in spite of his obliviousness, the man was determined to ask for one service, and one service only: a night with you. No distractions, no questions asked. Just you.

There was a time when you’d fallen sick during one of his visits. A vile flu had kept you (and many other girls) in bed for a week straight, leaving you so weak that you could barely move past the threshold to receive your meals. And with your days numbered and a regrettable lack of fulfillment plaguing you harder than the sickness itself, a rumor went around about a striking young man who’d turned down the house’s single most desirable girl in favor of a certain bedridden average-looking courtesan.

And while you thought this was the very end of your pitiful existence, you found spite in you to carry on and live a day longer, thinking you now owed him not only for his unfaltering loyalty but for putting that overconfident witch in her place. You got better, and no later than a day after color had returned to your cheeks, he too did, with a bag full of medicine in hand. Cough syrups, painkillers, and flavored antipyretics; everything a sick person could dream of asking for was in that bag.

Leaving you to figure out their purpose on your own, he reclined against the closest wall and indulged in his kiseru’s delight, his eye eventually falling shut. You took the chance and scooted closer, your intention to express your gratitude forsaken the second you looked at him. A well-defined jawline and a nicely curved nose. Lips that frowned and brows that furrowed even in his sleep. Soft skin, high cheekbones, and of course purple strands curtaining his signature bandages.

Whatever insight or intuition those girls on the balcony thought they had was wrong. Sublime was too small a word to describe him. His beauty was transcendent, and as much as you’d like to pretend otherwise, you physically couldn’t. Your fingers were already in his hair, gently parting it in half to reveal more of his face.

He was the first man who hadn’t made any advances whatsoever towards you, and that made you all the more ardent to touch him, though, as luck would have it, you came to realize that he was never asleep. Instead, he was staring at you in a baleful kind of way that would frighten even the gods, forcing you to jolt away and tumble on your knees.

“Are you feeling any better?”

Given your state, his question felt at best out of place and at worst a mockery. Your kimono’s layers were crumpled and your cheeks were burning with embarrassment. If you could dig a hole to escape his stare, you most definitely would, but then again, that wasn’t what he asked.

You answered him with a reluctant nod, which he acknowledged with a seemingly relieved sigh, and when he went back to his previous plane of tranquility, you knew better than to disturb him again. You waited out the dawn until harrowing shadows began to scatter across the paper-thin walls, and until he’d risen to his feet, his kiseru packed inside his yukata and his haori draped over his shoulders.

“My name is Y/N!” You declared.

His grip froze around the doorknob as he slowly turned around and did the one thing you’d never seen him do before.

“I know that.” He smiled.

“I— of course you do.” You replied stupefied. “But I wanted to properly introduce myself. You’ve spent a lot of money on me, and this,” you lifted the bag, “is a kindness I’ll never forget. Thank you!”

“Shinsuke.”

“What?”

“Isn’t this what you wanted to know?” He smirked. “I’m Shinsuke.”

You brought your hands down your thighs and bowed your head. “Thank you, Shinsuke-sama.”

“No need for formalities. Just Shinsuke is fine.”

“But you are a client! I could never-”

“You use honorifics for all men you sleep with?”

His comment stung as badly as that one time you’d pricked your pinky with a needle. Bad enough for you to whimper, though not badly enough to justify your reaction.

“No need to answer.” He shrugged. “After all, I’ll be seeing that for myself. Goodnight.”

“Good…night.”

A month went by without any of Shinsuke’s challenging visits, and even though your confidence still carried bruises, you found yourself hoping against an untimely termination of your relationship. He was a fascinating individual. A difficult man whose brooding demeanor, intractable attitude, and lack of subtlety worked to his advantage, underlining a well-disguised kindness. At least that was the image your brief encounters painted, up to the moment of his reappearance.

He stood outside the door as an inky silhouette, with his unlit kiseru dangling from his teeth and a wide sedge hat that barely fit through. You helped strip him off his outwear and accompanied him to the table, where freshly served alcohol awaited; sake of exquisite quality from Tosa, and two empty cups he wasted no time filling, before downing his share in one go.

You didn’t expect him to be a great drinker, or, really, a drinker at all. Not when he’d been this adamant on maintaining sobriety during the entire of your acquaintance. But once he brought the cup to his lips a second time without so much as wincing, you realized plenty was left untold between you.

“Are you gonna keep staring at me?”

Your chin nearly avalanched from your palm all the way to your elbow. A mistake this elementary was inexcusable for a courtesan more than halfway through her contract.

Unlike other, more profitable houses, yours had three simple rules to uphold: no looking unless you are looked first, for some clients are irritable and prefer to be in charge of the seduction. No drinking unless you are asked first, for one should be sober enough to perform their duty with poise. And finally, no forming personal attachments, for your job is to sell love, not fall prey to it.

So far, you’ve broken only one of those rules.

“Apologies, Shinsuke-san.” You averted your gaze to the floor.

“Better.” He commented, sliding one of the cups in your direction.

“I’m okay.” You shook your head, though the choice was already made on your account. “Thank you.”

The warmth of the chilled alcohol poured down your throat, and with it, much-needed liquid courage seeped inside your veins.

“You wanted to drink and yet,” Shinsuke pointed as he treated you to another shot, “you had none until I offered.”

“It’s impolite.” You said.

“Says who?” He asked.

“The rules”

“And who made the rules?”

“Lady did.”

“And where is that old hag now?”

You bit your tongue and that was all the answer he needed to corner you.

“Don’t bring up such lame excuses again. If you want something, ask for it, and if you don’t, deny it. I paid for a woman, not a puppet.”

“A courtesan’s life is more akin to that of a lifeless puppet than a woman,” you meant to object, though you couldn’t bring yourself to. This man looked you in the eye as if he meant his every word with utmost sincerity. As if to him, you really were a woman worth considering an equal, not one whose company he’d purchased with money, and for once, you found yourself eager to be worthy of the price.

“One more.” You gestured your cup and he obliged with an inconspicuous smirk.

“One more.”

Another rule broken.

The crescent moon waned past the murky clouds above, the bleakness of the skies identical to Yoshiwara’s once brazen hatch. Bustling were the streets to the uninterrupted traffic below, both newcomers and pleasure district connoisseurs moving side by side like a herd of mismatched sheep. And among the herd, the familiar presence of a man stood out, bringing about an indefinite end to your night’s dullness.

You rushed to your wardrobe’s mirror, ensuring that your garments —a dragonfly-patterned kimono of raspberry color and a lime-green obi tied to the front— were all in the right place, leaving only a fraction of your nape and ankles uncovered, before hurrying to the door.

A near-affable grin was plastered on his face from one ear to the other, making you wonder whether hell had frozen over, or something good had actually happened, a theory that confirmed itself as soon as he asked you to whip out the shamisen and entertain him. But when your fingers struck the first few chords of the song, his smile faded along with his amusement.

“Y/N.”

You raised your chin to face him, though there was no need. He was already beside you, dragging that shamisen away from your hands without even bothering to ask for permission. You didn’t mind. If anything, you were preoccupied with analyzing the brief imprint his fingers left upon yours.

What kind of occupation could a man with such delicate fingers have?

“In the right hands,” Shinsuke interrupted, “a shamisen can become an instrument of death.” He said, adjusting his grip over the instrument’s neck.

“Are you suggesting my playing could cause death?”

“On the contrary,” he smirked, “one should entrust you with neither music nor murder because you’d half-ass both.”

“That bad?”

He shook his head. “If you want your music to be worth listening to, then you should at least channel some emotion into it. A feeling, a memory, a thought, something.”

Slowly, he began strumming the strings in a seemingly unruly order, turning silence into sound, and sound into magic of the most captivating kind. This was sorrow, and this was regret, and this was a sonnet just as it was a requiem. A melody you’d never imagine a mere shamisen to produce.

“Remorse.” You concluded after he’d played the final note. “Your technique is masterful, but constricted. As if playing each chord to its full potential would break it.”

The corners of his mouth curved to a subtle smile that neither confirmed nor denied your suspicions.

“May I?” You asked.

Shinsuke dropped the instrument on your lap, while he sat back on his cushion and dragged his kiseru out of his yukata.

With one hand forming a loose grip around the shamisen’s neck, you plucked its strings with the bachi, trying your hardest to answer his tune with one of equal sentiment.

You drifted in your own memories, digging for a past where the sky was light blue instead of ebony black and the crystal waters of the ocean glimmered in the sunlight. Tiny boats stocked with fish sailed side by side, the fishermen calling out to the merchants to help unload the goods.

Somewhere between the crowd the faces of those you knew as family came to be, smiling and waving at you, as if they weren’t the faces of the parents who’d sold you off for less than wares, and as if the little sister you’d struggled to save hadn’t perished in the war with them.

And suddenly you realized you must have too been standing in the water, because you were rapidly sinking past neon lights and tea ceremonies, lovers who threw their greedy hands to have a piece of you, and envious women who wanted nothing more than to erase you. And you would have let yourself be erased, had it not been for the face of a man who listened to your song with compassion and intrigue, understanding all your tongue kept hidden.

“You are an interesting woman.” He mumbled, drawing his kiseru away. “Be it ‘hope in despair’, or ‘despair in hope’, you truly are interesting.”

“I’m humbled!” You bowed your head in acceptance of the compliment.

Rather than bringing the pipe back to his mouth, Shinsuke held it close to yours and ushered you to take a puff. You curled your lips around the tip, sucking the smoke in, and then twirled it around your tongue, secretly hoping that some of his taste was carried with. He watched you intently, his green eye refusing to look away even as he fell back to his seat.

Clouds of foggy smoke kept filling the room until he too became smoke that vanished.

“Only you are my heart’s master,” You beamed, nuzzling to the man’s arm while you walked him to the door.

Disgusting.

“Then what should I bring you from my travels? Some silk? Some gold? Perhaps some lace?” He asked, using your lacy undergarments as an excuse to grope your exposed skin.

Disgusting.

“Please, don’t!” You chuckled, not-so-jokingly pushing his hand off. “What will your wife say?”

“That old shrew doesn’t have half your charm, Y/N. She’d look no better than a bear in a bathing suit.” He sighed. “Come on, just one more for the road?” He awaited no answer before burying his head between your breasts and kissing them hard.

Disgusting.

“Please, stop, you’ll miss your boat!”

“You are so considerate of me.” He pulled himself off you. “I’ll write you, Y/N.”

“Have a safe trip, master! I love you!” Your confession brought his lips to your cheek a final time, making you wish you’d never said that out loud.

Disgusting.

“You are the light of my life! Goodbye!” And with that, the door closed behind him.

Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting, dis-gus-ting!

Everything felt so damn dirty and disgusting that you wanted nothing more than to claw your way out of your own skin. Every man had the exact same desires. To be pampered and be pleased. To be convinced of affections you lacked, and to be affirmed that in this floating world a hint of realness was meant for them and them only.

But if they thought themselves this special, why did they all ask for the same things? Why did their touch feel identical and numb, and why was there no substance behind their hollow words? Why could they not be him?

Your fists balled around the loose layers of your kimono, viciously yanking them off your body until you were met with the bare reflection of a stranger in the mirror. Though that person had your hair and eyes, you couldn’t recognize it anymore. The little girl you knew to be you was long gone, giving way to this distraught young woman with smudged-up lipstick and mascara running down her face.

She reached into your closet and pulled out a silky robe with a pattern of red cranes on the back. It was a gift, you remembered once you saw her wrap it neatly around her waist. A gift from a client whose name you couldn’t recall, for a forgettable night, deleted from your memory. And while the woman appeared strikingly beautiful in it, all you thought about was how utterly filthy and repulsing the sight was.

Nothing in this room belonged to you. Not the fabrics, not the mirror, not even the reflection staring back at you. Everything served as a reminder of a dream that existed between the blurred lines of fiction and reality. A dream you could never wake up from, for that dream had become the very essence of your fragile existence.

You saw the woman leave and you had no choice other than to follow, taking step after step outside your room’s four walls and into the empty corridor that led to the house’s shared baths. Thankfully no other girl was around. Everyone was booked for the night and they shouldn’t be back any moment soon, sparing you from the intolerable idle chatter you despised.

You swapped your robe for a towel and quickly found all that was needed: a cloth, a stool, and a bucket that you filled up with fresh warm water. The woman was there too, her tired expression flickering between the swaying ripples of the bucket. You rolled the cloth between your fingers and dipped it in, thoroughly scrubbing your body inch by inch-especially the area of your thighs.

Hardly a trace of him remained, yet for as long as that woman’s complacent smile challenged you, the feeling of sheer disgust persisted with her. It wasn’t the man that was repulsive. It was her. The you that spewed pretty lies and batted her eyes in a horrifyingly coy way that had all convinced, but you.

You tossed the bucket as far away as possible, watching her idol evaporate into steam, reminiscent of his pipe’s smoke. Come think of it, he’d been an awful lot in your mind lately. You usually had no real opinion regarding your clientele, but there was no denying you’d grown fond of your time together.

Some nights you drank without exchanging a single word, and other nights you sat playing the shamisen in turns, each putting a name to the other’s undisclosed desires. You never touched, not once. But something in his eye was different than before. At times it was distinct sympathy, and at others, it was subtle ardor that made you wonder what it’d be like for him to act upon it.

Would his touch feel as indifferent? Would your fondness continue to grow even when there were no clothes left between? Would your moment of fleeting freedom last?

Whatever this strange feeling was, it was separate from disgust. In his presence, all was tolerable, and in his absence, nothing right. In his presence there was realness, and in his absence, where you thought was void, a nearly unnoticeable thud insisted on reminding you that dreams, too, have hearts.

Because that was the night you found out that even dreams are capable of having dreams and hoping in despair.

Three…Two…One…

Vibrant flowers of color blossomed across the skies. Grandiose roses, charming asters, and alluring spider lilies whose petals dissolved in brilliant rain of vivacious sparks. Chaotic cheers spilled everywhere around you, each balcony host to a different love story as ephemeral pecks sealed the ending of one year and the beginning of another.

New Year’s Eve in Yoshiwara was quite the event. Every house that respected itself -yours included- knew to toss extravagant parties rich in champagne and desire, the women flowing perhaps more freely than the glasses served. Only a few elite bidders afforded the fee of being there, and those who didn’t, or rather, those who wanted their darling’s embrace to be privy, followed them into the upper floor rooms for twice -if not thrice- the regular asking price.

No, the services provided were hardly any different, but the value of that first kiss of the year ended up skyrocketing as if the lips involved were made of pure gold, and naturally, no one raised objections to that. Not the clients, not the women who awaited them at home, and certainly not the girls who got extra coin out of their infatuation.

It was laughable, really, and perhaps you would have indulged in a chuckle if it weren’t for the man who kept you company.

You’d never spent more than two New Year’s Eves with the same man, and this time was no exception. Except, that it was the first time you got to spend it with someone whose presence alone didn’t nauseate you.

Admittedly you knew next to nothing about Shinsuke. His name and that excruciatingly handsome face of his were the only two things you were certain of, yet they were enough for you to question what a man like him was doing there. Did he not have a person more significant to him to share this night with? Could he not see the hypocrisy behind it all? Or could it be that his great wit was an excuse behind a bigger scheme?

And suddenly you expressed all these thoughts in a manner that was most insolent, with your eyes glued to this one revolting couple on the opposing building’s balcony that made your guts churn in revulsion.

“Why are you here?”

Shinsuke, who’d been twirling an empty champagne glass between his fingers, shot you a blank stare. “Am I unwelcome?”

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to express myself this poorly.” You apologized sincerely. After all, your wish wasn’t to target him but to find yourself an ally. “It’s just that,” you continued, “unlike the rest of our clients, you don’t seem interested in making the most of our services. Not to mention, you are more than capable of earning a proper woman’s affection without money.”

Fearing matters were unsalvageable, you turned your back on him, though if you hadn’t, then you would have seen that the expression on his face was one devoid of any true resentment and that the sly smirk he sported was product of a childish whim he chose to follow.

“Is this not part of your services?” Shinsuke asked as he enclosed your body in an audacious embrace, his one palm stopping right where your obi began, and the other seeking refuge upon your hip.

“It… is.”

“And do I still seem disinterested?” He breathed at your nape, each word teasing to leave a kiss on its stead.

“Of course n-not.”

“Tell me, Y/N. What makes a woman proper?”

“A woman that can bring you happiness and,” you gulped once you felt his lips near your ear, “and afford to be seen by your side without being pointed at.”

Your answer made him pull away.

“I can’t tell whether you think too highly of me or too lowly of yourself,” he sighed. “In any case, I’m not someone who can afford to be seen, with or without the proper woman you describe.”

“What does that mean?” You lifted your head enough to get a peek at his face. His eye keenly watched something on the horizon, likely that aforementioned display of affection.

“It means, I’m not as proper of a man myself.”

A pause let his words sink deeper within the hefty atmosphere. Even when the words “familiar strangers” could perfectly define your relationship, not once did you consider the possibility of Shinsuke being a man viler than those you despised. And even if the thought had crossed your mind, then you must have gotten rid of it at once, because you refused to believe that the one authentic person in your life was a fraud.

“Do you still wish to know what I’m doing here?”

You nodded almost instantly.

“I’m looking to test the limits of a dream. Does a dream end where another dream begins or is one created anew? Can a man named Shinsuke be just a man who pursues the company of an improper courtesan, and no more than that?”

Although the nature of his questions was highly rhetorical, he maintained enough silence for you to answer him. And when you did, your words referred to a life more akin to the one you’d lived and the troubles you’d faced, and in doing so you realized that perhaps the key to decoding this man was one you already possessed.

“The floating world sustains all sorts of dreams, Shinsuke-san. What’s a dream of exquisite beauty to some, can be a horrid nightmare to others. But for a dream to be defined and then refined, it needs to first be dreamt of by somebody else, or else it’s no more than an abstract, fleeting fantasy.

“The man you are in here is the man you are out there, as the sum of your thoughts, and actions, and even your own dreams, and the dreams of others. ‘A man who pursues the company of an improper courtesan’,” you repeated his words, “is that really the kind of man you wish to be, Shinsuke-san?”

“Not entirely, I’m afraid.” He said. “Right now, I wish to be the kind of man who makes the most of your services.”

His disarming smile had succeeded in its cause, both lowering your resistances and painting your cheeks with an alarming shade of feverish red.

“If that’s what you want, then you can go ahead.”You whispered.

“What about what you want?” He hummed in your ears. “What is it that you want me to do?”

You could think of many reasons to justify your next response. The champagne, the scenery, the sudden intimacy generated between you. Even the way that brunette had her tongue stuck down that flabby man’s throat for the past twenty minutes. But in the end, all those designated reasons were nothing more than excuses, aiming to debunk or simply downgrade the volume of your heart’s desires.

“I’d like you to kiss me.” You stated, looking into his one good eye. “No, I… I want to kiss you.”

And suddenly your lips collided, making it impossible to tell who’d been the one to initiate, for you were tilting your heads and sharing your breaths in such natural sync, that it felt as if this was a kiss shared countless times already. The smoke on his tongue and the restricted impatience, the hands that touched not where they were supposed to touch, but where they wanted to touch, and lastly the vague sentiment of those final fireworks that were extinguished in the night sky.

If Yoshiwara was deemed the floating world, then the voices you were hearing must belong to the most exalted angels of the skies, for you were soaring higher than the heavens themselves. Everything seemed brighter than it did a day, a week, a month, a lifetime ago. The boss’ soured face when you paid him last night’s fee was suddenly as sweet as anko. The girls’ dubious comments when you greeted them were as lyrical as poetry. Even bargaining with the local dressmaker over your patched kimono’s price was as pleasant as an exchange of pleasantries between old friends.

You were the happiest you’d ever been, and if Shinsuke was on your mind once before, he was now tenfold. Whenever you put your kimono together, the image of his reflection creeping up behind yours flashed within the mirror, prodding your body first with his eye and then with his lips, his hands working to untie and dishevel all you struggled to maintain. And whenever a man that wasn’t him showed up as a replacement, you endured it by picturing his touch and exaggerating the similarities, -such as the curves of their arms or the shared green in their eyes-, until you were convinced it’d always been him.

The further you delved into that kiss, the deeper you spiraled into the unknown territories of longing, your body experiencing something foreign to your heart. Even when you’d crossed lips with more men than you could count, none compared to a kiss of your own volition. It was your choice to kiss him, and given the chance, you’d kiss him again and again, until all others scattered like petals in the wind.

This is madness, you insisted on whispering through bashful smiles, your heart racing at a pace quicker than your legs. The sun had melted into a mellow pink before you, its final rays infiltrating the lonesome maple trees that flourished on each pavement while your shadow withdrew behind your shoulder. Soon it’d be nightfall.

Your bag bounced with each hurried step you took towards the house, the ever-increasing traffic forcing you to slow down. The streets were far busier than you’d left them, especially the ones that led to your destination. Colorful silken kimonos and achromatic cotton yukatas meddled together, the sandals of their wearers clicking in an unrhythmic song of wood and cork. Whispers filled in the instrumental as heads turned left and right, shooting curious glances at the nearby establishments.

Could an oiran procession take place this early, you asked yourself, but then again there seemed to be neither kamuro nor entourage of actual performers among the crowd. You closed in on them and tuned in for answers, quickly learning that an ounce’s worth of happiness in Yoshiwara was as ephemeral as a butterfly’s passing.

“Have you heard? Shinsengumi’s set off on a grand-scale manhunt!” A blonde in a company of three stated. Her back —in addition to the backs of her companions— was turned on you, withholding all details of her face, though judging by the lack of opulent accessories in her hairdo, she must have either been a tea house girl or a lower-ranked courtesan.

“…Rumor has it they are after a terrorist! One of those Kihentai guys!” A brown-haired woman picked up.

“Kiheitai, you moron!” The blonde retorted. “Those Takasugi goons Tsukuyo-sama warned us about.”

“Takasugi? As in the Takasugi Shinsuke?” The one in the middle asked with a shaky tone.

Takasugi… Shinsuke? your ears perked up at the name.

“Shh! Do you want them to call you in for questioning?” One of them hushed her. “Of course that Takasugi! He’s been seen loitering near these places lately.”

“Aww, you think terrorists get lonely too? I wonder what kind of woman a man like him fancies.”

“Careful, Hoshino!”

“Hm? Why should I?” The brunette, Hoshino, sneered. “Terrorist or not, I doubt a man resistant to my charms exists. Besides, if he’s pretty enough, I wouldn’t mind giving a special discount for him to,” her voice cut out, “my assets.”

Their crude commentary grew both cruder and fainter as the trio distanced themselves, solely their snide cackles persisting behind them. This… Takasugi they mentioned and the Shinsuke you knew. They couldn’t be the same, right? They weren’t, right?

Clenching the bag tight against your chest, you dragged your feet toward the entrance only for them to freeze right outside the threshold. A preview of that night began playing in your mind like a scene from a movie, the words that challenged the propriety of his character suddenly gaining a whole new meaning. He was a terrorist. A man who’d waged a war against the world. A man whose head alone weighed ten times the feeble sums he paid for your company. A terrorist.

No matter how many times you repeated the word, accepting it didn’t come any easier. Not because it was unreasonable so, but because you couldn’t accept that out of all the high and mighty men to have traversed your doorstep, the first man who hadn’t treated you as if you were a mere piece of meat for him to chew up and spit out was, as in matter of fact, a terrorist. What kind of sick cosmic joke was this? What kind of world dubbed a kind man a criminal?

“For the last time, our respectable business is no rebel lair, and under no circumstances will we give up our customers’ names! You can bring your Commissioner, the Shogun, or even Buddha himself, and the answer won’t change. Now leave, before you scare our clients away. Off to hell, you go!” The boss roared furiously as the door flew open, revealing two figures dressed in black from head to toe.

Shinsengumi, you gasped.

The first of the two —and consequently the one who’d opened the door— was a man of average stature with neck-length black hair and a rather forgettable face that did him no favor next to his partner’s taller physique and well-defined features. His sharp eyes held a wonderful shade of blue in them, capable of beguiling just about anyone willing to ignore the strictness behind them. Strictness akin to Shinsuke’s, you noted.

“Rowdy pimps.” The taller man cursed under his breath.

“Hijikata-san!” The shorter man nudged him, at last taking notice of your presence.

Coughing in his fist, the one you presumed to be Hijikata stepped out of the lobby and stood before you, his closed fingers revealing a tiny notebook and a slightly chewed pen. He reeked of tobacco and an odor you could have sworn belonged to a croquette sandwich, or more accurately, the condiment in it.

“Oi, miss,” he directed the pen at you, “you wouldn’t happen to have seen or heard any scum terrorists sauntering your quarters, would you?” He asked in a raspy voice.

“Pardon me.” You bowed. “Our house has no tolerance for criminals,” if the beginning of your sentence made him sulk in disappointment, then the incoming one was bound to deplete his patience, “other those your government produces.”

“You wench-”

“Hijikata-san, we should get going!” The unnamed man jumped in the middle, preventing him from lunging at you.

His azure-colored eyes burned with utter rage, digging holes in your skull even as he was quite literally dragged out of the way. His companion spelled a few meager apologies in his stead as they scrammed back into the crowd of people wondering what could have possibly gotten a high-ranking officer this agitated.

“Tax grabbing leaches.” You mumbled and entered the house.

Whether the Shinsengumi did the country any good or not, they remained one of the core bodies to secure and defend a government with less pride than that of a whore. They’d forsaken their honor and assumed fancy collars in exchange for getting to wave their swords at those who defied them. How’s that for public order?

Repulsive as their apathy was, you did your best to avoid them. However, there were times when you couldn’t help but wonder, what would have happened if they pointed their blades at the Bakufu and the Amanto instead. Perhaps then it wouldn’t have been all for nothing. The years spent in this hellhole. Your self-sacrifice. Her demise.

Cringing away from these painful thoughts, you made your way across the room, paying respect to the boss and the missus with a courteous bow of your head. Neither seemed overly eager to return the gesture. The woman was bent over her husband, continuously rubbing his shoulders in an attempt to soothe his frayed nerves, while he insisted to huff like a coal train. His ears had flared up in a comical shade of red that perfectly matched his flushed cheeks. Were you to stay a minute longer, and who knows, actual smoke could start coming out.

No one was fond of cops roaming Yoshiwara, let alone house owners whose business was disrupted by those pests.

You proceeded to the stairs, dreaming of the moment you’d be free to soak your feet in a basin full of warm water and rid yourself of today’s bitter aftertaste. To think minutes ago you were bouncing up and down in obliviousness— felt like a distant past.

“Took you long enough.” A somewhat familiar voice rang between the shadows of your unlit room, taking shape only after your fingers located the switch. “Thought I’d be a corpse before you made it back.”

“Sh-Shinsuke!” You dropped the honorifics along with your bag, nearly tripping over your own legs as you dashed to his side.

He’d dragged the table closer to the wall, balancing half his weight against the paper screen and half against his elbow. Blood stained his yukata all the way to its seams, the once glorious fabric torn into a rag of little value around his torso. There was no way of telling skin and fabric apart. All was red, and all was bleeding, your heart included.

And yet, he was smiling. A faint and effortless smile that could have been charming if it weren’t for the crimson drops streaming down the corners of his mouth.

“How,” you began saying, but you already knew. “Who,” but the answer was the same, and lastly, “Why,” but it was pointless to insist.

You shook your unfinished questions away and helped him find a grip around your neck, your hands then attempting to undo the knots of his obi. It was bad. Worse than you expected, and it was possible that your mediocre sewing skills wouldn’t cut it. He needed a doctor, a good one at that, but what kind of medical practitioner would put their life on the line for a terrorist’s life?

This was hopeless.

“Hold on,” your thumb pressed his fingers firmly against your shoulder, “I’ll take you to bed.”

Without raising objections, Shinsuke let himself be dragged to your futon. One by one, you peeled the garments off his body, leaving him in just his fundoshi and forcing him to lie on his back. A total of three gashes spanned from his abdomen to his outer thigh. Two were the result of a blade, while the last one could be traced back to a naginata or something of the sort.

“It’s not that bad.” You feigned a smile.

“It’s written all over your face how bad it is.” He tilted his head.

“I can fix it!” you said in an attempt to convince both him and yourself, though he didn’t seem to need guarantees. If anything, he was the only one composed, as if the matter didn’t concern him.

Briefly, you parted to scavenge through the room for your trusty sewing kit, finding it under a pile of fabric samples at the bottom of your closet and presenting it to him along with a near-empty bottle of sake. This was as far as proper medical equipment went.

You put the bottle beside him and fished out the sharpest needle you could find, one that was still blunt, though hopefully not overly blunt so as not to puncture his skin. The mere thought sent your lunch up your throat. You did not fare well with blood. Nevertheless, you picked the needle up and folded the edge of a white thread over its eye, slowly bringing the two together. You did that once, and then twice again, only to fail just as miserably. The needle refused to be threaded, and your fingers refused to quit squirming.

That is, until they did.

His hand scooped yours, the inside of his palm so soft that the way the needle’s end pricked your skin went unnoticed. You gazed up at him with eyes full of worry—worry that he mistook for fear—as his eye narrowed into a slit of green that averted in the opposite direction.

“You know.” He bitterly deduced.

“It doesn’t matter if I do. This changes nothing, I—”

“Then it’s not too late to give me up.” He continued as if he hadn’t heard you. “Won’t do your head any good if they find me in here.”

Your mouth popped open, your tongue struggling to put a sentence together. The courtesan in you thought it’d be best to stay clear of trouble, but the woman in you could only return his grip and pray he wouldn’t let go.

“A Yoshiwara woman doesn’t have much need for unnecessary thoughts.” Your voice made his head turn. “They’d be doing me a great service chopping it off.”

For what felt like an eternity, the two of you remained in agonizing silence that a wan chuckle came to interrupt. “A headless courtesan must be quite the sight,” he noted, “but for as long as your head is in its place, you have no right to be this stupid.”

“And you have no right to be this reckless,” you sighed, neglecting to add a filter to your words. “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.” He admitted. “I just didn’t intend for my men’s crude faces to be the last thing I see, and then next thing I knew, I was climbing up your window. Perhaps my aversion was that strong, or maybe the will to visit my improper courtesan one final time drowned all sense left in me. Who knows?”

“And you call me stupid.” An inconspicuous blush weakened the volume of your voice. “Nothing says you won’t die! The only experience I have with stitches comes from sewing dresses.”

He shrugged. “Alternatively, you can do nothing and let fate decide. Beats me.”

You set his hand down gently and continued your previous efforts as you pinched the needle between your fingers and successfully threaded it in one go. It didn’t matter what he said. You were going to save him, no matter what.

“Forgive me, but I have no intention of welcoming a horde of angry Joui rebels to my doorstep. If their faces are as horrid as you describe, then I’d much rather devote my attention to looking at your face instead.” You dipped the needle’s tip inside the sake to sanitize it. “Now hold still, this should sting.”

Shinsuke sat back against the futon, a complacent smile flickering underneath a pained expression he failed to hide. Any other ordinary man would be howling in agony, but not him. He didn’t budge in the slightest. He held still and refused to look away even as sake drenched his wounds and his skin was pierced by the cold needle’s edge.

“This calls for a larger tip.”

A/N: intercepting my own post to say that I hope to finish the rest sometime in February so I can resume my Bakufu fic and then actually commit myself to my requests. If anyone's wondering, yes, I still accept those, and ofc I read your messages and thank you all for your support!

[trenchcoatsbi]

Happy Trenchcoat Day! Please click the read more to see my work for this month. Warning I decided to be sappy and personal this month. I hope it’s at the very least interesting to look at. BTW since I hand wrote everything instead of using fonts I decided to add a transcript of the words on each panel to the very end of this post

[Transcript Start]

Page 1: 

i am a lucky man.  i have a house there’s always food on my plate i have clothes worn by love and time.  they might not be new but they are mine.

Page 2:

i have a quiet room i still apologize to it for making it so lonely. i have a family that cares enough. i have friends.

Page 3:

home: the place one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household HOME. now that i have NEVER had Nary a person, place or thing for which that word rang true.

Page 4:

still… like ATLAS holding the sky, i carry it upon my shoulders. it’s in my head. it is memories I am haunted by. home is a dance.  and it’s her hand in mine.

Page 5:

and home is the birds outside the window and music from down the hall and it’s my sons laughing

Page 6:

Home is something I will craft in my head a million times one day i’ll get it right i am a lucky man.  i have a house.  i am: warm  clothed fed

Page 7:

i am busy i am tired and i have NEVER had more fun

Page 8:

There’s a cabin somewhere bigger on the inside than it is on the outside.

Page 9:

I’ve learned that this is just what love does to a place. and i’m glad i’ve been here to love it.

[Transcript End]

Thank you for half a year of the trenchcoat. I wrote the original paragraph I adapted into this comic? drawing thing in the middle of the night sometime last month though the original was uh certainly a lot less coherent. I hope I distilled everything down well enough to get my point across. It's clunky but it's done at least. Idk we made something nice here and it’s very special to me so yeah I did all this about it lmao

If you’re wondering the winged demon fella is one of my old sona designs, I’m in the middle of redesigning my current one so I just grabbed an older one I’m still fond of.

BTW Voidling & Vale are the two I drew there with tommy cause they're still the top two anon tags on the blog!!

[sleepy-achilles]

My fame au for the FOD has had a few changes.

But then again, idk if I ever posted it here.

So

Yeah.

Let's go

FAME AU- FOD ADDITION

Shawn Michaels went from a boy roaming the streets of San Antonio with his baby boy to being taken in by the nice couple Jose and Sherri and turned into a worldwide supermodel over night.

Jose took Shawn in and shawn helped around the gym as a thanks. Sherri, who worked in the world of fashion took Shawn to work with her one day and to their surprise her boss immediately saw potential in the young boy and pleaded with him to do a photo shoot for their company.

Shawn agreed.

That photo shoot led to shawn buying Sherri and Jose their own land and house along with a much bigger and better gym.

Shawn continued to grow in the modelling world and before long he was everywhere.

Taker was left to inherit his father's business at a young age.

Whilst taker loved his parents and the business, it isn't what he wanted. No.

He kept the business up and running, hired people from the valley to keep the funeral home going before moving to the city to build his own business with the money.

Taker soon became a hot shot CEO who rose to fame after taking time to do the photoshoots for his new motorbike line himself.

This is how he met Shawn, his future husband.

Goldust, a photographer and stylist, was incharge of takers first photoshoot. He offered to bring in a professional he knew that could help boost the shoot and also help taker. Taker agreed expecting some girl off the runway or magazines.

Boy he had a shock when Shawn walked in.

That began a long slow burn relationship. Taker asked Shawn to do all project photoshoots and shawn agreed.

It wasn't his usual type of thing so Shawn liked it. He liked being able to dress up as a big tough biker.

They get married, the media and fans go wild. Goldust takes 100% credit. Bla bla bla.

John, who grew up around the rising fame, struggled with the paps at first but grew to get used to it.

He wouldn't follow in his father's or his step father's footsteps. No. Instead he went down the road of music. He fell in love with hip hop and would rise to be one of the goats.

He would also go on to do acting, but that was more of a side thing he did for fun. It was rare but something he did do.

He'd go on to grow close with Evolutions Guitarist Randy Orton.

Leon, their middle brat, grew up with the media and fans. They loved him since birth. They even still loved him when he disappeared and returned with a nasty scar.

Leon was full of shock when he saw people twisting the ugly truth. How the media and fans said it made him more attractive.

It was Leon's turn to shock everyone. The young man entered the world of Broadway. His strong suit ended up being his dancing. He was always a talented dancer. This pushed him more into the light. He ended up being pushed from Broadway into full time acting and modeling. And well, that? That turned his life around like crazy.

Leon would go on to be a top star for years with one of the biggest fan bases.

He did gain his husband, Scottish Actor Drew from this life though. So he wouldn't complain too much.

Cassie, the youngest Michaels, was born into a family of famous people. She got on with the paps and the media. She didn't realise how weird and different her life truly was until she got to school.

Like her brothers, the media and fans also loved her but for completely different reasons. They loved how bubbly and confident she was. How funny she was.

Cassie would go on to acting after she fell in love with it during highschool. Along with acting she'd make YouTube videos, vlogging her life and showing her fans the truth behind Hollywood. And well no one dared to touch her, not with her parents and extended family being some of the most powerful people in the business.

Her YouTube vlogs would grow to become a full time reality TV show.

She stayed true to her roots tho, posting exclusives and bts on her channel.

Her acting career and the fact her brother befriended the band, would lead her to finding the judgement day and falling in love with their main guitarist Rhea after a nasty break up with her fiancée, actor Theory.

[hoeforinarizaki]

THE VILLAIN.

Type: Scenario

Haiba Lev x GN!Reader

Summary: They were called terrible, as their mother had lost all of her friends and her own family...she became a villain. And think you did the same. But did Lev believe this? No.

Warnings: Cursing, Slight Angst (Idk...)

"I love you! Go out with me, (Y/N)-san!"

Ah, there he comes again. The tall and handsome puppy that ran towards you with the most liveliest expression you've ever seen. Why did that first year even like you? Honestly, if he was just doing this to mock you then it was getting too annoying. Huffing, you ignore him as he arrived.

"Leave me alone." You say and pack your stuff, the bell already ringing indicating school had ended. Then not even a few minutes later the half russian was already by your side. Just how fast did he even run to get to you? "Please!" He claps his hands.

Okay, just why the hell is he so desperate? You were so confused with the fact he always came to you– hell ever since he went to the same middle as you, he stuck to you like super glue. Just what the fuck was happening? Like...it's weird. "Stop trying, even i don't understand why you'd want to go out with me." You sigh.

Lev's head cocks to the side, looking innocent. "Even..you? What does that mean?" Man, he asks so many questions. Zipping up your bookbag, you put it on your shoulder and walk out, yet not without the boy rushing after you quickly. "Certain things are not to be revealed if you already had known in the first place." Muttering, you try to hint it– literally so bad. You just want him to take the hint and leave you alone. Isn't that possible?

"I...but– they're not true." The fact he stops just to say that one sentence makes you the confused one this time. Turning back towards him, your fluttering eyelids makes his breath hitch from how ethereal you seemed in the light of sunset. "(Y/N)-san...i know how you feel but what their saying is a lie!" He exclaims. What the fuck? You look at him in even more disbelif.

This went on for some time...his stubborn face drew you in, understanding nothing, however. Truthfully, even you didn't know why this happened to you! Just because you were born from your mother's stomach...it doesn't mean you were like her at all, right? "..." Beginning to walk off yet again, Lev follows up to your speed easily with his long legs...

Your mother was a kind person. She was a good person in everyone's eyes and in yours as well. But ever since she lost her own family, sister, brother, parents...if there could have have been another chance to stop the fire from spreading that night, maybe she wouldn't have ended up being such a terrible woman.

All because of her guilt and despair, did she become a villain. And with your (S/C) skin and eyes with the same color(s) as hers, they all began seeing your mother in yourself. So stupid to think such rumors would make your live a living hell. And yet him...it was always him. Why was Lev always there to support when no one else did? Did he truly love you...or not? "This is too much for me." You whisper, feeling rather emotional.

What to do now...? "..N- Nobody may appreciate and love you as much as i could!" He suddenly shouts to you, even though you stood right beside him which makes you jump. "..." With a little frown, you move on. Of course, why hadn't you realized sooner then...if he really did. Why couldn't you?

"(Y/N)-san?" Lev asks, looking at you with the most gentle and caring expression he could muster...and it was all that you had needed to let loose. With crossed arms, you gripped each side of your blazer so tightly, looking down in shame. No cries came out, you were used to being treated shit. But the half russian only decides to pull you towards him, slowly having you stop holding on so tight. He hugs you, with a big grin.

"I genuinely fell for you, so please give me a chance. I don't care what the people say...you could never be that type of person to me even if i thought so. Go on a date with me...i promise won't disappoint you. Can i?" His hand comes to cup your cheek. This all was...so fast! How in the world? Your eyes glisten, somehow so touched with the half-assed confession. He sounded so unsure yet so genuine like he said. Should you really? It did sound a little nice too...

"..I..." Your cheeks flushed with the close proximity. You could feel everything as he was holding you like no tomorrow. Who knew the big (kind of stupid) puppy could act this smooth? Surely it didn't sound right in your head. But things were different as it was him, after all. And so...

Just do it, it's fine. Rather than answering the question, you just did it yourself. "Mmph–" Though you were a little..not that experienced with these types of things, you pulled on his tie without concern of choking him and kissed him with all you can. And of course, he melts right into it...even if he kept getting so exxited and rough which turned it into a battle of biting. Oh well, it was a first kiss to remember.

Pulling away after almost seconds or running out of breath, Lev looked like he just won at ticket to nationals he did babe and just took a moment to stare at your nice face. "You're hot." He simply says which makes you flustered. "What?!" Oh hell no, there is no way that this was the Levochka you knew.

"W- Wait! (Y/N)-san i'm sorry!"

"GO AWAY–"

"I was just saying what i felt! *sobs*"

"...The kiss was a mistake."

"WHAT?! NO IT WAS GOOD!"

"THERE YOU GO AGAIN!"

Congratulations, you now have a boyfriend though.

And possibly a hot ass post timeskip husband

[edwinspaynes]

4, 10, 13

4. What kind of endings do you prefer?

Whatever the hell Chain of Thorns had going on was my exact kind of ending. The "happy middle," as Lucie described it. I want something overarchingly happy, maybe with an element of wistfulness and closure, but I also don't want it tied up in a neat little bow. Some level of openness to take the characters into an untouchable but presumably hopeful future is necessary. Idk but what Cassie did for the Chain of Thorns epilogue may be one of my favourite book endings ever. It was perfect, I want to snort it, I want to emulate the exact feeling it gave me.

10. Show a piece from your current WIP/most recent story, up to 30 words.

I SAID I WOULD NOT SHOW ANOTHER WORD UNTIL XMAS but fine. For the ask game.

“I am quite glad that we installed these balconies onto the Institute,” Tessa said, looking out at the frozen Christmas paradise surrounding them. The night was quiet, still but for the movement of the intricately-patterned fluffy flakes. “If we had not, we could not enjoy nights like this.”

13. Ctrl+f: silver/gold/bronze–did anything come up in your WIP and if so, share it?

Nothing showed up in Christmas on the Balcony or Twenty Minutes, but there were two from another (friendship fluff) Christmas WIP I have but am not 100% sure if I'll finish in time:

"Grace’s eyes swept across the market again. There were jewelry stalls; some of the pieces were quite lovely. And yet, she did not have any female friends who she could shower in gold necklaces and glass-bead bracelets, so there was no point in picking through the beautifully tempting wares."

-

“I, too, am engaged,” Grace said, “to a man with lavender eyes. Have you anything that might complement such a hue?” “Yes!” She clapped her hands together and drew Grace’s attention toward an odd pinch-edged teacup painted silver and aubergine.

[divinequo]

I had the most horrendous horrifying nightmare this morning so I'm cursing you all with this information

(warning ahead of a disturbing recreation drawing of the worst part of the dream please be advised)

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The nightmare started with a lonnnnggg drive through the woods at midnight (it was 3:00 am) I was going on this camp out I guess with this college aged man named Kevin (he was a good Kevin not bad) he was tall with ginger hair and those winter southern jackets you see typical older brothers wear in cliche 2000s Disney movies, the trees though- they were like 300 or 200 feet tall and we're COMPLETELY smooth less, no texture in sight, they're also completely grey here, they looked like 3d models but placed in real life, anyway Kevin's car broke down and so we had to try and find shelter (why we didn't stay in the car idk) we found a bunch of trash and... Some.. Ahem... "Toys" along the road as well, including a lovely realistic toy of a certain part mounted on the front of a destroyed bike, anyway we found an old house that was WRECKED, I'm talking broken windows everywhere, busted washing machine on the front lawn, tons of rats and other parasites, it was disgusting but me and Kevin thought to go inside of there, (now to think of it he looked alot like ed Shereen but that's off topic) but when we opened the door w were shocked, it was completely spotless and tidy, like any normal middle class house in a suburban neighborhood, it was like doctor who or something the way we were bamboozled, just then we saw a family, a... Interesting family to say the least, the family had a father, mother, dog, baby boy, and a young sister and brother, the sister and brother were Ellen and Edgar from well.. Ellen and Edgar, the dad was like their actual guardian in the show/books, the mother was a stereotypical cartoons blonde mother and the baby was just wearing a normal blue onesie, the dog was brown and looked like a twelve year old drew it, I just also realized the whole family was cartoons one way or another but me and Kevin were completely irl, as well as the settings of this dream, here's the disturbing part though, THEY ALLLLLL HAD THE 90S ANIME FACES OF OFF SURFACE ANIMES, if you don't understand what I mean- this is what I mean⬇️

THEY ALL HAD A FACE EXACTLY LIKE THIS, EXECPT ALL THEIR EYES WERE PURPLE, (execpt the dog, he was actually just a normal cute dog ngl)

Idk why but against me and my friend Kevin's judgement we slept over at their house that night for protection, me and Kevin sleep on a poor old misty pull up couch together and try to rest (maybe mention it was platonic since he was like way older lol) but any then in the middle of the night (which now it was somehow like 12:00 pm?? Like the night just wouldn't end no matter what) I opened my eyes slowly but tiredly, and I saw the brother Edgar from Ellen and Edgar with his same as before huge anime eyes and monster like appearance, but now he was inhumanly huge, his arms of way longer and his fingers grew into lonnnnggg sharp claws, he grow massively and was towering over me, like up to the ceiling genuinely, but he was crouched over to watch me sleep, of course I am frozen with horror and have no idea what to do, it was so cold and it felt like time froze along with my flight or fight response, finally after what felt like 30 seconds he finally spoke up, instead of just having a pitchy high voice like before his became incredibly raspy and coarse, as if he hadn't drunk anything in years, his large doll eyes looked at me non blinking and he said-

"sleep tight firefly"

Needless to say I immediately woke up in a cold sweat and semi paralyzed from fear, even drawing this in the car I was in earlier today made my heart pound and made me unable to speak.

So how are y'all doing?

[ruminate88]

Torn between “I’m actively forgiving them” and “It’s getting too painful” ❤️‍🩹 07/16/24

This morning I woke up to the idea “I’m NOT giving up” and I’m NOT but yesterday was bad. I haven’t had a bad day like that in awhile. I just felt done yesterday like I can’t keep going. I was dragging myself all irritated.

Blocking Andrew’s number was right for me and it gave me the freedom to move on to someone else BUT slowly the impact from the abuse has affected me in various ways. There has been times I really believed, “Oh, wasn’t so bad…. I’m ok.” And I AM ok but then other days more wounds come to the surface or more light is shed on other issues and it feels like a never ending process to heal and forgive. Some days I’ve felt I’m just going in circles or else I’m stuck but then other days I feel I’m making so much progress. I just never know what I’m going to get.

This past week especially last night I’m waking in the middle of the night and struggle to get back to sleep. Oddly last week I kept dreaming of Cody when it’s usually Andrew I dream of and then last night it was Jesse 😳 I haven’t dreamt of Jesse in a very long time. Jesse was the first guy I ever liked and tried to date him but never actually dated him, just crushed on him a very long time. I guess the dream meant nothing but idk why I feel so tied to the past 😓 I try so hard to stay grounded in the present but I just can’t connect. I feel like I’m a cellphone just trying so hard to get a good strong signal within myself and my relationships with my loved ones.

The abuse changes you and you can let it be good change or bad. You can become cold and hard or you can just take the valuable lessons you’ve gained and apply them to your life. My fear has been I’ll hurt my husband the way I’ve been hurt because I push so hard to connect to him and feel close and intimate with him but it’s hard to feel it. I’m just choosing to believe it’s there even though I don’t feel him. I know I jumped into marriage with him to escape the pain of Andrew. (Which didn’t fix me) I’m aware I used my husband in that sense BUT I also chose to be his wife and I’m trying to be supportive even when I’m angry inside over the past!! I’m angry that my exes wore a mask to make me look stupid. They have to wear one to cover up all the shame and wounds from their childhood and so they treat me like I’m so stupid they can just use and abuse me but don’t realize how real and genuine my love was and that I also was wounded and abandoned. I felt their pain and while my pain from childhood looks much different than theirs, it’s still pain. I was taught growing up to put others before myself. That’s the difference in us.

I tried to take care of Cody’s broken heart but he shoved me away cuz he can’t help it. He truly can not see beyond his barriers and he can’t see my heart. 😭😭😭 I’m sorry cody for all you went through and for how you were treated as a child. I’m sorry for how your dad did you and that you probably didn’t feel enough for him. However, I’m not sorry for the way I tried to love you regardless of ALL your disorders and insecurities. I can’t change you or make you be a real man. You might’ve never saw an example of a real man growing up, idk what you saw. I only know what you told me and I’m sure some of it was lies.

I loved both Cody and Andrew very much. They played on my heart strings and touched parts of my heart NO one had before. I don’t hate them and I DO want to forgive them and let them be. I feel bad for always talking about them or thinking about them. It’s not negative thoughts so much, it’s just trying to understand and process my feelings for them. Cuz I did love them and knowing they can only hurt me, that sucks. I don’t wanna hurt them back and I do want them to be ok. I hear Andrew’s words in my head, “if I’m hurting you so much, then stop caring about me” 😭😭😭😭 it doesn’t work like that drew!!!!!! You don’t get to tell me if I can feel for you or not. Joke is on you!!! I love you stilll and want you to be a better man. I worry about your soul. That’s my love. I worry about souls who have been in my story.

the fact you are in my story at all, means a great deal to me. Good or bad. You just don’t understand it. Cody and Andrew, you can’t be something you’re not. I accept that. I’m not trying to change “you.” Just be the best you possible, whatever that is and let your soul be made right and well ❤️‍🩹 you’ll never want the same for me but I want it for me. I AM NOT GIVING UP EVEN THOUGH I’M TIRED 🙏🏻

[marcmymistakes]

I use to journal a lot when I was younger and it helped so here I am.. trying to sort things out in words. The past few weeks have broken me, broken me like I’ve been broken before but never wanted to feel ever again. I decided to make a change for what I thought was the way forward to a good future. One where me and Chelsea had all the right tools to make our lives work forever. We had been through so much that I thought it wouldn’t break us, I thought out love would handle anything.. and it probably could have but what happened after took it all away. Idk where to really begin but this is for my own mind so I’m gonna word vomit cuz who fucking cares. I’m in pain, not that uncomfortable can’t figure out why kinda pain but that gut wrenching loss kinda pain where you can’t think, every thought is filled with a multitude of panic and anxiety, the worst thoughts fill my head and I am acting crazy. I never wanted to open myself up to feeling anything like this again after last time but when I met her it wasn’t a question, I was gonna open that door no matter what. After 3 and a half years, here I am, feeling like this again. I carried every emotional burden that came along with both of us, it broke me, I lost myself in her. I failed. I failed again and I don’t know why I let it get here. How could this all happen.. how did I get so off track? I made a lot of mistakes along the way but I always faced them with her and worked on being better. When we went through the roughest times I made sure we talked about it, I made sure to apologize first, she’s the most stubborn woman I know and she always needed me to do it first, and I would do it every time because not getting past it with her was never an option in my mind, she was who I wanted to work on everything with, she still is. I got to a point that I felt like I was drowning inside, not because taking everything on that we had to face was too much but because I let go of myself and didn’t keep track of what made me feel strong enough to do it. I had nothing that was mine, that I drew my strength from, nothing that I had achieved on my own to give me confidence in myself. I needed to leave to work on that, to keep my focus, around her I couldn’t focus. I left and it crushed her, she was always afraid that I was going to leave, and even though I was doing it to make things better for us, it didn’t matter. She was hurt and I couldn’t take it back, I didn’t want to because I was focused on the goal of being the best I could so that I could be the man she truly wanted, the man I was when we met. I spent a lot of the time trying not to cry, trying to hold it all together so I could make it through each day and function. She didn’t like that, she made me open up, it fucked me up, I cried and cried and cried and couldn’t work. I got complaints from clients, I messed up a lot, I couldn’t function. Work was all I had and I hated that job but I needed to stay afloat. I needed the money. After moving out I had nightmares, I couldn’t sleep well and I would find myself reaching for her in the middle of the night. I missed her but I needed to be strong. I needed to find that man I was or everything meant nothing. After nights of being sad, feeling horrible, I decided to keep going out and try to find moments of happiness, to find something that felt normal to me or at least what use to be normal to my schedule. Going around Deland here and there felt weird. It was the same town, the same faces, the same bullshit, but without her being around. I would talk to people and tell them about what was going on and they would all tell me that it’s all gonna work out, that I was doing the right thing trying to be better. So I kept doing it. And then I went too far, I only know now because of hearing it later but I got drunk and made out with someone that I didn’t know. It doesn’t matter really whether or not I defend myself on how it came to be, the fact that it happened is all that matters. It hurt Chelsea to find out, it embarrassed me to find out too. Now she doesn’t want anything to do with me.

[camellia-ep]

Sorry for the lack of content lately… my bff blocked me, the reason I use this site is petrorabbit

But now I’m trying to use it on my own to meet trans people, invite them to my gay discord FRUITY RUMPUS ASSHOLE FACTORY

And finish my coming out essay, 2022 Overture at strawberrryjukebox.wordpress.com

And start my band, THE GAY AGENDA

Bc I’m out as trans, genderfluid, & PLURAL

…

Elliot/Ramona, the struggling actress

Ellie, the shy shapeshifting artist

Elle, the producer on poppers

Zarael/Eloise, the dnd oc/teacher

April May/Paprika, the manic pixie dream girl

Violet, the rambling author

Camellia/Mel/Esmé, the Bitch of a Mother

Joliet T. Rider Waites, the drag king

Karkat Vantas, the hater

Feferi Peixes, the mermaid empress

Penny/Penumbra, the mommy domme

Eliana/Regina, the singer & trickster kitsune

…

I have 13 alters, bc my life is…

A Series of Unfortunate Events

Literally… I did a 5 card tarot ritual to kill my dead self, that become 7… then 8… 9… 42… 69…

I’ve been committed 7 times in 3 years trying to come out of the closet & sing David Bowie at the gay bar… bc my mom is COUNT OLAF… UGGH

I drew Elly Pagliacci Anders 1000s of times since 2014. She’s my Elastigirl, my Inque, my Madame Rouge. My sexual awakening was shapeshifters & wanting to be a superhero… MASTERPIECE L.P.

My new DJ name, for my new Twitch strawberry-ep

Bc I’m treating it like a radio station… TRANS FM

Bc my dream is my own place. A podcast studio with a partner to record pillow talk film commentaries with. And a hot tub to stream in like @BloodberryTart

…or a Muppet/Digidestined petplay polycule with 6 girlfriends & a boyfriend to play Smash Bros with every night in a king sized bed

I lost everything trying to become Ellie in 1 year. Bc Bc I became a transwoman researching Elly. Bc Elly shapeshifted into a girl & is ashamed of her dead self. Bc Ellie is a shy shapeshifter who has meltdowns without her partner…

I’ll… get into that another time, but Elly is the love interest in We Could Be Heroes.

My Spider-Man is that fucking Aquarius librarian, and she knows it. And it’s… the Age of Aquarius

And I’m a Pisces Libra Saggitarius, & I’ll share with you my bath ritual to become a goddess soon~

The meaning of life… is green tea, & cuddling, & tripping, & hedonism, & muppets, & guitar solos, & Dirk Gently, & the music of the spheres, & Under Pressure, & Jesus Christ Superstar, & Blue Oyster Cult… & everyone has 42 soulmates…

…the meaning of life…

Because I spent every second since middle school trying to be Douglas Adams, & write The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. And I transitioned into my favorite writer… history’s worst procrastinator…

And I procrastinated being a girl until THIRTY

And I refuse to let that procrastinating cold bitch die alone, I will help her become a writer & a successful librarian with a podcast studio in Queens if it fucking kills me

Because every episode I ever had… was about using trans friends & Patreon to start a Library Economy

So contact me if you want to join my trans discord, which is also my gay agenda for writing… & my coven

The BLUE OYSTER CULT

Because the meaning of life is zodiac, homestuck, & the song ASTRONOMY

“Call me Desdenova, eternal light!”

Because Ellie means light, & the lights flicker when I hold my digimon crest of light & sing

“LET THERE BE ELLIE”

I dreamt about being Kari from Digimon in 10th grade… bc I wanted to be her, & be a chosen one

Because Rin is my Tai… or my TK, & I’m their Kari

P.S. Poppers are literally gay magic bc they make you feel like a slime girl

P.P.S. Literally did witch rituals to become a curvy egirl so idk might start an onlyfans…

[wingsofwater]

hello, could you please draw Sandstorm (the sandwing general from dragonslayer) with spiked punch (1)?

eating rat poison but it doesn’t effect me because i am not a rat [except it did]

[pspspsps request details are in my pinned!]

[ID : a drawing of sandstorm, done in the color palette 'spiked punch', which consists of shades of light pink, pink, magenta, purple, and dark purple. sandstorm is a sandwing who is primarily light pink, with a darker pink underbelly, purple wings and sail, and purple diamond markings along his back. the edges of his wings and sail are dark purple, with pale pink spots. sandstorm is reared back in surprise, talons held up and wings splayed out, eyes wide in terror. he is coughing up a dark purple poisonous substance. the background is dark purple, growing lighter towards the center, with a pale pink splatter pattern behind his head. END ID]

[ID 2 : the same image as above, but the line art has been set to a soft light filter, giving it a smoother appearance. END ID]

[mr-m-murdock]

i have a request! you should do an x reader thing where nat and r are both in the red room and it’s a forbidden love thing obv idk about specific plot lines or scenarios but i feel like that’s something you could write really well. do what you want with that, or dont :) also i’m gonna start using a thing to mark my anon notes cause i keep coming back lmao

- :)

thank you so much for this!

| natasha x reader |

warnings: brainwashing, blood, child abuse, ANGST because come on. y’all know me by now

a/n: I was considering doing an OPF prequel thingy but this can be read as OPF or not, whichever you want. ALSO it's a little messed up. They're all insane. anyway enjoy :)

You all watch the armour-clad soldiers bear the girls in on stretchers. A little blonde one with child-thick fingers, and Natalia. They disappear around a corner, Natalia's knuckles brushing the ground.

Kira rests her head on your shoulder, her fingers still threaded in your hair, the braid half done.

When Natalia returns, they have shorn her blue hair off, down to a fuzz of red across her scalp. She makes no eye contact, her blank stare firmly and stubbornly on the ground.

She assembles rifles with small hands as steady as ever. She always was the best. She dances like no one else, with the grace of hot glass.

They pit you against each other on the hard ground outside, in the snow, the hot sun, the rain barefoot.

Natalia will size you up with one glance. She will see the end of the fight before you've even raised your fists. And when, inevitably, you're flat on your back in the dirt or the snow or a puddle, you'll think of how her eyes dulled when she struck first.

Natalia was always different to the rest. Stronger, faster, meaner, sure. But sometimes you'd hear in the middle of the night, an animated clank of a chain, and you'd look up from the hard pillow, eyes heavy with sleep, and you'd see her sitting up at the head of her bed. Profiled in the dark. Her buzzed-off hair grown out an inch, brushing the tips of her ears.

When Kira's neck snapped in the crook of your arm, and you were thirteen and unnaturally strong, Natalia found your gaze and held it. You didn't cry, and Kira's blood oozed out of her ear to smear across your skin.

They never praised you, but you're sure you saw a cruel gleam of triumph in the eye of the trainer. It didn't matter to you, not with the blank, methodical way your brain operated then.

Something mattered, though.

Natalia was impressed: you could see it as she displayed it plainly on her face. She never had before, and everyone begged to be the one to impress her, to be just as good, to put a knee in her back and hear her tap out. (There was no way they'd let anyone kill Natalia.) But no one ever could.

Until you.

You measured when you lost: every flick of her eyes, every twitch of muscle, the twist in her mouth the instant before the final punch landed. And you weighed these measurements out into ounces and pounds and when you stood across from her for the last time and the trainer ordered her to kill, you did not back down.

Natalia ended up on her stomach in the dust, foaming at the mouth, her hands twisted behind her back. The trainer’s face was blank as ever, as slate, but you were not looking at him. You were looking at Natalia.

And she was laughing. Spitting it out like teeth into the dirt.

From then on, you were never apart: and you never wanted to be. Before long, Natalia’s pistol by your side was like an extra limb, your flashing fists an extension of her body. They sent you to kill a man in an ill-fitting suit - Natalia sat on his lap and drew her hair behind her ear and you thrust a blade through his throat from behind, spattering her with cartilage and blood. She sighed, a puff of calm boredom, as he choked to death in her face.

Now you are thirteen and she is fourteen and the world has plunged into a freezing winter, bitter enough to bite your skin off. Natalia steals privacy in slips of moments, the two of you with your backs to a tree trunk, the two of you playing stupid games in the frozen dirt, the two of you shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee in a shed with the wind whistling through the gaps in the boards. And she grips you by the back of the neck, the fur on her gloves tickling your skin, and she kisses you gently. Then you sit there in shy silence, hands linked.

Now you are eighteen and she is nineteen and there is blood under your fingernails. Always there, no matter the process you go through to clean up. She pushes you into a wall by the neck. “You idiot,” she spits at you. “You weren’t supposed to kill her.”

The woman had been aiming for the crown of Natalia’s skull, a bullet aimed to blast apart bone. “She was going to kill you,” you say. You revel in the feel of her hand around your throat. It’s been so long since you’ve fought her.

Natalia laughs, high and bordering on hysterical. “I am unkillable,” she replies. She pushes away from you. Her eyes are bright.

You reach out, grab her by the collar and pull her in to kiss her, and she comes willingly, her hands grasping at your suit, digging in past the buckles. She grips you so hard you feel the bruises forming. “I know,” you say, when you’ve broken apart, both clawing for air. “I know and I killed her anyway. I’ll kill anyone for you.”

Natalia smiles at you, all her white teeth on display like a wolf pulling back her lips. “Yes,” she says. “You will.”

When you’re done, when objectives have been completed and weapons cleaned and you’re waiting for a plane to land or an unmarked car to draw up outside, Natalia will find a room, closed off to the outside world: a hotel or a hovel, doesn’t matter.

The two of you will clean each other methodically in the shower: you know every part of her, every scar and dip of skin. She is perfection, molded from white marble.

Sometimes, she’ll drag you to a sufficiently large area of floor and drive you to the ground, stripping you and kissing you and touching you without giving either of you the chance to clean up. Blood, yours and hers and someone else’s, mingles on both your skin, dirt, grease, gunshot residue: neither of you care. In these moments, you know only her. It is all you want.

And when she leaves, they take advantage of it. They take your desire for her and the hairline crack in your heart and they twist it to hunger, they wipe your mind clean and they push the muzzle of your pistol to follow her, wherever she goes. You endure this willingly, always willingly. For her, for them, no difference. Except your love for the Red Room is artificial, pumped in through a needle. Your love for Natalia is crimson and volatile and constant.

Somewhere in the deep, blank recesses of your mind, you know she’s better than you. You know she’ll outrun you and outsmart you. You know there will always be a twitch of hesitation in your trigger finger, blasting apart the plaster next to her head instead of the bone between her bright, bright eyes that you know so well.

requests | masterlist

notes: it’s a bit shorter than I wanted it to be and probably than you were hoping for, but I hope you liked it! <3

taglist: @when-wolves-howl @fayhar @maggieromanov @transbi-spidey @romanoffscottage @blackxwidowsxwife @lizlil @screechcat @maddess @mellxa @haeva @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @vicmc624 @strangegardentaco @phantomvael @lorsstar1st @rysnwilder @ima-gi–na-tion @paryl @picnicmic  @smallestavenger @lainjupi @d1s0nym @simpforflorencepugh1 @the-v01d @kqmui @s1ut4nat @btay3115  @natblackwidow2 @lokisjuicyass @mmmmokdok @thorya22