#like hell am I staying anywhere with you having access to my shit

[carriedreamerxx]

Ahhh apartment hunting.

My favorite way to pass an afternoon

Well at least my books and art supplies and all the small shit that was in my bookshelves are still packed cause like I had any time to unpack em after the latest shit show.

Time to research.

[pepprs]

genuinely so angry and scared im shaking. how many other times this week this month this year have i been exposed without knowing it. do people even tell each other anymore. it’s just so grim. it’s so fucking grim

[autumnshighlady]

I’ve Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 15)

NESTA ARCHERON X ERIS VANSERRA X FEMALE!READER

summary: Azriel has a tough decision to make

warnings: Night Court slander, semi graphic torture, Rhysand is horrible, the usual

word count: 5.8k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: oh my god i am so so so sorry this took so long! life has been insane lately i havent had the energy to write. Anywho, this chapter is just the start of something super big so buckle up and look for hints hehe alsO PLEASE GIVE FEEDBACK ON THIS CHAPTER IM BEGGING

feedback is appreciated, just no hate pls! these are just my opinions, i’m more curious to see how you all like the writing and characterization and storylines!

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7 // part 8 // part 9 // part 10 // part 11

read on ao3

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AZRIEL POV

Azriel couldn’t help but flinch at the sight of your limp body, arms strung up like you were a piece of meat dangling from the chains. He had thought himself to be good at shutting off his emotions when it came to his line of work, but this felt different. Wrong, even. It confused him – not once had he ever hesitated, ever even considered disobeying his High Lord’s orders down in these dungeons.

Your hair was matted and lifeless around your face, the weak rise and fall of your chest being the only indication that you were even still alive. The beautiful gown that adorned your body at the ball was now tattered and dirty, barely clinging onto your skin in some places. Azriel gulped as he stared at your unconscious form, wiped out from Rhysand’s attempts to penetrate your mind.

Evidently, the High Lord was beyond frustrated, his brow furrowed and sweaty from the efforts. “I’ve never seen this,” He muttered, running a hand through his dark hair. “Not once. I’ve always been able to get inside people’s heads. Why not hers?”

“I don’t know.” Azriel responded. He felt his shadows curl around his scarred fingers. Normally they did so to encourage him to get the job done, but this time felt different. It was as if they wanted him not to end your life, but to reach out and free you from the shackles. But he ignored them.

Rhys slumped against the wall, panting slightly. “I need answers, Az.” He snapped, voice sharp. “How is this girl able to withstand my magic? And how the hell did she access some ancient spell that allowed this bond to form with Nesta? I would prefer to know before I end things, so whatever shit she may have put in motion can be stopped.”

Azriel stiffened. “End things?

The High Lord sighed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Come on, Azriel. You know this is how it has to end. She spent months plotting against our court, and possesses some form of magic within her bond with Nesta. She’s a threat and you know it. And threats like that must be eliminated.”

He spoke with that authoritative voice that Azriel had seen bring so many others to their knees in obedience. He felt it tug at his bones, the instinct to obey his High Lord. Azriel had always considered himself loyal, never needing that extra kick to submit to his superior. Until now. “I disagree.” Azriel said sternly. “(Y/N) has lied, yes. But she has shown no signs of intending to inflict harm upon this court. All she wanted was to get out, and she knew we wouldn’t let her.”

“I don’t recall you being this blind, brother.” Rhysand’s voice was low as his violet eyes sternly stared down his spymaster. “Did she flash you her tits during training sessions? Is that why you’ve suddenly gone soft?”

“No. I think we pushed her too hard, too fast into this job she did not want. She had already lost everything in the Spring Court, and when Lucien brought her here she immediately became a prisoner. Did you expect her to bow at your feet and be eternally grateful for letting her stay here? We should have given her a reason to want to become a part of this court, not force her into it within a span of months.”

Rhysand let out a growl, and Azriel knew he was pushing his limits. “Careful, Az.” He said. But Azriel ignored him.

“Can you blame her for resenting us?” The shadowsinger continued, against his better judgement. “Our High Lady destroyed her court, and when Lucien brought her here she was forced to live indebted to the female who allowed her home to be ruined.”

There was a low rumble within the cell as Rhysand’s dark mist began to creep out from behind him. “Choose your next words wisely, Azriel. Or I’ll begin to think you’ve helped her.”

“I didn’t, and you know it. But your protectiveness for your mate is clouding your judgement as a leader, Rhysand. This girl does not deserve to die for what she has done.”

Before he could breathe another word, a sharp pain cut through his throat as Rhys’ dark power wrapped around it, cutting off his air. Shock flooded through him, hazel eyes bulging as the violet eyed male snarled at him. He didn’t try to fight back. Not once had his brother gone this far – sure, they had their fair share of nasty fights, but never like this. No matter how angry they had gotten with each other, neither had ever threatened the life of the other. Until now.

“That is not your call to make, spymaster.” Rhysand snarled furiously. “I am your High Lord before anything else, and you are sworn to me. My word is law, not yours. You will go and search for more insight into this bond between her and Nesta. Whether you find anything on it or not, (Y/N) will die by your hand at dawn tomorrow. You will not protest, and you will not breathe a word about this to anyone. If I sense even for a second that you will disobey me, I will throw you in a cell beside this scheming whore. Am I understood?”

Azriel nodded as best he could, body still frozen in shock. After a moment, Rhysand’s tendrils finally retreated, leaving the spymaster gasping for air. Despite working alongside him, being the executioner to his master for over 500 years, Azriel had never known what it was to be like on the receiving end of his High Lord’s pure fury until now. He glanced over at your strung-up figure, guilt churning in his gut. You had endured this torture for days, a torture Azriel only received a glimpse of.

As the spymaster inhaled deeply kneeling on the cold floor, his shadows whispered to him. He knew deep down that he had a choice to make, one like never before. 500 years of loyalty to Rhysand was being put to the test, something Azriel never thought would happen. Another glance at how intensely Rhys was staring at your imprisoned, starved form was all he needed to winnow away.

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

Azriel’s throat still burned from the pressing of Rhys’ dark mist. He kept his demeanour calm as he approached the doors to the library at the House of Wind, even though his stomach was in a thousand knots. He knew what he was about to do was treason at the highest order, and the second Rhys found out he would be flayed alive. The clenching and unclenching of his scarred fingers was the only indication of his disturbance as the spymaster was met with Clotho. Her pale robes shone in the blue light of the library as she approached him.

Shadowsinger, Her elegant writing appeared on the paper in lieu of her voice. What can I do for you?

“I need to see Gwyneth.” Azriel said, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice to not alarm the priestess.

Gwyn is occupied right now. May I take a message?

He gulped nervously. “I’m really sorry, Clotho. But I need her right now.”

That will not be possible. I suggest you return at another time, Azriel.

“Please.” Azriel hated begging, and hated pushing the priestess even more. But before Clotho could script a reply, a gentle voice sounded from behind the shelves a few metres away.

“Azriel?” Gwyn’s red hair appeared, streaming down her flowing robes as she carried an alarming amount of books. “What are you doing here?”

“Gwyn, I need to speak with you in private. Right now.” He pleaded, hoping Clotho wouldn’t shoo him away.

Gwyn’s teal eyes were puzzled, but she nodded. “It’s alright Clotho.” The priestess merely nodded beneath her hood before turning and disappearing back into the stacks.

Azriel breathed a sigh of relief as Gwyn put down the books. She walked towards one of the offices, and he followed her in silence. The room was tense as she closed the door behind him.

She crossed her arms, which made him halt. Normally his interactions with Gwyn were pleasant, leaving his shadows singing happily afterwards. But the way she was staring at him with a hardened glare made him want to shrink back.

“Where is (Y/N)?” Gwyn said sharply.

Azriel took a deep breath, unsure of how to approach this. He didn’t know what version of that night at the Hewn City had reached the ears of the priestesses. “Gwyn–”

“Don’t bullshit me for one second, Azriel.” The redhead was unyielding, but he could see the anxiousness within her as her throat bobbed with every word. “Nesta left for Autumn with Eris, but (Y/N) never returned from the Hewn City that night. What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything–” He started, but Gwyn cut him off abruptly.

“I said don’t bullshit me, you fucking liar!” Her voice rose, long fingers clenching and trembling with anger. It was enough to make Azriel take a step back, shocked at the fire within her. “I heard you grabbed her and whisked her away that night. What the hell did you do to my friend?”

Azriel leaned against the desk, wiping his face with his hand. His heart cracked a bit, knowing that trust and companionship he had built with Gwyn while training had come crashing down. He hated himself for it, for being so blind in following orders that led him to this place. His loyalty to Rhysand came at a price, one he had always been willing to pay until now. “I’m sorry.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I was following orders.”

“What is wrong with you?” Gwyn hissed, her words cutting him sharper than Rhysand’s magic had. “You took away her one chance of leaving this gods damned court peacefully. You took away her freedom out of stupid, blind loyalty.”

“How did you know what happened that night?”

She snorted. “You and your little circle like to treat us priestesses like we’re these fragile little flowers living in our own little shelter, oblivious to the outside world. But people talk, and word reaches us. We aren’t as ignorant to the court as you think we are.”

“I never said that you were.”

“You basically just did.”

Shame washed over Azriel. He knew she was right, that he was a prick in assuming the priestesses remained clueless to what was happening in the court right now. And that’s why Clotho had been hesitant to let him into the library. “I never meant for any of this to happen.” He muttered, closing his eyes.

“Well, it did. Now tell me where my friend is, and why you’re here.”

Azriel took a breath, preparing to utter the words that would make this decision the point of no return. “I need everything you have on the bond between (Y/N) and Nesta.”

A flicker of worry crossed Gwyn’s teal eyes. “I don’t know anything–”

“Yes, you do.” Azriel interrupted her calmly. “My guess is you knew about their plan as well. Otherwise you’d be a lot more freaked out by Nesta marrying Eris.”

As panic began to set into the priestess’ face, Azriel softened his voice. “It’s ok, I’m not going to tell anyone. It makes sense that any information that Nesta and (Y/N) got on the bond was through you and your work. You are not in trouble, and nobody will hear from me that you helped them. I just need every scrap of information you were able to get your hands on regarding whatever magic they used.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So you can give it to your master like a good dog playing fetch? Not gonna happen. He’ll use it to hurt both of them. I don’t care that he’s the High Lord, I won’t let him do that.”

Azriel stood up and took a step towards Gwyn. She didn’t shrink back, but rather lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “Gwyn,” He began. “That’s not what this is. I’m not retrieving this information for Rhysand.”

The priestess blinked once, as if considering the gravity of his words. He wished he could spill the truth and tell Gwyn what he planned to do, but just uttering those words directly to her would put her at risk. “Then who are you retrieving it for?”

“Look, I am not trying to hide anything from you. But I told you… if you knew the truth, I would be putting you at risk for selfish reasons. And after all I have done, that is something I cannot live with. You just have to trust me when I say that it is for the right reason.”

“After hearing about how you so quickly stole (Y/N) away, I’m not sure if we have the same definition of the right reason, Azriel.” Gwyn’s voice was bitter, but there was a sadness to it that made the guilt churning inside of him threaten to spill over.

“I understand.” He said quietly. “And you have no reason to trust me right now. But please… if you’ve ever had any faith in me at all…just….just know that I’m doing this for (Y/N). And Nesta. If you believe anything I say, believe that.”

Silence overtook the room, the shadowsinger and the priestess standing mere inches from each other. After a long few minutes Gwyn muttered a ‘stay here’ before quickly fleeing the office.

She returned 15 minutes later with a few sheets of parchment paper and several books. They were placed upon the dusty table, and Gwyn took a deep breath. “This is everything I have on the subject,” She said shakily. “It’s not much, but it’s every document that could possibly give anything away about the bond between them.”

Without thinking, Azriel dropped to his knees in relief, bowing his head. “Thank you, Gwyn. Thank you.” His entire body was on the verge of shaking as the weight of what he was about to do began to truly set in. Everything he had known and defended was about to be put on the line.

“Promise me this, Azriel.” Gwyn spoke coldly. “Promise that this information gets into the right hands, not the wrong ones. You do whatever it takes to help my girls. After everything you and your family have done to them, you owe them that much. And more.”

“I swear it.” Azriel said solemnly, still looking at the ground. In a flash, he felt a cold blade pressing against his jaw, tilting his head upwards to gaze at the priestess. She looked like a goddess of justice, staring down at him with icy eyes.

“And I swear this to you,” Gwyn said coldly, a silver dagger in hand. “If you screw this up and they pay the price for it, no power in the world will stop me from hurting you. I don’t care that you trained me, or that you saved me on that day Hybern came. I will cut your throat if anything happens to Nesta or (Y/N) because of you. Understood?”

Azriel was enthralled at her strength. This was not the shy, nervous priestess that he had rescued from Hybern’s soldiers. Gwyn’s bravery had excelled since the second she stepped into the ring, and Azriel had marvelled at her progress during training, how comfortable she became with the outside world. Stupidly, he had credited that to his and Cassian’s training, thinking that it was what Gwyn, Nesta and the others had needed to heal like he and Cassian had. No, this strength had nothing to do with what he taught her. Behind her stern expression, Azriel knew that deep down this strength had come from the friendship formed with you, Nesta, and Emerie. He had been a fool to see it as anything other than that.

“I’m proud of you, Gwyn.” Azriel said softly before his brain could shut him up.

Despite the flicker of surprise across her face, she did not yield. “I do not need your validation. I need you to do the right thing and help my friends. Only after that will your statement be worth anything to me.”

Gwyn removed the blade from the spymaster’s throat and turned on her heel. Like a ghost in the wind, she was gone. Azriel’s chest was tight as he stood up, collecting the documents in his arms and praying that this possibly very stupid decision would be worth it. But after seeing the anger on Gwyn’s face, the hurt he had caused without even realising it…. Azriel knew exactly what he needed to do as he winnowed away.

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

The door in front of Azriel opened before he could raise a hand to knock, revealing the redhead male with a golden eye wide with surprise.

“Azriel?” Lucien said in shock. “What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.” Was all he said in response before pushing his way past Lucien into the manor.

“By all means, come in.” The male muttered sarcastically.  But Azriel paid it no mind as he scanned the large living room for any sign of Jurian and Vassa.

“I’m alone.” Lucien quipped, settling down on the large brown armchair by the fireplace. “Since that’s what you were trying to figure out. I’m surprised you came by before (Y/N). I thought she’d have visited already, but I guess she’s been enjoying Velaris too much to be slumming it down in the human lands. When you see her next, thank her for the scarf for me, will you?”

Azriel’s heart dropped, head whipping sharply towards Azriel. “What?” He didn’t even bother keeping the surprise out of his voice.

Lucien frowned. “The scarf she gave me for the solstice? Rhys delivered it a day or so after, said she was busy on a new mission and asked him to drop it off for her.”

“Rhys was here?” Dread pooled in Azriel’s stomach. His High Lord was ensuring your disappearance would be quiet, giving him time to create a cover story before eliminating you.

“Yes… Why do you look so concerned? What aren’t you telling me?”

Azriel put his head in his hands, cursing. “You have no idea what’s been going on, have you?”

Lucien was still as a statue as he spoke. “I haven’t heard from (Y/N) since I got to the manor. When Rhysand visited, he said she had picked out a scarf for me as a present, and that she was sorry she hadn’t visited, but that she was loving her life in Velaris. And that she was training under you to work for the Night Court as a spy.”

Any desire to be secretive flew out the window as Azriel explained everything to the Autumn male – how you were not freely living in Velaris, but locked away with Nesta in the House of Wind. Your time spent back at the Spring Court to spy on your own people. Nesta’s engagement to Eris as a cover to escape the Night Court. Lucien was usually a collected male in Azriel’s eyes, but he could see the disbelief and anger in his expression as he told him the truth. When he was done, Lucien leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, speaking in a low voice. “So you’re telling me that you locked away my best friend, and everything I’ve heard about her for these past few months has been a lie.” Lucien said. “Is that correct?”

“Yes.” Azriel said quietly. “And now I’m trying to fix it–”

“Fucking hell!” Lucien exclaimed sharply, standing up abruptly and pacing back and forth. “Your court is a fucking shitshow, you know that? How the fuck can you let this happen, Azriel? You’re so far up Rhysand’s ass you didn’t see any of this coming?”

“I understand you’re angry–”

“Oh angry doesn’t even begin to describe it,” Lucien hissed, his red hair gleaming in the light of the fire. “You played right into Rhys’ hands, and now (Y/N) is being tortured in a cell somewhere because you let it happen instead of growing a fucking spine. And that doesn’t even begin to touch on the fact that Nesta was treated so horribly by you people she was willing to marry ERIS out of all people just to get away from it.”

Azriel had no defence. Defeated, he hung his head. Lucien was right about everything, and it was made worse by the fact Rhysand lied about your status to him knowing that the Autumn male was the only one likely to try and do something to stick up for you.

“Now what I can’t figure out is why you’re telling me this.” Lucien folded his arms, glaring at the spymaster. “You’re either betraying Rhysand and trying to fix this mess, which is brave but incredibly stupid. Or you’ve come here to see if I somehow had anything to do with all this so you can hang me up in a cell next to (Y/N). Which is it, shadowsinger?”

”I need your help.” Azriel admitted, meeting his harsh gaze. “I’m trying to turn this around, but I need to track down Eris. You’re my only shot.”

Lucien let out a harsh, heartless laugh. “I figured. You need my help. If you thought I wasn’t going to be any use to you, I wonder if you’d have even come here and told me the truth. Or would you have just let me live on believing this lie until word got around about (Y/N) meeting her tragic end on some mission.”

Mentally, Azriel was exhausted. Two redheads ripping him a new one was beginning to chip away at him more than he was already crumbling at the weight of his decision. Like Gwyn, Lucien was right. While he respected the male, Azriel doubted he’d have even considered coming just to tell Lucien the truth about what happened if he didn’t think Lucien could help. And his moment of silence told Lucien all he needed to know, for he scoffed again. “Of course not,” He continued. “You people just love exploiting those of us without any other options and then throwing us away like garbage when we’re no longer of any use to you.”

“Then help me make this right.” Azriel pleaded. “Tell me how to get to Eris, discreetly.”

“Can’t you just free her yourself and take her to safety?”

“No, there are ancient wards in that prison. I can pass through quickly and easily, but not so much with another person. Rhys would find us within seconds if she left that cell, and kill us both.”

“Then how do you propose we get her out?”

Azriel frowned. “I’m sorry, we?”

Lucien rolled his eyes, taking a hearty swig from his glass of wine beside him. “I’m going to help you get her out.”

Azriel shook his head, not liking how many people were involved in this already. “I can’t let you.”

“Bullshit. You don’t get to tell me what to do. Not after everything you’ve done to create this mess. I’ll take you to Eris, and besides, I think I know something that can help us.”

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

The crisp scents of Autumn flooded Azriel’s senses as he paced the clearing. His mind whirled from his talk with Lucien, even more so at the male’s idea that they had discussed. Lucien had winnowed him here and told him to wait while he discreetly fetched Eris. It was a huge gamble – while you and Nesta had been willing to trust Eris, Azriel was not so keen. His dealings with the prince had always been tense at best, and vicious at worst. He knew he’d have to swallow his pride and put their history aside for this, however hard it may be.

Frankly, Azriel had no idea where in the Autumn Court he was. His shadows sensed nothing, no indication of where they were on the map. It briefly crossed his mind that Lucien could very well have led him into a trap as payback, but deep down Azriel knew Lucien wasn’t that type of male. However angry he might be at Azriel, he would prioritise getting you back. The clearing was massive, which made him feel far too exposed for his liking. There was a thicket of trees in the distance that he considered hiding in, but he owed it to Lucien to do as he was instructed and wait here.

It felt like hours before a strong gust of wind blew his tousled locks out of his forehead, and the presence of something Azriel could only describe as sheer power slammed into him like a wall. A thunderous roar sounded from the skies, unlike anything the shadowsinger had ever heard before. But nothing could have prepared him for the sight before him.

Three large dragons were flying ahead, circling above the clearing. Their wings were like claps of thunder, nearly sending him backwards onto the ground. Upon the back of the large black one was the unmistakable, arrogant figure of Eris Vanserra. He held onto the spikes going down the dragon’s neck as it soared above Azriel, roaring with the ferocity of an ancient battlecry. Azriel’s jaw nearly hit the ground as he spotted none other than Nesta Archeron, riding the elegant silver dragon with her hair blowing in the wind. Her eyes were a lethal glowing silver, resembling the scales of the very beast she was mounted on.

“Mother above…” Azriel whispered, flinching as he felt the ground shake beneath him. He turned around slowly, and was met with the third dragon, a riderless one with gold scales and large horns. It snaked towards him, growling fiercely. For a moment, Azriel thought the beast would open its jaws and roast him alive, but the creature paused, growling as it glanced behind the shadowsinger.

“I must say, you are the last person I expected to come here.” Came Eris’ cocky voice. Azriel turned back around, slightly nervous at the golden dragon breathing down his neck, and was faced with the other two. Ignoring Eris, his gaze landed upon Nesta.

She was perched upon the dragon like it was a horse, or even a throne, chin high like a queen from ancient times. Azriel’s breath left his body at the sight of Nesta with her hair unbound, trailing freely down her back and shining against her blood red dress. Whichever way her gaze shifted, the dragon’s did so too. It was like watching Nesta in a mirror, only her reflection was a dragon. It unnerved Azriel, and he was well aware of his vulnerability in this situation. Not only was he in enemy court, unauthorised at that matter, but three beasts he thought only existed in stories stood beside him, in the flesh.

“Lucien said you wanted to meet.” Eris said coldly. “You have ten seconds to convince us that it’s worth our time.”

“(Y/N) will die at sunrise tomorrow if we do not do something.” Azriel blurted out clumsily.

There was a moment of silence, and Eris looked towards Nesta. Her gaze was fixed on Azriel, and he squirmed underneath it. Her silver mount growled fiercely, as if it was sharing its riders' rage.

“Are we supposed to believe that you’ve suddenly had a change of heart and care about her?”

Azriel gritted his teeth. “I’ve always cared.”

Eris snorted. “No, not truly. If you had, then we wouldn’t be having this meeting. Because you’d have done something by now and grown a spine.”

“Your brother said the same thing.” The spymaster growled, already irked by having to negotiate with the Autumn prince. “I don’t need more reminding that I’ve fucked up, Eris. I just want to save her life, and I can’t do that on my own.”

“And it’s taken you this long to come to this realisation because…” Eris raised an eyebrow, amber gaze merciless. His dragon snarled, baring its teeth menacingly.

“I didn’t know Rhys would take things this far. I thought he’d want to find out everything about the bond before he made a decision on what to do with her. But he doesn’t want to wait, he wants her gone by tomorrow.”

“I assume he ordered you to do the deed?”

Azriel nodded, throat tight. “Yes. He ordered me to collect all information on the magic they used to create the bond before I…. before I kill her. Regardless of whether I came up with anything, he wants her eliminated by sunrise.”

This was probably the stupidest, craziest decision Azriel had ever made. Part of it felt wrong, betraying his found family after 500 years of peace. But when he reflected on those centuries, had he truly been happy? Had he truly felt like he was living a fulfilled life, content with what he was doing? A few weeks ago, Azriel would have been sure of his answer. Now he wasn’t, and that unsettled him.

Regardless, reached into his bag and pulled out the books Gwyn gave him. He took a breath and continued. “Which is why I brought every document the Night Court has on this magic to you. So Rhys wouldn’t get his hands on it.”

“You went to Gwyn?” Nesta burst out, rage dripping from her tongue.

“Yes.” Azriel admitted his guilt for putting Gwyn in this precarious position intensifying.

“You put her in danger by doing that!” The eldest Archeron hissed at him, her dragon responding in a similar tone. “If anything happens to her because of it, I will slaughter you, Azriel.”

He let out a dry laugh. “Gwyn said the same thing to me about you and (Y/N). I swore no matter what happened, nobody would find out I got this through her. She even put a knife to my throat.”

Eris spoke up again. “As much as I would truly love to believe you, if I recall correctly you were perfectly content sending (Y/N) to certain death weeks ago on an impossible mission under Rhysand’s orders.”

“I was trying to find a way out of it for her!” Azriel yelled, patience snapping. “A way for her to quietly flee and go build a life for herself far away from all this shit. I never told her because I didn’t want to scare her, or get her hopes up. I had the chance to explain this to her before…”

His voice trailed off, memories of seeing you strung up like an animal flashing through his mind. Azriel was no stranger to self hatred, but today it was striking him now more than ever.

Nesta’s lethal tone interrupted his thoughts. “Before what?” She demanded.

Azriel gulped, praying that the dragons wouldn’t make him their meal. “Before Rhysand interrupted and… took over.”

“Meaning?” Eris inquired, his dragon inching ever so slightly closer to the Illyrian.

“Meaning he thought I was being too soft, since I gave her water. He stopped the physical torture and spent hours trying to get inside her head until she passed out.”

“And he didn’t manage to do it?” Eris’ voice was laced with surprise, something uncharacteristic for the Autumn prince who always seemed to be two steps ahead of everyone.

“No.”

Eris and Nesta glanced at each other, unreadable expressions crossing their faces. Their dragons continued to stare down Azriel, awaiting whatever command would give them permission to incinerate him where he stood. He had a million questions for them – how the fuck did Eris have dragons? What did Beron say about all of this? Did they still plan on taking him out? But Azriel knew better than to ask them.

Nesta swung her legs to the side and crawled down the dragon’s side. To Azriel’s awe, the beast lowered its shoulder to the ground to make it easier for the female to climb off. Gracefully, Nesta’s feet met the ground and she patted the dragon’s neck. He remained frozen in his place as she stalked towards him. Like Gwyn, there was a new strength to her. This was not the half-starved Nesta who first came to the House of Wind. No, this was the female that stole from the Cauldron itself, whose name was whispered across the moors and valleys of Prythian, associated with pure death and power. Nesta’s steps were sure, silver fire expertly curling around her fingertips like Azriel’s own shadows as she stalked towards him like a lioness seizing up its prey.

“My war is not directly with you, Azriel,” Nesta said slowly. “But make no mistake. You are not innocent here. You may not have inflicted the most damage, but you willingly stood by and let your family tear me and (Y/N) down until they got pure submission. You let Cassian mock and belittle me at my lowest. You forced (Y/M)  into a job she did not want to do. You let Cassian force me to train as a warrior when that’s not at all what I wanted or needed. You didn’t do a damn thing to advocate for either of us because you’re so blinded by the sheltered little tower your circle has built over the last 500 years, ignorant to the pain you inflict on anyone who’s not a part of your family. You coming here on your own volition is the only thing in my eyes that could possibly redeem you. You will help us get (Y/N) back at all costs, or you will suffer at my hand more than you have ever suffered before.”

Being threatened for the third time that day, all Azriel could do was bow his head. “I understand.” He said.

“No, I don’t think you do.” Nesta hissed. “For your sake, let’s hope your change of heart isn’t too late.”

Azriel hadn’t even noticed Eris had climbed off his dragon and was walking towards Nesta. He stood beside her, gently resting a hand on her waist. Azriel tensed, half expecting Nesta to slap him away, but she did not. To his surprise, she looked comfortable with Eris. More so than she ever had been with Cassain. When Cassian touched Nesta, there was always some sexual suggestion beneath it. But not with Eris. Eris’ touch was comfort more than ownership, something Azriel did not expect.

In his heart, he realised Cassian and Nesta were not right for each other. It made no sense for them to be mates, and whatever they had going on was purely surface level sexual tension. There was nothing deep about it, no greater understanding of each other. Nesta and Eris seemed like a much more reasonable match, mirroring each other like they did with their dragons. As much as Azriel hated the male, and knew that these thoughts would crush Cassian’s heart, it reassured him that he had made the right choice.

“So, spymaster,” Eris piped up, cocking his head. “How are we doing to do this?”

And so Azriel began explaining.

taglist (comment if you want to be added): @queercontrarian @kitkat-writes-stuff @moonfawnx @sevikas-whore @weird-and-wise @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @kingshitonly @ladyofcherries @eerievixen @readingwritingwatching @peacecoffeeandflowers @a-frog-with-a-laptop @shadowqueen25 @lana08 @highladyofillyria @rachelnicolee @ladespedidas @little-darlingo @manonblackbeakquidditchteam13 @demirunner @terorovaerangi @hauntedandhopeful  @younxii @microwaveallthedemons @fanfictioniseverything @lovra974 @maddietheshoe @peaceandcrackers @emy1-9 @lostinfantasyworldsbi @issybee0611 @thoughtfulshepherdmongerkid @belledawnidk @whhyyynottt @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @littlebbb @piceous21 @sevendeadlyshins-blog @searchingford  @marigold-morelli @thesapphiclibrarian @

[severussnapeconfessions]

I need a chaotic scenario where Severus and 7th year reader are locked in the chamber of secrets and 7th year reader just starts sharing awkward , emotional , and drama filled secrets with him . She also sings muggle songs to kill time and all of it just gets snapes nerves to the point where he just tells them to shut the fuck up and that he isn't a therapist . But then 7th year reader is like "well based on how you act , you definitely have secrets too". Then Severus just trauma dumps and then reader pulls out a random notebook and he's like what the hell are you doing and she tells him she is "helping him resolve and his reorganize his thoughts" but she writing a biography on him and he does not find out till her book is published . Teehee it's so chaotic .

My imagination is running thin, you have all worn me out today. I've never had so much interaction. Let's try.

Shit this is awfully long. I apologize.

It was a Hogsmeade day (yes, again) meaning that most of the students were blissfully out of the castle, which gave Severus plenty of time to wander. Most of his 5th year house mates were out, and Severus heard a particular conversation in the common room that spiked his interest.

"Did you know we have a secret room at Hogwarts?" one of the Slytherin boys said.

"Yeah it's the room of requirement. You have to-" - a girl said, but was interrupted.

"Not that one, everyone knows about that room" the boy said. "It's totally secret no one knows where it is. It's Salazar Slytherins' secret chamber. Merlin knows what he is hiding in there."

"My grandmother told me there was a creature inside. She told me that only the true heir of Slytherin would be able to open the Chamber, and use the creature to kill mudbloods. To purge the school of filth." - you said, joining the conversation.

"That's barbaric" the first boy added. "And I'd appreciate if you didn't use those words."

Severus interest peaked, and he needed to find that room. When the rest of the group scattered around, he approached you. You looked older than he was.

"Hello." he said awkwardly "I heard the conversation you were having over there. Do you know where the chamber is?"

"Hey you. No, the only thing I know is that the access is through one of the bathrooms. My grandmother never got into details."

"Can't you ask her?" he sounded wishful

"She's dead." you said dryly.

"Oh. Sorry. Well..." awkwardly he continued "I'm going to check on the bathrooms. Do you want to come with me?"

"I have an idea where it could be, but we have to be careful not to be caught." you smirked and elbowed him, leaving his side and motioning him to follow.

"Here. I think it is this one. The only question is, how do we open the door? And where the hell is the door?" - you sighed

"Only the heir of Slytherin could open the door. Does it need blood?" Severus asked

"It could be. Any idea where to smear the blood?" you asked.

"No, but neither of us are heirs of Slytherin." Severus pointed

"No, but it is worth a try. I am pure-blooded, who knows?" you said, pulling out your wand from your robes and dabbing at your palm to cut it just enough to have droplets of blood.

"Great, now smear the blood anywhere you can. We have no idea where the entrance is... try the toilets." Severus said

"I am absolutely not going to rub an open wound on a toilet."

"Fine, try... the faucets. It's right in the middle, looks as impossible as any other option here." Severus said, sounding defeated.

You complied, and rubbed your palm over the faucets. A loud churning sound of pipes and stone began to fill the room, and what felt like an earthquake followed.

"Bloody hell you're actually the heir!" - Severus was gobsmacked and tried to stay steady, grabbing her robes and pulling her backwards, away from the opening that was forming.

"I didn't know that either!" you said, truthfully, staring between the faucets and your hand.

When the motion stopped, you approached the opening. It looked like a well.

"I'll go first, if I don't get back, take my Potions book and give it to Lily Evans please." Severus said, putting his wand between his teeth, grabbing the handle nearby the stairs and began descending the well.

After assuring you that the perimeter was safe, you descended and joined him. Some minutes later, both of you were in the very middle chamber of secrets, staring at it's enormity and emptiness.

"My grandmother never told me about this part." you admitted.

Severus stood silent.

"I wish she were here with me" you said gloomily.

Unable to remain silent and not make it more awkward, Severus made small talk.

"For how long has she been gone?"

"Two years. I was your age when I lost her. She was almost like my mother. I grew up without my true mother. She died as well when I was a baby. My father was never in the picture. Pure-blooded but a weasel." you sniffled after replying.

"I am sorry about your loss. I am sure she is very proud of you, both of them, actually." Severus offered, smiling softly at her.

"Right. Now, how do we get out of here?" you were getting too open with a boy you barely knew.

"I don't know. The entrance is no longer visible. Do you think it has a timer of sorts?" Severus asked, eyeing the room

"It could have... If I am the heir of Slytherin it should allow me to leave but at the moment there is no exit visible. Let's wait for a bit."

"Alright."

To his annoyance, your idea of passing time was different than his own. You began to sing.

"Love hurts, love scars Love wounds and marks Any heart Not tough or strong enough To take a lot of pain, take a lot of pain Love is like a cloud Holds a lot of rain Love hurts Ooh, ooh, love hurts"

Severus' hair was already prickled in annoyance.

"Must you sing? I was trying to think in a way of getting us both out of here." Severus said between clenched teeth. It didn't help that the bloody room was empty and echoed loudly.

"Sorry. It is my way of coping." you said miserably.

"I understand, but you are not alone in this room." Severus said, annoyed.

"I just miss my grandmother." you pressed, rather offended at his annoyance.

After some minutes of blissful silence, the singing continued.

"It seemed so hard for me to share It's even harder now that you're not there (Now baby) I'm losing sleep over the secrets that you keep (Oh baby) I'm losing sleep over the secrets that you keep"

"Are you serious?" Severus barked "Please submit yourself to the 4th floor of St.Mungo's as soon as we are out of here if you think that singing off key is a healthy way of coping."

"Don't be a prat. And by the way, everyone has secrets. And if the way you act is any hint, I'd say you have a ton of secrets too"

"If I do, I will not share them with you." Severus said, under his breath.

You pull out your notebook and begin scribbling.

"What's, that, what are you doing?" Severus asked, eyeing the notebook from a distance

"Nothing, just organizing my thoughts. You should do it too. You're always so angry. You're just a kid, what reason do you have to be always so angry with everyone?"

"I'm not always angry at everyone, just with a specific group of people." Severus said.

"Why is that'?" you asked, and continued scribbling.

Severus sighed in defeat and slumped to the floor, not really looking at you but staring blankly at the open mouthed wall behind you.

"There's this girl, Lily. She used to be my best friend even before Hogwarts... And you see..."

Severus poured his heart out to you, and you took notes of almost everything he said.

Eventually the chamber shook, and both of you motioned to get up and smeared your blood on the wall that held the previous entrance and exited the chamber.

22 years later, Voldemort had fallen, and a barely alive Severus was declared a war hero, convicted of the murder of Albus Dumbledore, sentenced to a domiciliary prison regime for two years. To his dismay, one of the owls he received on the afternoon after his trial, was heavy and voluminous.

A book.

He unwrapped the parcel and saw his own face, and the title

"Severus Snape, the war hero's love story. by Y/N Y/L/N"

Finite.

notes : no, the chamber doesn't open with blood. lot's of canon inaccuracies to accommodate the requestor's demands.

PHEW

[forthedancingandthethriving]

"SHIT!" Cookie curses, looking around. "Ugh, that idiot! Doesn't he know what 'stay here' means?!"

Completely ignoring the fact that Bit was only made hours ago, she has her spider legs retract. 6 of her eyes close and disappear, making her seem relatively normal. She pokes her head out of the alleyway before exhaling.

She was going to be looking all day, wasn't she?

The Admin rubbed her temples as she went over what had happened thus far;

She kidnapped Juliano three days ago.

She kidnapped Domain and Forum two days ago.

Spent yesterday setting up the code to bring back her beloved Byte.

Activated it today, but messed up big time, resulting in Bit.

Bit was now missing, and there was a high chance of him being found out.

"Son of a bitch." she curses, quickening her pace. "God, why is Juliano so useless? Useless excuse of a prototype. How can you call yourself the first Avatar when you have such shitty code?"

Cookie shakes her head as she continues to walk, crossing her arms.

She soon stops at the entrance of a showgrounds. Her eyes narrow as a thought strikes her. She walks in, easily weaving through the countless NPCs.

"Once clown, always a clown." she sneers to herself, pushing through the crowd. Soon, she reaches the main area, and her eyes spot Bit immediately. He was talking to..

Oh. Oh no.

He was talking to the manifestation of this universe's Guardians. She could recognize a manifestation code anywhere.

Cookie gnaws on her bottom lip, stepping back as she thought. She had to be very careful about this. No doubt she would be noticed as an Admin, but would the Code know that who she was?

She taps her foot against the ground, listening for anything.

"..and my grandma Emmy.. she hasn't been feeling the best either."

Her eyes widen. Emmy? Who was that?

"Oh? What's happened to her?"

Cookie hesitates before slowly walking forward, weaving through NPCs.

"Domain and Forum.. they were her older brothers, even if they weren't related. They were all she had for 12 years.. and she only only revealed herself to us a few months ago. So for her to lose them so suddenly, just like that.. right after we lost Juliano.."

"I see. I hope she manages to pull through."

Cookie winces. Oh wow. Now she really had to be careful. If she was found out, she'd have whoever this 'Emmy' was after her and-

Wait a minute.

Emmy.

Cookie hastily pulls up a command back and starts scrolling. Could Emmy be a nickname for..? No, no no no. Oh no.

The Admin feels fear grip her as the realization hits.

Emmy was Emulator. The Anamoly that was referred to in logs she had accessed. Apparently, she was the SM64 universe and had come to life upon the activation process.

"I'm so fucked if I'm found out." she whispers.

Shaking her head, she closes the command box. She looks up to see Bit approaching her, but the manifestation of Code was nowhere to be seen.

"Why didn't you stay in the alleyway?" she hisses once he's close.

"I thought you meant to stay in the universe." Bit replies.

"Oh for-! Whatever! Come on." Cookie grabs his wrist, and the two vanish from thin air.

○●○

As Bit sat down on the ground, messing with his still flattened and penny sized hat, Cookie scrolled through her command box.

She had gone through a great deal of trouble collecting all of Byte's memory banks, but she had a majority of them. Not all of them, unfortunately, but all the ones that were important!

"If he can't be brought back, then why are all his memory banks backed up?" she snarks quietly, glancing back at Bit. She shakes her head before opening another command box to access Bit and-

"I am dead! Not big surprise."

She watches with wide eyes as the command box explodes, particles going to the ground.

She pulls up another.

"My main goal is to blow up!"

"When the hell were voice features added?!" Cookie stares as the command box explodes again.

Bit watches with raised eyebrows as she continues to pull up more command boxes to access Bit's code, but it always ends the same. With the command box saying a phrase and then just exploding.

"Ugh! I don't have time for this!" Cookie shouts. She grips the first command box before it disappears.

A new portal opens, and she glares at Bit. "Stay here!" she orders. "I'll be back soon."

With that, she goes through it and it closes behind her, leaving Bit all alone.

He didn't know why.. but he didn't like the silence.

[sanityshorror]

Commemoration of the time Mama Devil non ironically rewrote and sent me Navy Seal 2: copypasta boogaloo 🙏 I framed it 🙏

👋👋👋👋If you did a drive by I'd wave 👋👋👋👋

"What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I've been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I'm the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You're fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little "clever" comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you're paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You're fucking dead, kiddo."

🤝

"Quit lying sweety, you've already been caught lying and for spreading this message into other serves where they said YOU told them this. And i will fucking warn you again, going after MY bestfriend and accuse her for pedophilia, gaslight ivy, ben and tori, not once but MULTIPLE TIMES and bow do we have a BIIIG BIG PROBLEM. Goodluck, you'll need it. You've been called out everywhere for being a jelous, lying, greedy little asshole. :) you're caught leave us alone and stay on tumblr, k? bYE //👹❤" [...] "You really think you're tough huh? Uou're trying to be funny? You know you fucked up, outed yourself fucking multiple times and now you can stand for it? You sure are a thirsty fucker arent ya? If someone is hyperfixated and hyper sexualixung shit here and is bring more of a pedo is it you witg your fucking julius? Hyper sexualising anorexia??? Femenine men??? Fanhirlung so hard over your own oc you sure ass hell wank of with your big boner?"

[nothorses]

This thread on Twitter (also give @Azure_Husky a follow!!)

Linked Article Transcript below

Content warnings for transphobia against transmasculine people, including violence and harassment It's easy to say that transmasculine people get male privilege and face less oppression than many other trans people, but only if you don't actually listen https://m.dailykos.com/stories/2019/8/9/1877651/-There-is-a-hidden-epidemic-of-violence-against-transmasculine-people

I hear pretty constantly from transmasculine people about the violence they face from cis people and the erasure, condescension, and "suck it up, you're the oppressor now" attitudes they get from other trans people. 

We are failing the transmasculine parts of our communities. We are failing our brothers and masculine siblings. We need to get better at listening to transmasculine people's concerns and working together rather than fostering hierarchies of oppression within transness 

Once transness is involved, shit gets complicated. Simple responses of "misandry doesn't exist because men have the power" assume transmasculine people have access to the same privileges as average cis men when frequently they don't. 

One of the saddest things about being someone who talks about this is that i regularly get transmasculine people giving heartfelt thanks for the smallest mentions of their needs & concerns bc they're so used to transfeminine people ignoring their existence or being antagonistic 

We need to do better. I refuse for some of us trans people to base our fights for equality and justice by stepping on the needs of other trans people. 

I see transfeminine people I care about and respect who will sometimes share "let's make a world without men" type things and like I have had these feelings too, I struggle under misogyny and have a bunch of bad experiences with (cis, especially but not exclusively) men. *and*- 

- i've seen too many of my transmasculine siblings' hurt as they are constantly lumped into "just as bad as cis men" baskets (which I also have feelings about but is a larger topic I think) & have heard from too many transmasculine people who have spent years in denial bc of this 

I've heard from too many transmasculine people who have put off transitioning, tried to avoid accepting their gender, because they internalized the constant stream of this shit. And I love trans people too fucking much to keep letting it go. 

I get that for many of our communities there can be some incredible trauma around masculinity, either because it was enforced on us against our will or due to violence and/or sexual assault. And i don't debate the validity of that trauma. 

And also we can't extrapolate our trauma into "this segment of trans people, by virtue of their gender, is worth less (or worthless)". 

I mean if we want to dig into it, a lot of us transfeminine people get attacked by transphobes under the auspices of trauma regarding specific genitals or gender expressions or body types. And most of us can agree that their trauma doesn't mean they get to denigrate us. 

Honestly I'm tired. And also I acknowledge that my tiredness about this cannot be even a mild fraction of the exhaustion of the trans people targeted and erased by this must be. 

So I'm calling on y'all and asking you to please do better by *all* trans people. I get the joy and relief in venting about men. I do. We live in a misogynistic society and a lot of us suffer under the hands of a specific gender and sometimes we need an outlet. 

But at the very least please be aware of when your venting is in a public space where it *is* going to harm and affect others, and specifically other trans people (since I don't have the spoons to get into a larger discussion about cis men currently) 

Know that every time we make vent-jokes (or not jokes) about how everyone who is masculine is worthless to us, we are directly damaging other trans people, and possibly painfully forcing some to deny themselves or stay closeted because who would want to become The Enemy, right? 

And I feel like I *have* to keep talking about this because if transmasc people stick up for themselves, I see how often they get shot down as just another "not all men" concern troll or like they're trying to talk over feminine people 

Hell I've seen threads where a transmasc person starts the thread to talk about transmasc issues and *still* people have declared it derailing or speaking over others. How do we address their oppression if they aren't allowed to discuss it anywhere? 

So as a transfeminine person I've got allyship privilege here where I may be condemned as having internalized misogyny or being an assimilationist or something but at least I can't be seen as just another dude talking over women

(i use the binary language there thoughtfully bc a lot of these Us vs Them dichotomies tend to erase nonbinary people or pretend that all nonbinary people are centre or feminine of centre on the gender spectrum) 

Just. Do better. Please. Like. Just listen to transmasculine people with an open heart for a bit and hear the intense transphobia and discrimination they also face and consider the impact of your words on them. 

It sucks to see people who are generally caring and thoughtful about many types of oppression just.. Let it all go when a chance to lump transmasc people in with The Enemy comes up. 

Addendum: I've had a couple people express concern that I'm saying that transfeminine people shouldn't address when they are facing transmisogyny from transmasculine people and I hope that it is clear that isn't what I am saying at all. 

Transmasculine people can be transmisogynistic, absolutely! I've had experiences with that too. What this thread is about is the fact that for *some* people, transmasculine people as a whole are considered less marginalized by dint of their masculinity and it isn't that simple. 

So saying broad statements about transmasculine people isn't "punching up". Its horizontal violence if it's coming from other trans people or can be punching down if it's coming from cis people. That is what this thread is meant to address. 

By all means we should be discussing and addressing transmisogyny. But transmasculine people discussing the specifics of their own concerns isn't in and of itself transmisogyny. We do no one any favours by trying to silence that. 

This thread isn't about transfeminine people never speaking ill of transmasculine people or vice versa. Its about calling-in a specific subset of transfeminine communities for treating transmasculine people as a whole as disposable and The Enemy.

[its-nebula]

Don’t Touch Him

PreGame Kokichi x Delinquent Reader

Well, it wasn’t like you weren’t used to being by your lonesome. It was pretty much just like any regular day. Still, you couldn’t help but wish just once that you could talk to him, maybe even tell him your feelings. Alas, you knew it could only be a fantasy of yours for now. Why?

Well, for starters, Kokichi actually went to class when he was supposed to. Even now, you were standing behind the school, thinking about how you couldn’t even muster up the courage to tell the object of your affections how you simply felt about him. There was an irony to it, really. Everyone assumed that you were one of the toughest people in the school, but you felt like such a wimp, such a coward even.

Still, you had an appearance to keep up. You knew that you would probably scare him off, if you ever tried to confess, so all the more reasons to stay quiet. Eventually, you would probably have to stop coming to school completely and making a fool out of yourself. Every time the two of you crossed paths, you found yourself very giggly and blushy, barely able to form coherent sentences -- not ideal.

Looking at the time, you groaned at the fact that time seemed to be moving so slowly, so you decided to take just a small stroll. Walking back into the building, you lazily looked at the decor, deciding it was all just so boring.

"...and you're just worthless! No wonder your family all left you." You heard a female voice from around the corner. Whoever they were, they sounded angry. 

“I-I didn’t mean to! It was supposed to be funny!” You recognized that voice from anywhere. Kokichi?! You peeked your head around the corner, seeing Kokichi’s panicked face and a pale girl who was covered head to toe in glitter. 

“I bet it’ll be funny to see you on the ground.” She hissed, and punched him in the face without warning. You audibly gasped, covering your mouth and ducking behind the wall. Anger bubbled within you, ready to rise up to the surface. The girl in question looked your way, but seeing nobody, she kicked him in the shin and walked away quickly. Kokichi groaned in pain, rubbing his cheek. 

You felt bad for not interfering, but the girl would get what she deserved. This wouldn’t be the first time a situation like this had come up. Just a couple weeks ago, you had to deal with Rantaro Amami for yelling at Kokichi for dyeing his hair dark red. Rantaro didn’t come near him again.

 Turning around, you made your way around the school to the bathroom, where you assumed she was going to wash herself off. You waited outside for her once you heard the water running inside, and as soon as the door opened, you attacked.

You recognized the girl as Maki Harukawa, who had a reputation for being a little mean, but none of that mattered to you now. You growled as you clenched your fists after you pushed her to the ground. 

“What gives you the right to go pushing people around?” You yelled. She tried to retaliate by getting up, but you put a foot on her chest. “Why don’t you pick on somebody your own size, you bitch?”

“He... glitter bombed....me...” She protested, trying to move your foot off her. You pressed it down harder. “Leave me alone, you- you freak!” 

“Leave. Kokichi. Alone.” You snapped. You moved your foot off of her, allowing her to stand up and dust herself off angrily. “Or else, I’ll-” She punched you in your nose, taking you by surprise. 

“I don’t care how tough you are. Don’t touch me.”

Oh, that fucking does it. Yelling, you lunged at her, tackling her to the ground. You punched her in the face repeatedly, as she tried to reach up and go for your throat.

The school bell rang loudly through the halls. Shit.

Quickly scrambling to get off her, you delivered one final kick to her side, and took off. You weaved through the crowd of people, trying to blend in. It was a little difficult, seeing as how people always got out of your way when you were coming, but you managed to get away without any staff finding you. It was a quiet room of the school that you were sure only you knew how to get access to.

Breathlessly, you leaned against the wall, not even paying attention to the blood dribbling out of your nose. Closing your eyes, you sighed. You knew as soon as Maki revealed what happened you were sure to be expelled.

“Are...you okay?”

You jumped as you heard a voice in front of you, opening your eyes. You saw a small figure in front of you, holding an ice-pack to his cheek. He was looking at you very meekly, but he looked very concerned.

“You’re bleeding...”

The voice was unmistakable as Kokichi Oma, and your face started to flush. 

“I-I-I, u-uh, y-yeah!”

“Are you sure, S/O?”

“I’m, uh...excuse me.” You rushed past him as you exited the room out of nervousness. Letting out the breath you’d sucked in, you began walking to your usual outside spot, but you ran straight into the chest of a very stern headmaster. He glared at you with his arms crossed, tapping his foot.

You, however, pretended you were very happy to see him. “Headmaster. Headmaster! How have you been, how’s the wife?!” You laughed, but he only kept his frown. 

“S/O, I told you after Rantaro that I would give you one last chance to turn yourself around.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Like that was ever gonna happen. But-”

“Not only have you been skipping most of your classes, but you’ve brutally beaten up yet another student. I’m sure you know what this means. I’m sorry, there’s nothing else I can do.”

There was silence between the two of you. You turned your back towards him, tight-lipped. 

“I’m sure there’s still good in you somewhere, S/O. You’ll find it somewhere, someday.”

“...Goodbye.”

You hastily walked to the outside area, in the back of the school. Going to your usual spot, you stood there, staring up at the large building. You’d probably never get the chance to interact with Kokichi again, but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make. He deserved someone who was less difficult, less dangerous.

“HEY! S/O!” Great, now what? Pursing your lips, you turned to the side, only to be met face-to-face with Kaito Momota. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, beating the shit out of my friends?”

You hummed in response, not wanting to give him the time of day. He put his hand on your shoulder, harshly forcing you to turn around to face him. “All because of some weird little dude nobody even likes, huh? Well, I’m going to beat the crap out of you, and I’m going to beat that little jokester next!”

You blocked his incoming punch, twisting his arm instead. You weren’t in school anymore, so what was the point of going easy? He yelled out, kneeling in pain. While he was kneeling, you took the opportunity to kick him in the chest, calling him to fall down hard. As you were about to kick him again, he grabbed your leg, causing you to trip.

Once he was on top of you, he started to punch you in your face, just as you’d done to Maki. With all your strength, you pushed him off you, quickly getting up. You kicked him where the sun doesn’t shine, multiple times. 

You didn’t even notice that you drew a crowd, temporarily distracted by the whoops and howls of the spectators. He took the opportunity to punch you in your jaw, getting you with an uppercut. You started to get dizzy, starting to see stars and multiple Kaitos in front of you. 

“This...is for... him....” You managed to mutter out before you delivered one final push to Kaito, then losing the energy to continue further. You prepared for Kaito to make one final blow, but you heard the voice that seemed to be following you.

“STOP! T-This is all my fault! You don’t want her!” You saw Kokichi’s black uniform standing in front of you. Your eyes widened. Was he dumb? Kaito was absolutely going to crush him into a pulp if he didn’t move!

“Ko...kich...i...?” You wondered out loud. How embarrassing, he had to see you in this vulnerable state. You were supposed to be the one protecting him, but...

...

When you woke up, you were still behind the school. It was quieter than what you remembered, and the sun wasn’t in the same place. How long were you gone...? And then you remembered everything, especially how Kokichi jumped in front of you. You tried to get up, but your head was throbbing. Your hand made its way to the top of your forehead, and you felt...bandages? You heard footsteps walking towards you, and they suddenly stopped.

“S/O! You’re awake?” Kokichi ran towards you, and gently knelt beside you. You blushed profusely. “That fight...it looked pretty bad.” You noticed the bruise that’d developed on his cheek, and you reached up to touch it.

“You’re hurt... you shouldn’t have done that, you know.” You warned him.

“I had to.” He looked away shyly. “I heard the rumors of the school, that you only fought Kaito because you wanted to defend my name. You didn’t have to do that. Besides, you’re way more hurt than I am.”

“I would do anything for a friend.” You winced as you said that. You continued, “Why aren’t you scared of me already? I got expelled today, Kokichi. I’m dangerous, you’re much better off-”

“Why’d you do it? Why’d you have to get yourself expelled?”

You took a deep breath. There was nothing else to lose. “I care about you, Kokichi. Those people have no right to be hurting you like they want to..”

“S/O, I care about you too, but you don’t have to go around doing dumb things because of my dumb pranks!”

“...Well...maybe I...like you...” You trailed off, embarrassed that you even said it. 

“You...do? What?” His eyes widened. “S-Since when? Why do you always run away from me?”

“I thought you would be more afraid of me if I ever interacted with you too much. Besides, you deserve better than this.”

“That’s not for you to decide.” He placed a soft kiss upon your lips. You kissed back instantly, smiling within the moment. Once he pulled away, he gave you a small smile. “Thank you for protecting me S/O... I know I don’t look like much, but please, allow me to do the same for you as well.”

You smiled back at him. “I’ll try, Kokichi.”

“Thank you.”

[thatfanficstuff]

Impossible - 11

Pairing: Reader x Eric Northman

Warnings: nope

A/N: I no longer have access to true blood so i’m going off of episode summaries and my poor, poor memory so this will be diverting even further from the show than it has been. As a reminder, Jason never met Amy and never kidnapped Eddie. 

***

It was past dawn before Eric and you finally slept so it didn’t surprise you to discover it was after one when you woke. You grabbed a bag and filled it with what you needed for several days. Odds were you wouldn’t make it more than a couple without Eric coming to retrieve you anyway.

When you got to Sookie’s you twisted the knob intending to just walk in as usual. You frowned when you found the door locked. It wasn’t like her to lock up when she was home, but there was a killer on the loose. You knocked but received no answer. A walk around the house to the other door yielded the same results.

You huffed a sigh and pulled out your phone to call her.

“I am so sorry,” she answered before you even said a word.

“Where are you?”

She paused before answering which meant whatever she said next was likely to be at least a half-truth if not a full out lie. “It sort of slipped my mind you were coming. Sam and I are running an errand out of town. We should be back before dark.”

You clenched your teeth to keep from saying any of the many things that came to mind. “I don’t suppose you have a key hidden around here anywhere?”

“Not since Dawn. Jason has a key. I could tell him to let you borrow it.”

Seeing Jason Stackhouse ranked at the very bottom of the list of things you wanted to do that day. “I can manage. I’ll see you later.” You hung up before she could respond. It was probably safer that way.

You spent your time waiting in a booth at Merlotte’s. You ate a meal while you read a book you kept in your truck for when you needed to entertain yourself. When Lafayette had a break, he’d come out and sit so the two of you could catch up.

The sky had grown dark before you noticed and you gathered your things to head back to Sookie’s. You parked beside Sam and grabbed your bag. You didn’t bother to knock when you got to the door. Part of you wished you had when you caught Sam and Sookie making out on the sofa. You cleared your throat and they jumped away from each other. “Am I interrupting something?” Your lips twitched.

“Yeah, you are,” Sam answered with an irritated expression on his face.    

“No, of course not,” Sookie was quick to correct. She gave Sam a look as she hopped to her feet.

His disgruntled expression had a smile flirting with your lips again.

“I think Y/N has it from here, Sam.”

That got Sam off his ass. He turned so his back was to you as if that would keep you from hearing their conversation. “Don’t you think we should talk about this?”

“Not really no.” Sookie had that tight look she got whenever she was in an uncomfortable situation. Apparently, she was having second thoughts about that kiss. That was unfortunate. As much as Sam could annoy the piss out of you, he was so much better for her than Bill would ever be.

“Sook.” It may have been only one word, but Sam’s tone spoke volumes.

“Sam, I asked Y/N to help me out by stayin’ with me. I won’t be any ruder to her than I already have been.” She walked over to the door and opened it. “Now, I thank you for all of your help, but it’s time for you to go.”

Sam’s gaze darted between the two of you before settling on your friend. “All right, Sookie. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He leaned forward to kiss her as he passed. She turned her head at the last moment so he kissed her cheek. His sigh was audible as she shut the door behind him.

She locked the door before facing you. You gave into the smile you’d been fighting and her shoulders slumped as she groaned and wiped a hand down her face. “What am I going to do?” she moaned as she walked past you. She dropped onto the couch and you sat beside her.

She leaned her head on your shoulder. “I sure am glad you’re here, Y/N.”

You hummed in agreement. “While I expect the full story about what I just walked in on, we need to talk about last night first. What happened?”

Sookie took a deep breath and sat up straight. “There was a party at Merlotte’s for Arlene and Rene. I was feeling sorry for myself on account of Bill taking off the way he did so I was helping Sam out to keep my mind off things. I went inside for some more ice when I got this vision of a girl being killed.”

She shivered and you frowned. You couldn’t imagine being able to see the things she did. It had to be horrible.

“He was so angry. That was worse than what I saw. The overwhelming anger. I finally came to my senses enough to realize that the killer had to be there. I dropped to the floor and just missed a knife that slammed into the bar. I screamed and just focused on putting as much room between him and me as possible. The next thing I knew I crashed into Sam as I tried to see what was going on behind me.”

“I assume you called the police? Or what passes for them around here anyway?”

She nodded. “Of course, but there wasn’t much they could do. He was right there and I didn’t get a look at him. I’m so stupid.”

You grabbed her hand to make certain you had her attention. “Surviving is never stupid, Sookie. What good would it have done for you to see who it was if you died in the process?”

“I guess you’re right.” She turned on the sofa so she faced you and bounced in her seat a little. “Sam and I might have figured out who it is anyway.”

Your brows shot up. “Way to bury the lead, Sook. Tell me what you know.”

“When I had that vision last night, the girl that was killed was wearing a name tag from this pie place not too far from here. Her name was Cindy. Sam and I went up there to ask some questions today.”

“You did what now?” You loved your friend but sometimes you wished she thought things through a little more. “And what if the killer finds out you were asking questions? You’re going to make yourself a target.”

She shook her head. “You’re assuming I’m not already. But listen, so this girl named Cindy was killed and her brother disappears while they’re investigating. The police haven’t been able to find him. We tried to get some information from them, but they wouldn’t tell us anything. They’re supposed to be sending a picture to Bud.”

You had no doubt you could get the information much faster than they could. “What’s this guy’s name?”

“Drew Marshall.”

***

You sent the information to your father asking for him to find out what he could. Realistically you knew it would be the next evening before you heard anything. It was unlikely he’d have a contact at such a small precinct but he’d surprised you before. Sookie and you watched a movie and stayed up late talking. Well, it was late for her. You were always more comfortable in the night. That happened when you were raised by vampires.

After she went to bed, you passed your time by texting Eric who kept threatening to come drag you home. It was past dawn before you found sleep. As such, it took you a minute to process what was going on a few hours later when Sookie burst into your room yelling your name.

“Hold on. Hold on,” you instructed as she fired out words in a rapid burst of confusion. You sat up and raked a hand through your hair. “Okay. Start again. Slower this time.”

“There’s been another murder. Some one night stand of Jason’s. He’s been arrested.”

Shit. “All right, Sookie. Calm down as much as you can and go get dressed. We’ll go down to the station and see what’s going on.”

She nodded and hurried from the room. Jason Stackhouse was a lot of things but you weren’t certain he was capable of murder, despite your history with him. There was only one way to find out. With a sigh, you tossed aside the covers and climbed out of the bed.

***

You’d barely put the truck in park before Sookie had her door open and jumped out. You shook your head but didn’t try to stop her as you followed at a more sedate pace. By the time you joined her at the desk, she was already giving Andy Bellefluer a piece of her mind.

“If you’d give me a minute—”

“I’m not giving you anything, Andy Bellefluer. How stupid do you have to be to think my brother killed gram never mind all those other people? How could you believe such a thing?”

“I was trying to—”

Sookie cut him off again. “Did you not get the picture they were supposed to be sending you of the actual killer? Of course, Sam and I had to find that for you.”

Andy turned to you with an exasperated expression. “Help me out here, would you?”

You held up your hands. “Don’t look at me. I’m strictly here to watch her back. You’re on your own.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes as he put his attention back on Sookie. “Your brother—”

“Didn’t do this. That much I know and if you think—”

“He confessed!” Andy yelled over the top of her.

She visibly deflated. “What?”

“Jason Stackhouse walked into the station and turned himself in. He told us that there was a dead woman in his bed and we needed to lock him up before he hurt anyone else. I’m sorry, Sookie but that’s what happened.” The sympathy in his gaze had you rethinking your earlier assessment of the detective. Maybe he wasn’t so bad.

Sookie licked her lips and gave a nod. “Could I see him? Just for a minute?”

He hesitated for a moment. “Yeah. I suppose that would be all right. Come on.”

You had intended to stay in the lobby but Sookie grabbed your hand and pulled you along with her.

Jason no sooner laid eyes on his sister than he started protesting. “What’s she doing here?”

Andy opened his mouth to answer only to be cut off by Jason asking Sookie the same question. The detective rolled his eyes at once again being cut off by a Stackhouse and you couldn’t help a little grin. Poor Andy.

“Why are you doing this, Jason? We both know you didn’t kill anyone.” She dropped your hand to wrap her hands around the bars that separated her from the last of her family.

“You don’t know that, Sook. Hell, I don’t even know that. Maybe I did kill all those girls and I just don’t remember. But I do know I can’t hurt anyone else if I’m in here.”

“Don’t do this,” she practically begged.

Jason looked from her to the detective. “Get her out of here, Andy. I don’t wanna see her.” He stepped away from the bars and turned his back on his sister.

“Come on, Sookie,” Andy said as he patted her shoulder.

She hesitated only a moment before following him to the door. They glanced back to see if you were following, but you hadn’t moved. “I’ll be along in just a moment. Jason and I have some unfinished business.”

The detective glanced between you and Jason before nodding once and leading Sookie to the lobby.

“I ain’t got nothing to say to you, Y/N,” Jason said, his back still turned. His shoulders were tight with tension.

“Don’t care if you do. I have something to say to you.” You gave him a minute but when he didn’t respond you continued anyway. “Maybe I killed people and don’t remember doesn’t sound like much of a confession, Stackhouse.”

“You don’t know anything about it.”

“I know I’m rarely wrong when it comes to people and you aren’t a killer, Jason. You’re dumb as shit but you aren’t a killer.”

He snapped around, scowling at you for the insult. “I’m not stupid.”

You shrugged as if it didn’t matter to you and it didn’t. You weren’t going to argue the point with him. “I do want to know how someone gets killed in your bed without you knowing about it until it’s too late.”

His chin jutted forward as he clenched his teeth.

“My guess is you were wasted or high and slept through the whole thing.”

Fear flashed across his face before he schooled his features, but he remained silent.

You hummed as the corner of your lips curled into a small smile. “Got it in one. What’s your poison? Weed? Meth? V?”

His eyes widened and he stepped back as you said the last. You arched a brow. He was even dumber than you thought.

“You can’t tell him. Please Y/N, I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t tell him,” he begged.

“Tell who? Andy?”

“No, that scary ass motherfucker at Fangtasia. He said he’d cut my balls off with a rusty spoon if I ever used V again. I like my balls where they are, Y/N.”

“Eric doesn’t want to touch your balls, Jason. Trust me. You’ll be fine.”

[centerofreality]

Doya, BB-chan? remember your Kiryu with Kiryu-Fan after him? it's hilarious! I love it! Can you do a Majima version? This time have Nishitani and a Majima-fanatic after him? gotta have Majima get a taste of his own medicine [you don't need to prioritized this requests, take your time, please]🧡 thank you

You had a crush on Goro Majima for so long that you’ve become his one and only fan. You knew so much yet so little. Even with your infatuation, you didn’t know how to express your feelings to the mysterious eye-patched man working at the Grand Cabaret. Nishitani, being the kindhearted man he was, decided to lend a hand in one of the many ways he knew how. Being competitive. 

UHHHHHHH- 70+ FOLLOWERS???!! YOU ALL ARE WILD!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! I know I’m not active here as much but I’m grateful for all of your support!! Modules are really taking most of my time so I never got around to Tumblr. As a gift, I took the chance on what anon requested me and decided to make a oneshot! I’m not good at writing stories but hopefully, I can make it work!

Reader will be more feminine here but I will be writing they/them pronouns. Sorry about that!

Includes: Nishitani flirting with both Y/N and Majima because he has no shame, Suggestive Themes (because Nishitani), Cursing and Explicit Language, Fluff and semi-crack? Me not knowing how to write a story.

                                                  ============ 

“How old are ya again, Y/N-chan? Majima-chan is an old man, ya know.” “At least he looks like he’s actually in his 20′s, unlike you.” “I look younger than I look!”

You sigh and look at the man sitting across from you. Nishitani only had a smirk as he bounces his legs, a hostess sitting beside him and serving the both of you. “Are you here to annoy Majima-san again?” You ask him with your eyebrows raised.

“Of course!” Typical.

You, Y/N L/N, were friends with the horny criminal, Homare Nishitani. People didn’t know how or why you were friends with him, and truth be told, you didn’t know either. He had suddenly approached you one day and asked if you ‘had the hots for Majima-kun too.’, and that the both of you go to the Cabaret Grand to annoy him. He was wild and didn’t care if he was being loud. You thought he was going to throw you in the river when you had rejected his advances of ‘leaving Majima-kun and have fun at my place’ but surprisingly, you stayed alive and have been friends ever since.

One of the perks of being with Nishitani was-

“Heyyyy, Majima-kun!!!” Nishitani waves maniacally to the approaching man who looked less than pleased, even if he had a polite smile.

Yep, Nishitani’s perks were that you get basically free access to the Grand. You always spend your money on this place and even then, Majima doesn’t really show up much.

“Nishitani-san.” Majima’s face was stoic as ever but when he turned to you, his eyes got softer and he even let a small smile appear on his face as he bowed politely. “L/N-san. Thank you for coming to our establishment again today.” Had you not been anywhere but around Majima, you would have screamed at the top of your lungs. Instead, you internally squealed and bowed your head. “G-good work again, Majima-san!!”

“I’m the one paying ‘ere, ‘ya know!” Nishitani rolled his eyes before he looked at Majima, “How lucky are we though that we have the famous manager himself to attend to our table!”

“You are not harassing any of our hostesses here, I presume. I wanted to check if my guess was right.” Your eyes widened and you glare at Nishitani, “Harass?!?! Nishitani!!” The man immediately held his hands up and sat a few inches away from the hostess that he was so close with, “I ain’t doin’ nothin’!! My hands are clean!”

Majima watches the both of you interact, he was confused about why the two of you were friends to begin with. No, he wasn’t jealous that the two of you were always together, and even if you were a couple - which he could hardly believe - it wasn’t his business to know. 

“It’s all good, manager!” One of his girls said with a smile and he nodded, “I’ll be going then, please continue to enjoy your stay here.” You let out a dreamy sigh as he walked away.

“Majima-kun would ace being in a maid cafe. With the frilly dress and the cat ears and everything, that’d get me rock hard on the spot.” Nishitani randomly said, picking his ears with his pinkie as the hostess giggled at your red face, “L/N-san, do you perhaps...” “Have a mad infatuation with the guy? Hell yeah, they are.” You only looked away bashful. Were you really that obvious??

“I have a feeling Majima-san likes you back too! He treats you as his favorite customer as much as I know!” “Doesn’t he do that to all customers?” You meekly asked, watching her think and shrug. “I think he’s much more genuine to you than anyone else.”

“Not even me?” Nishitani pouted while you look at the large signs of Cabaret Grand with wide eyes. Really?? Majima...likes you back? You shake your head. No, you shouldn’t hope. There weren’t any chances that you and Majima would end up together anyway.

“Ahh, look how fucking in love they are. Why can’t I have that? I’m a handsome looking guy.” Nishitani asked, leaning back on the soft cushions of the seats as the hostess poured him another drink. “It isn’t just about looks, it’s like..it’s like, he may look intimidating but I know he has a good heart. He’s kind and respectful and I admire him a lot..” You ranted before you grab the glass of juice (because Nishitani took all the alcohol, as much as he wanted to see you drunk on broad daylight) and drank it in one go. Nishitani whistles.

“Why don’t you confess to him then? It’s worth a try, right?” The hostess suggested, pouring your glass. “What if he rejects me? I wouldn’t be able to go here again because of the embarrassment!” You cover your face and groan, dragging your hands down while Nishitani laughed at your pitiful state. “Stop laughing! It’s not funny!” “It’s a little funny!”

You look at your phone and seeing the time that’s passed, you curse under your breath and quickly finish your glass, standing up. “Eh? Going already, sweetcheeks?” Nishitani tilted his head. “Yeah, I still have work to do. I’ll be back again tomorrow!” You wave at him and the hostess who waved back as you left.

“Those two need to get a room, I’m getting blue balls just by watching them.” Nishitani groans before he pauses... then he smirks. He had just the idea.

The next day, you went to the VIP and paused, watching Nishitani flirt with a disinterested Majima. As soon as his eye had spotted you, it lit up as he bowed at you, jerking his hands away from a sulking Nishitani. “Hello again, L/N-san. VIP again?” He approached you as you played with your fingers, grinning. “A-ah, y-yeah! Here to support you and everyone else here as always!” You thanked the heavens that your voice didn’t crack as Majima smiled, “You have my utmost gratitude.”

You watched him walk past you, smelling a whiff of his cologne. You immediately sat next to Nishitani and squealed on his shoulder. “Watch the merchandise!” Even with Nishitani’s protest, he let you be.

“Even he smells good!” You shake him as he tried to balance his glass. “Guy’s stubborn as hell. Wouldn’t take my offer.” You stopped moving him around and looked up at him. “What offer?” “Just me and him on a date, no biggie.” He shrugged.

“A-a-a da-date?!?!” You exclaim and hide back when a few people in the VIP glanced at the both of you, only to look away, seeing Nishitani. “Are you serious?!” You whispered to the giggling man.

“Look, we didn’t make the fucking Majima Fanclub for nothing, aight?” The Majima Fanclub consisted of You, Nishitani, and his family who were just there because their boss told them to. 

“If you’re not going to ask him then I’m going to take my chance. Finders Keepers.” He stuck his tongue out at you as you looked almost betrayed. Somehow, that made you fired up and more confident. You were going to beat Nishitani and confess to him! 

“W-well, I’m going to ask him on a date too!” “Oho, you’re challenging me?” Nishitani leaned forward, a competitive glint in his eyes. “Exactly, Whoever gets accepted first is the winner.” You told him, head up and straight posture. He laughed, “I like your words, darling.”

It had taken you several hours to brainstorm. But you had finally thought of something..

--

“Out of all the things, you pick Letters?? Boooooring.” “Have any ideas, smart guy?” You rolled your eyes at Nishitani who was lazily drawing scribbles on a piece of paper, his glass of alcohol showing a mark on his paper. “Ah, shit- fuck-” He cursed, having broken yet another crayon.

“I told you, you should have picked the markers instead.” You shake your head, laughing a little. The two of you were at one of the most popular Cabarets in Sotenbori yet the two of you were writing and drawing love letters.

“Why did you pick letters anyway?” The man beside you asked, cutting a choppy heart with a piece of paper. “Letters are a lot more genuine than gifts, you know? It’s heartfelt and simple, but means a lot to both you and to the one you’re sending it to.” You smile and Nishitani stifled his laughter, “Are you still in high school? That sounds so fucking cheesy, I love it.” You tried your best to make yours look neat but due to how nervous you were, the handwriting ended up a little messy. “You send it to him!” You exclaim, shoving the folded note. “Like hell I am!” Nishitani moved back and called for a hostess who so happened to be the same hostess from before.

“Is your manager available right now, pretty lady?” “Yes, actually. He’s at the rooftop and taking a break. Is there anything you need from him?” The hostess answered and blinked when the both of you handed your letters to her. “Can you give us a favor and give ‘im these? You can throw Y/N’s in the trash.” “No, you throw his in the trash!” The hostess grinned and shakes her head before taking them. “I’ll give these to him then, I’ll be back.”

As you waited patiently, playing with your glass, you thought if your letter was good enough. Nishitani looked pretty confident and to be honest? You were starting to lose the fire in you. This was a bad idea. You would just make a fool out of yourself to the guy you like!

“Nishitani, I shouldn’t have given away that letter.” You only got a smack on the back of your head as Nishitani groaned, retreating his hand away, “You dumbass. This was your idea. You gotta suck it up and own up to it.” “That’s not a good thing to say to your friend.” You pout as you rub your head. 

“Still, I don’t think he’ll even look at mine.” The yakuza sighs and pours himself a glass. “If he does, I’ll beat him up. There, does that make you feel better?” “That would just make me feel worse!” You scold but you had a smile on your face, making Nishitani grin, showing his slightly sharp teeth.

A few minutes later, the hostess came back, and much to your surprise, Majima was with her. He looked almost bored as the hostess pulled him in front the both of you. “I wanted Majima-san to personally give them to you!” Majima sighs and watched you sheepishly apologize before he handed back your letters. “Thanks so much, Majima-san!” The hostess looked delighted as the man quickly walked away to another table, almost flustered.

“He’s gonna love my drawing! I’m gonna keep this forever!” Nishitani cackles before he opened his letter with a grin. You then took a deep breath and opened yours, seeing if he said something too.

To Majima-san,

I know that I’m just a customer but I want to say that I like you and I admire you a lot. I have been for a long time, and only now did I got the courage to express my feelings. At first, I thought it was a simple crush but as time passed by, that feeling never went away. In fact, I think I like you a lot more now. Would you mind going out with me at Osaka King sometime?  I completely understand if you don’t like me back and if you don’t want to go out, no matter what happens, I will continue to support you and the staff here in Cabaret Grand as your loyal customer!

“Ah man, he only gave a note about how I sucked at drawing him! That asshole!” Nishitani grumbled, “What about you?” He looked at you only to see that you were practically frozen in your position, staring at the letter with wide eyes. “What?” He blinked and went for a peek. “He said yes..” You gape and cover your mouth, letting him read it as you were too speechless to even do anything.

             -L/N Y/N

Sure, I would love to. What does 10 am tomorrow sound like? : )                                                   - Goro Majima

“The fucker actually did it,” Nishitani mumbled and you looked around for Majima, seeing that he was still in the VIP room. Like he had known you were looking for him, he turned around and the two of you made eye contact. You beamed at him and he smiled, chuckling a bit before he went on his way. You were breathless, holding your cheeks together with bright eyes and a lovestruck smile.

That was a date.

[joyful-soul-collector]

I’ve never known a kid like you to stay down for long

By @joyful-soul-collector for @pookiethefrickinbunn

@friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Relationships: Tony & Peter

Characters: Tony, Peter, Friday, Karen

Summary: Peter runs away after his identity is revealed, and is just trying to get by

It took longer than you’d think it would to find a roof that normal people couldn’t climb easily onto. Most places had some sort of roof access point, and Peter had been chased off them enough times to look for one that he literally couldn’t be kicked off of.

Though he was seriously considering leaving this one despite how safe it was. He was on a pretty tall building, tall enough that most people didn’t see him, and it didn’t have a roof access point either. But this seemingly perfect safe haven of a building was right next to a restaurant.

And Peter hadn’t eaten in days.

Peter pressed his hands to his belly as it rumbled for what must’ve been the millionth time that day. The smell of the food wafting through the air was practically torturous, making his mouth water so much he had to lift his mask up and wipe drool off his face at least every five minutes.

He was so hungry he’d spent the last half hour just sitting on the edge of the roof, inhaling the scent of food deeply and listening to his stomach growl.

But eventually he knew he had to leave. He’d already spent a week on this roof, and as safe as it was, nowhere was safe for very long. Not when everyone was trying to hunt you down for something you didn’t do.

It’d been a couple weeks after his identity was revealed that a video surfaced of Spider-Man supposedly beating up an unarmed, defenseless man. What the video didn’t show was the man dragging a screaming little boy into an alleyway, and Peter saving him. Videos like this had actually happened before, usually edited to make him look like the bad guy by The Daily Bugle. But this was the first time people had an address to attack. And because of that, the video stuck around, circulating around New York, until suddenly he didn’t feel safe anywhere at all.

And not only was he in danger, his friends and family were starting to be accused of supporting a horrible villain, and Aunt May had even considered moving. Even Mr. Stark had been pressured to fire Peter from the Stark Industries Internship Program. He didn’t, but the damage was done. Rather than put everyone through the pain of being his friend, his family, Peter left, with a vague plan to head west.

The hardest part was actually taking the tracker out of his suit. He knew how upset Mr. Stark would be that he broke his trust. Again.

That was two weeks ago, and now the only problem was the health alert in the suit. The health alert sent out a signal of Peter’s location if he were to lose consciousness while out on patrol. Peter had to take off the suit to sleep without having the alert go out (which really sucked, as the heater would’ve been nice on cold nights) but he also had to make sure he never fainted, passed out from blood loss, got knocked out, or straight up forgot to take off the suit before going to bed. Or, roof.

Which was easier said than done when you’re exhausted and starving and freezing to death. And unfortunately the health alert was too complex to remove without compromising the rest of the suit, possibly rendering it completely useless.

There was no way he’d survive without his suit.

And even if he didn’t admit it, Peter liked the idea of having a fail-safe in case anything really bad happened. He liked the idea that he might get to see Mr. Stark again.

But until then, he was tired with nowhere to sleep, hungry with nothing to eat, and sad with nobody to comfort him.

Peter sighed, massaging his empty stomach as he stood up shakily. Might as well leave now instead of torturing himself over the food. He walked over to where his backpack sat, and pulled a map out to make sure he was still going the right direction.

Peter’s complete lack of plan for when he arrived at this vague “west” was starting to bother him, but he didn’t have the energy to try and think of a plan now. All he knew was he needed to get some food, and fast. And for food, he needed money. He’d already spent everything he’d brought with him within the first week, and if he didn’t want to starve he needed to find somewhere that’d be willing to pay him for a couple odd jobs.

Like he’d ever be so lucky with his face plastered on every tv screen, the word “menace” echoing in every watcher’s ears.

He wondered if a store would be willing to help him out. Maybe they could pay him to restock some shelves or something, he’d done that plenty of times at Mr. Delmar’s.

Peter’s stomach grumbled loudly at the thought of one of Mr. Delmar’s sandwiches, and he gripped his belly with a hiss of pain. Yep, bad idea thinking about that. But still, a store was a good option. Especially a big one, one where an extra face wouldn’t look too suspicious. He might as well head out and look around now, nighttime was always the best to travel in. A lot less eyes on you.  

Peter slipped off his shoes and pressed the spider emblem on his chest, breathing a small sigh of relief as it well away. Having his shirt and pants on under the suit was always uncomfortable, but it made it so he didn’t have to change into his clothes to sleep. It was warmer too, but he needed to be in street clothes now.

But Peter started shivering almost immediately, his trembling hands having difficulty pulling his hoodie out of his pack and stuffing his suit in to replace it. He quickly forced it on, teeth chattering as he pulled up the hood and rubbed his arms.

He really shouldn’t be this cold. It was springtime, but no matter what he did, Peter was always freezing without the heater in his suit to warm him. It made sleeping practically impossible, but there was no way he would risk Mr. Stark finding him. He couldn’t put everyone through the pain of just… being around him.

When he’d stopped trembling enough to actually get moving, he yanked off his mask, swung on his backpack and slipped back on his shoes. Looking down at himself he grimaced at the splotches of dirt and grime all over his clothes, and the fact that his hoodie pocket was ripping, and his sleeves were stretched too wide, and his shoes were peeling away from the soles.

He actually felt his eyes starting to sting at the sight of himself.

How could things have gotten so bad? All I wanted to do was help people. I just wanted to save people, I was helping, so why am I here? Why am I running away from the people I’m trying to save, sleeping on rooftops and freezing to death and so fucking hungry my belly hurts? Why do I fuck up everything I touch?

Peter sighed and brushed a tear off his face roughly, pushing the thoughts away as best he could. It’s just his Parker Luck, that’s all. Fucks everything over as best it can, as usual.

I just hope it doesn’t get me discovered. I don’t care what happens, as long as Mr. Stark and Aunt May and my friends can’t find me, they’ll be safe, he thought, swinging his leg off the roof and carefully climbing down. Normally he would just web his way down, which is a lot faster, but he didn’t have a lot of web fluid left, and there was no way for him to make more.

The scent of food was growing stronger and stronger as he climbed down, to the point where he felt a bit lightheaded with hunger. Maybe… maybe he could sneak in and grab something. Or not even that, he could just walk in and ask for a table for one. Order and eat, then book it. People dine and dash all the time right? And it looked so warm and cozy there.

He wondered when the last time he actually felt comfortable. His joints and shoulders constantly ached from sleeping on the rooftops, not to mention that food would definitely ease the pain in his belly. But what if they suspected him? Or recognized him from the news? He could still sneak in, and if someone caught him he could beg them not to tell, beg them to keep quiet, beg them for something to eat--

“Oh my god, what am I thinking?” Peter said to himself, finally setting foot on the ground. He couldn’t do that. Any of that. He’s supposed to be the hero, heroes don’t steal food, or dine and dash, or beg people for things.

But when his stomach rumbled loudly again it seemed to be saying “heroes gotta eat too.”

Peter was still weighing his options, staring at the restaurant and rubbing his belly, when he heard a shriek split the air.

“HELP! Help, someone please!”

Peter groaned, for once feeling like he’d rather not be a hero now. If everyone was just gonna turn on him, why should he waste his time trying to save them? Hell, why should he even consider whether or not he should steal food? He wanted to eat dammit, why shouldn’t he just ignore them, and instead go order eight cheeseburgers, and three milkshakes, with a side of five fries?

But when the person screamed again, Peter seemed to snap out of it, suddenly realizing his thoughts.

Shit.  

Peter quickly yanked off his hoodie and shoes and threw his suit back on, gasping at the wave of heat that spread over his skin as the heater started up.

“Karen! Tell me where those screams are coming from!” he said as he frantically pulled on his mask.

“Plotting route now,” she responded, a blue arrow pointing him across the street and into an alleyway. Peter webbed his way there as fast as he could, cursing under his breath.

“Dammit Parker, what the hell is wrong with you? Oh my god if they got hurt--Fuck, man!”

He dropped into the alleyway to see a woman pointing a gun at a man and what must’ve been his son behind him. The man was pleading to her, begging her not to hurt his baby. Peter’s guilt only got heavier as he realized if he’d gotten here sooner then maybe him and his son wouldn’t be so terrified.

“HEY!” Peter shouted, causing all three of them to start and look at him. The woman’s eyes were glassy and drunken, the same look Peter saw on a lot of drivers he saved people from. “Put the gun down! Drop it, you don’t want to hurt them!”

“Spider-Man?” Peter heard the little boy squeak.

“SHUT UP!” The woman screamed shrilly, whipping around to face them again and gripping the gun tighter.

“No! Look at me! Point that at me!” Peter cried, running forward and forcing himself between the gun and pair trapped at the end of the alleyway. The woman seemed to be so stunned at this move that she didn’t even react.

“Eyes on me,” Peter said calmly, staring wide at her. As he went on he slowly began to turn around her, and she instinctively followed him with her eyes and gun. “Everything’s fine, just keep… looking… at… me.”

When she’d made enough of a turn for the boy and his father to run behind her and escape, Peter snatched her arm and yelled “GO!”

The woman tried to turn as the pair took off, the father holding his child to his chest, but Peter held fast, gripping her arm tight enough for her to cry out in pain.

BLAM!

The force of the bullet nearly knocked Peter off his feet, as if the white hot pain wasn’t enough to do that. Every bell and alarm in his head was ringing, his Spidey Sense spiking to the point where the pain made his vision swim in front of him.

If you asked Peter now what he did after that, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. He doesn’t remember webbing the woman to the wall and clutching his shoulder as he stumbled out of the alleyway. He doesn’t remember hearing sirens and dazedly thinking he has to hide before they see him. He doesn’t even remember climbing into a dumpster and falling with a whimper on a pile of black trash bags out of sight.

And he sure doesn’t remember the roar of repulsors just outside his hiding place.

In fact, all he remembers after that is realizing he forgot to take off his suit, and that his shoes, backpack, and hoodie, were still sitting next to the restaurant.

~~~

Tony hadn’t slept since Peter went missing. He spent every minute, every second looking for Peter. Even when Pepper urged him to sleep, even when Rhodey came in to give him another meal to be left uneaten, he didn’t stop. God, all he wanted was for his baby to come home. He knew why Peter left, he knew Peter thought it was the right thing, but sometimes he wondered where the hell he got all the self-sacrifice from.

In the back of Tony’s mind he knew Peter had gotten it from him, but that only made him feel worse. He hated that he may have inspired Peter’s idea to go off on his own, to throw himself at the mercy of the world just to keep people from being inconvenienced.

“Friday scan the latest news articles for sightings of Spider-Man please?” Tony said, drinking what must’ve been his fourth cup of coffee that day.

“There are 32 articles, Boss,” she responded promptly.

“And how many of those are real?”

“None, sir.”

“Right. Awesome.”

Tony set down his coffee, and pulled up a hologram, running his usual searches and scans for Peter. Every day was looking more and more hopeless, and Tony’s last thread to cling to was that someone would spot him and he’d be able to get there in time before Peter slipped out of his grasp. Again.

There was also the possibility of the health alert going off. But for that to happen Peter would have to either get seriously hurt, or happen to fall asleep in the suit, which he seems to be taking very careful steps not to. He’d hate for Peter to get hurt, even if it meant being able to find him.

“Boss!” Friday said suddenly, startling Tony so much he knocked his mug off the counter and it smashed to the floor. But he ignored it, knowing Friday had never used this amount of urgency in her voice before.

“What is it?! Where is he!?”

“His health alert went off, I’m sending coordinates to Mark 42 now!”

Tony rushed to the suit room and stepped into the Mark 42, blasting off of the launchpad and turning the repulsors to full strength, headed straight for Peter’s coordinates.

“Talk to me Fri.”

“Peter has been shot in the shoulder, no major arteries hit, but he is losing blood. He seems to be extremely sleep deprived as well as malnourished, and will lose consciousness soon.”

“God kid, what have you gotten yourself into?” Tony muttered. He was surprised at how close Peter was, he thought in the two weeks he’d been missing he might’ve gone farther, but he seems to have only made it just outside New York City.

“Land here, Boss,” Friday said suddenly. Tony looked down and saw a pitch black alleyway, and quickly descended down, landing a few meters away from a dumpster. But from what Tony could see, nobody was here.

“C’mon Fri, I don’t fucking have time for puzzles--”

“The garbage, Boss,” Friday interrupted. Tony felt his skin go cold as he turned around, staring at the dumpster. He quickly went over and peered inside.

And there he was.

My kid, my Peter.

He was sprawled limply over a mound of trash bags, blood leaking out of a bullet hole in his shoulder. Tony pulled off his mask and took in his pale, thin face and dark circles under his eyes.

“Oh my god--Oh Pete.” He lifted him from the trash, feeling tears of both relief and fear spring to his eyes. “Hey kiddo, we’re gonna get you home now, okay buddy? We just um… we gotta stop this bleeding first.”

“Karen says Peter’s possessions are next to the restaurant across the street, there’s a hoodie there that you can use to stop the bleeding,” Friday said quickly. Tony flew gently to the spot she indicated, and found a discarded hoodie that was nearly threadbare, a pair of shoes that were barely recognizable as shoes, and a ratty old backpack where Peter must’ve kept his extra things in. He almost thought it’s where he kept his food too, but the kid was practically a sack of bones, there’s no way he’s been eating much.

“Okay baby, I’m just gonna set you down so I can get this hoodie tied around you,” he said, knowing Peter couldn’t hear him but feeling too relieved that he could talk to his kid again to stop. “We’re gonna stop the bleeding and get you home okay? It’ll all be okay, I promise Pete.”

Once Tony got the ratty sweater tied around Peter’s shoulder enough to keep constant pressure on it, he quickly shoved the shoes into Peter’s pack and swung it over his shoulder. Then he gingerly picked him up, cradling his head and hoping the metal fingers weren’t too uncomfortable for him.

“Okay Pete, we’re gonna go now okay? We’re gonna go and get you patched up now, you’re safe now alright?”

Tony’s helmet clanked shut and he blasted off, headed straight for the Tower again, still speaking comfortingly to Peter, hoping somehow he could hear.

~~~

Peter woke very slowly, slipping in and out of consciousness for what could’ve been seconds or days. Ultimately what woke him was realizing that he was far more comfortable than he should be. He should be freezing, his shoulders should be aching from the hard rooftop, his face should be sticky and wet with grime.

He shouldn’t feel a familiar warmth in his hand.

Peter finally opened his eyes, the action much harder than it sounds. He was in a hospital. No, not a hospital, it wasn’t quite the same. A medbay. Stark Tower’s medbay.

And the person holding his hand was Mr. Stark himself. He had his head on the hospital bed, snoring softly and holding Peter’s hand firmly, as though terrified if he let go, Peter would simply fade away.

No. No no no no no, I shouldn’t be here, no, oh god--

Peter’s eyes filled with tears and he couldn’t even hold back a sob. His small whimpers were what woke Tony.

“Peter?” he mumbled, lifting his head quickly and blinking sleep away. When he caught sight of Peter’s face his expression softened and he quickly stood up, reaching over and wiping away Peter’s tears. “Oh god, Peter, hey it’s okay, it’s okay baby, you’re okay.”

“No, no, Mr. Stark I can’t be here, they’re gonna--”

“Shh, none of that kiddo--”

“No, no no no I have to leave Mr. Stark, you shouldn’t have taken me here, they’re gonna hurt--”

“Nobody's gonna hurt anybody, baby. I know what you were trying to do, I know you want to keep us safe,” Tony said, pulling the blankets higher up on Peter, and tucking them in. “But you don’t have to run away. I’ve taken care of everything.”

“W-What do you mean you’ve taken care of everything?” Peter said. It was then he noticed he was still absolutely starving, making it much harder to focus as he looked up at Tony.

“I mean I’ve made sure your friends, Ned, MJ, your school, and Aunt May, all of them are protected. If a villain comes anywhere near them, if news reporters bombard them, I’ll know. You don’t have to leave to keep them safe anymore, I’ve taken care of everything, kiddo,” Tony said, squeezing his hand. “Well almost everything. You sir, have not been easy to take care of, as you haven’t even been around for me to care for you.”

Peter looked down, fidgeting with his covers as his face turned bright red.

Mr. Stark had it covered. Of course he did, he’s a billionaire, he can just hire people to keep everyone safe. Why didn’t Peter think of that before?

“I-I’m sorry. I thought it would be better for everyone if I just left, I thought you guys would be happier--”

“Pete, we could never be happy without you,” Tony said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re too nice kid. Always thinking about others and forgetting to think about yourself. You don’t have to help anyone else right now, just let me take care of you okay?”

Peter smiled and nodded, wiping a few stray tears from his eyes.

“Okay,” he said softly. Tony smiled and squeezed his hand again before speaking again.

“You feel comfortable? Is there anything I can get you? Extra pillows or something?”

“Oh um, actually could--”

Peter’s stomach cut him off with a loud rumble, and he could feel it squirming hungrily under his skin. He felt his face flush a deep red and Tony gave a small chuckle.

“Jeez, can’t believe I forgot, you’re starving aren’t you?” Tony said. He patted Peter’s belly, and reached for something below the bed. When he pulled an entire paper bag full of food up Peter thought he might just cry. “How many cheeseburgers do you think you can fit in that tummy of yours?”

Tony helped Peter sit up, careful to keep his injured shoulder still, and gave him a burger. Peter ate like he never had in his life, shoveling mouthfuls of bread and meat and cheese down as fast as he could.

“Woah, kid, you might wanna slow down there,” Tony said after a moment, but Peter wasn’t paying attention. His heart was pounding and his stomach was aching and he couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than eating and swallowing as much food as he could. The guilt of wanting to steal from a restaurant instead of saving that little family seemed to bubble to the surface of his mind, and he quickly distracted himself with more bites of food, hoping to bury the guilt under it all.

“Peter? Hey, Pete, baby you gotta slow down--”

His eyes began to sting, and his breathing soon became hyperventilating, and he tried to ignore it, ignore the horrible feeling in his chest at the sight of the terrified father and his son, hoping it would go away if he just made the ache in his belly stop.

“Peter!”

A hand snatched his wrist and Peter looked up wildly, a desperate whine in the back of his throat. Tears were streaming down his face now, and he swallowed the bite he still had in his mouth. The endless mountain of guilt that had been collecting in his chest since he ran away was finally topped off by the look of worry in Tony’s face.

Why did it remind him so much of the father in the alleyway?

The dams broke, leaving Peter to curl up and sob into his knees.

“Oh no, hey, kiddo, what’s wrong? It’s okay baby, you’re not in trouble I just didn’t want you to hurt yourself, I promise,” Tony said gently. When Peter didn’t answer he crawled up and sat on the bed next to him, wrapping his arms around Peter’s trembling shoulders.

“I-I messed up Mr. Stark,” Peter said in a trembling voice. “I fucked up, I fucked up everything, I ruined it--”

“Woah hey, what’re you talking about? What’s going on?”

Peter turned and clutched Tony, sobbing into his shirt as he explained all about the restaurant and the father and his son, and the woman in the alleyway. How he’d wanted to steal, how he didn’t go to save them right away, how he wanted to just leave them and go inside the warm, cozy looking restaurant and forget it ever happened.

When he eventually finished Tony didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead he just reached into the bag and brought out another cheeseburger, holding it out to Peter. Peter didn’t take it, still feeling guilty for having wanted this instead of wanting to help.

“Eat up kiddo, it’s okay. Just go slower this time.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“Yes you do. Everyone deserves to eat, and that includes you. You didn’t do anything wrong back there Pete, it was just a moment. Doing the right thing can be… extremely hard sometimes. I’m telling you the truth when I say that most people in that situation would’ve left someone else to take care of it and gone inside without much of a second thought.”

“But I’m not most people Mr. Stark. I’m supposed to be the ‘someone else’, I’m supposed to be the hero. How can I call myself something like that if I didn’t want to help?”

Tony rubbed his hand over Peter’s shoulder, and held the cheeseburger right under Peter’s nose, causing his stomach to growl again. Peter took it with a sigh and started eating again to quell the monster in his belly.

“Like I said kid, it was just a moment. You were cold, tired, starving, and worst of all you felt betrayed. The people you’re trying to save turned against you, so of course you felt less inclined to help them. But the thing about you is, even if you get knocked around, you never think it’s okay to hurt them back. That’s why you changed your mind. You knew that even if they hated you, you couldn’t handle the idea of them being hurt when there was something you could do to stop it. Not everyone is like that kiddo, you’re special. Just because there was one moment where you felt bitter, doesn’t mean you’re not a hero anymore. You still saved that little boy and his dad, you were still a hero. Everyone falters, it’s just a matter of if they stay down.”

He put a hand under Peter’s chin, coaxing him to look up into his eyes.

“I’ve never known a kid like you to stay down for long.”

Peter gave a watery smile and buried his face against Tony’s chest as they clung to each other, each finally feeling like they could relax.

Peter spent the next few days recovering in the medbay, his Aunt having arrived at the Tower only half an hour after he woke up and making him swear never to pull something like that again. His friends also came to visit, and MJ sketched Peter and Ned as they built an Avengers Lego Quinjet together.

It was on his last day in the hospital that he woke up to see Tony slumped in a chair and his Aunt May snoring on his shoulder, and he finally felt at home again.

[maggotmouth]

          hillo sexthy legends !!   i’m nora and i’ll be writing margo colby n probs sm1 else bcos lets be real, i lack self-control. u can find her pinterest here n some info abt her sexy self below the cut. plot with me on discord ( hot girl midsommar#8664 ) or in my ims !!  x o x

     * CAMILA MORRONE, CIS WOMAN + SHE / HER  | you know MARGO COLBY, right? they’re TWENTY-THREE, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, ELEVEN YEARS? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to SCRAWNY BY WALLOWS  like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole BLEACH WHITE SNEAKERS POUNDING ON A GYMNASIUM FLOOR, USING THE SAME BLUNT SCISSORS TO HACK THE SLEEVES OFF AN EXES T-SHIRT THAT YOU USE TO CUT YOUR 3AM FRINGE, A WALNUT-SHAPED ACHE IN THE PIT OF YOUR STOMACH FOR THE PERSON YOU COULD HAVE BEEN thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is AUGUST 8TH, so they’re a LEO, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nora, 25, gmt, she/her )

CLICK ANYWHERE ON THIS SENTENCE FOR SEXII GOOGLE DOC!!

bullet point summary of margo.

—   born margaret but NOBODY calls her that. its colby, coach or margo, and go to the privileged few. margo grew up in the creek commune n then dropped out of school cos of a teenage pregnancy so she was a bit of a cautionary tale back in’t’day (said tht in my yorkshire accent). she now works for summer camps coaching pee wee soccer and pee wee cheer, as well as helping out her beekeeper dad on his honey farm, which is jst north of abernathy creek, and working at scuba on the off seasons.

—  its just her and her dad, and has been for as long as she can recall !! everything she knows about her mum could fit on the back of the weathered passport photo she keeps in her wallet of a stranger who shares her face - her name’s melody, or at least tht was name she used when working as a dancer, she’s from argentina and dropped mag’s dad as soon as someone w more money came along.

—  margo’s father is a beekeeper with his own organic honey company. margo and her dad moved to irving in the early 00s, the summer between grade school and middle school, because her dad had heard about the communal living in abernathy creek and wanted to lend his skills there and live off the fatta the land in a very lenny from of mice and men kinda way.

—  for a few years of middle school margo was bullied for living with the ‘freaks from the creek’, but when they realised how chill her dad was with underage drinking, margo ‘keg-bringer’ colby soon gained popularity among the more renegade students. every so often, the high school parties would happen at her end of town, occasionally with members of the commune even offering the high schoolers a spiritual experience they’d never forget (often in the form of mushrooms) which meant people tried to stay on her good side. to get an invite to a margo colby party handed you a free pass to make up the most ridiculous shit about the commune you liked and nobody else could say anything, because they’d never been to the creek.

—  at school, margo had a lot of ‘behvioural issues’ bcos of undiagnosed adhd, she found it difficult to sit still for hours n write down huge chunks of information n her restlessness was seen as laziness. she was encouraged to do sports, as were most of the kids who weren’t that academically inclined, but she turned out to be pretty hot shit at sprinting, because she grew up surrounded by bee houses and he who runs slowest gets stung, baybeyy!! so yea, in school sports became her LIFE. she was gonna get a sports scholarship to college but ended up dropping out of school in senior year n becoming one of those kids who could have had it all but lost it.

—  she had sex with sutter at a house party when she wasnt really ready because it felt like the right thing to do at the time and everybody else was doing it. she’d attended health class, she’d seen the corny videos. she knew about all the statistics, but she also knew that it had never happened to anyone she knew and the pull out method was basically safer than the morning after pill and way less expensive.

—  a teenage pregnancy knocked her out of the runnings for prom queen and meant she had to leave school early. she didn’t go to college when her friends did, instead she spent the time interviewing potential foster candidates and eating her weight in lindt chocolate while marathoning love island in her room.  

—  she had a son, who she passed off to someone else a couple of towns away.  it was a closed adoption which seemed like the best idea at the time, but she now wishes she had access to his life.

—  after peaking in high school and jumping between jobs for a few years, she got a more permanent role at scuba which she loves with all of her heart and soul, but unfortunately a bar job doesn’t pay the rent.  

—  she works at summer camps coaching  junior soccer and netball on the side. she’s extremely competitive and takes it very personally if her team lose. the kids all call her, coach colby n write her longwinded letters about how they’ll never forget this summer camp before they go back to their suburban picket fence houses n she keeps all the letters in a drawer n takes them out to read when she’s feelin depressed.

—  enjoys surfing and worked for a number of years on resorts like mila kunis’ job in forgetting sarah marshall. she went on to work 18-hour days as a stewardess on luxury yachts which is a part of her backstory i added after watching season one of below deck because i guess i really am that fucking impressionable. met most of her surf friends doing tht but said she’d never in her life do it again bcos it was mostly just picking up after rich white ppl for shit pay. she came back to irving n thats when she started doing the summer camp jobs so she could move out of the creek n get her own apartment. 

—  she never actually finished senior year so she’s currently going to night school at the community college to get through her exams and is trying to save to go to college or open university. she wants to major in criminology. she’s super ambitious but also super adhd so she fluctuates between thinking she can achieve anything to just feeling like a failure n thinkin whats the point

—  used to shoplift to feel joy and as an act of resistance to her hippy commune routes, but now sees herself as a reformed, bin-diving freegan (sims 4 eco living can i get a hell yaaaa). also she thinks it’s totally wrong to steal when you have enough money and clearly don’t need to steal to survive, ppl risk imprisonment for basic necessities, so for her to do it for a brief thrill and some new shades felt a bit derogatory

—  was raised jewish. became a vegetarian as a child because it seemed, at the time, easier than having to explain which foods she was and wasn’t allowed to eat together, so she just cut out meat entirely. still a vegetarian now and dabbles in veganism, although its become less about not eating certain meats in the milk of their mother and more about her global impact / carbon footprint

—  nurses little animals to health in her garden. has a hedgehog name OJ short for orange juice not the other one filthy pig. her and her dad have always been huge animal rights activists and existed on a vegetarian diet. the only one in their house who isn’t vegetarian is their cat, auggie. (short 4 augustus gloop)

—  has a lot of stupid ass stick and poke tattoos. there was a phase during her years as a barmaid where she wanted to train as a tattoo artist n would mostly practice on herself or any friends who would let her

—  she doesn’t form many long lasting friendships cos she tends to be super excited when she makes a new friend and just see them all the time but then it wears off and she can ghost a bit. she’ll always coming pinging back but she’s not the most predictable or loyal friend, sometimes she’ll sleep in your house every night for a week and then you won’t even get a text from her for a month. her best friends are elderly neighbours and houseless people she meets when volunteering at the foodbank. she thinks they’re more authentic than most of the ‘fake posers’ she meets down the vela pier

—  calls herself a butch lesbian but still has sex with men when she wants validation. sexually attracted to some men, especially effeminate men, but only romantically attracted to women. very possessive of the gals in her life.

—  stopped giving a shit about getting older or adhering to anyone elses bullshit standards, realised it was all fake p much as soon as she dropped out of school and one by one her friends just stopped texting her

—  lives in one of the lofts in port apartments. it’s open plan with rugs and lava lamps everywhere. she has a palette bed. its all very ‘sustainable chic’. like, oh wow, a pallet bed that im supposed to think you made from scratch but i KNOW you got it  off ebay because you thought it looked trendy

—  constantly says shes poor but still buys clothes from urban outfitters. sus.

—  frequently found at fannies flirting with the cute bisexual bartender with a choppy black bob.

general vibe / personality

vibrant, vulgar, self-absorbed, tenacious, veers bewteen apathetic and dogmatic, temperamental, flighty, unreliable, magnetic, charismatic, passive aggressive, likes to play devil’s advocate, takes the moral high ground. estp and a leo

likes: 70s music, john wayne movies, black mirror, philosophy, cowboy chic culture, dc comics, the smell of locker rooms,, deep red lipstick, lacrosse sticks, smoking weed from a bong, dogs, karaoke, pet rats, kate moss, late-night strolls, hawaaiian shirts worn open over a bralette, skinned knees, thai food, picking the apples at the very top of the trees, zip-lining, cigarettes, the idea of pegging but not the practical application of it, decorative lamps, LGBTQ+ pin badges, worn-out furniture, twangy electric guitars.

dislikes: girls who call other girls ‘pick me’ girls, woody allen movies, mental mathematics, wealthy children, quentin tarantino, ironing, institutionalised misogyny, the imaginary future, french literature, ‘dump him’ feminism, wes anderson films, spoken word poetry nights, college-educated bar staff who act like they’re better than you,  indie softbois, the general mentality of cheerleading squads.

aesthetics

orange peel, the smell of bleach, skeleton drawings in the margins of a journal, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, bleach white sneakers pounding on a gymnasium floor, setting dumpsters on fire for the hell of it. a hit flask of vodka decorated with hello kitty stickers, split knuckles, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, a child in an oversize bee keepers suit, scabbed knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your dad wouldn’t take you,  a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

hoo boy this is getting LONG AS FUCK but here are my wanted plots

wanted plots

ok margo’s been in irving since she was like 10. she’s quite a vivacious person?? she dresses completely instinctively without any sense of cohesion so she stands out. a guy once told her she was wearing the ugliest outfit he’d ever seen and he thought that was so cool and brave of her. but anyway where was i going.. she grew up in the abernathy creek so stuck out like a sore thumb,,,, maybe ppl who were super interested in the creek or maybe poked fun at her bcos of it idk.....

b4 she dropped out, margo used 2 b in with the cool kids at school bcos her dad would buy them booze and rarely ask for the money. maybe a fun plot cld b with some of the ‘it girls’ she used to hang around with b4 she got pregnant n dropped out and they all went off to college n stopped texting her.

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! some1 she feels like she knew before irving ???

since margo literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships. fwbs. enemies with benefits. all the angst. all the slow burn mutual pining we hate each other narratives

locals who play sports. margo wld be all over community soccer n take it way too seriously. maybe ppl she plays hockey with. girls who she’s like, weirdly intimate with but its not a thing cos the other girls straight !!! what do u mean !! aha just fun !

she works part time at scuba. i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry.

she's also a surf instructor and occasionally works as a lifeguard!! gal has like 7 jobs ik but regular swimmers hmu

ppl she coaches at the gym !! she wants to be a personal trainer

i reckon she might have recently started meditating to try and calm down her mind cos its always bustling with thoughts, n i think she’s p interested in buddhism so if anyone’s a buddhist hmu

someone she’s trying to make a zine with on female empowerment and women in film and art, etc. just a very feminist zine. 

TLDR:  angry sports gay, former high school track prodigy turned drop out, who likes feminist literature, wearing leather jackets over slip dresses, and smudged red lipstick.

this was so long !!! im sorry !! if you’ve read this far have a biscuit, love x

[bumbleberrysky]

alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) | 01

pairing: gabriel x reader genre: soulmate au, canon divergent around s13, hurt/comfort, humour, future smut (probs) wc: 3.2k rating: sfw warnings: none except the appearance of battered gabriel fresh out of asmodeus’ hold notes: welcome to my first dive into writing for supernatural! i saw someone say that s13 lit a fire under their ass like nothing else and honestly i don’t think i could have described it better. i binged so much while catching up the past few weeks idk who i am anymore

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It's something you're destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you'd thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you're suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you'd been brought here in the first place? Maybe...

Chuck works in mysterious ways after all.

next.

“Honeys, I’m home!”

The bunker has the same light aroma of musty air and metal as you let yourself in through the heavy front door, feet carrying you, out of habit more than anything, to the steel landing that marks the entrance to the fortress. It’s been so long since you were last here that the two men you used to hunt with regularly have likely forgotten they gave you a spare key. Well, they hadn’t exactly given it to you so much as you’d made a copy on the down-low and kept it for occasions such as this.

One hand keeps pressure on your arm, an attempt to stem the bleeding, and the other carries your single carry-on bag. You make it about halfway down the stairs before your gaze swings out over the foyer and you freeze, mid-step.

Sam and Dean, the two figures you expected to find here, are standing stock-still with their guns half-poised (not directed at you) and expressions on their faces that are a combination of shocked, pissed, and extremely confused (mostly directed at you). Following the line of their weapons leads you to the other two occupants in the room, most definitely unexpected and completely unfamiliar.

One is in rags, cowering, and whimpering, unrecognisable underneath filthy tangled hair that covers his face, and the other is in a prim suit marred only by blood and a bit of dirt, barely a single strand of dark hair atop his head out of place.

“Twinkletoes? What the hell are you doing here?!”

It’s Dean’s stupid, old nickname for you that breaks you out of your shock, a glare already falling onto your face with the practised ease of muscle memory.  

“I’ll answer that when you tell me what the hell I just walked in on—” You come the rest of the way down the stairs, slower and more cautious now, with your gaze trained on the two at the other end of the table. It’s when the man in rags finally looks up from where he had been cowering and you catch a glimpse of his face, bloody and bruised but instantly familiar, that your words swell and catch in your throat.

“… Gabriel?”

The brothers in front of you heave a great, unanimous sigh, a look passed between them telling you that you’re about to be on the receiving end of a very ludicrous and typical Winchester story.

x     x     x

The first time you met Gabriel was not long after you’d gone through the biggest plot twist of your entire life. You’d gone to sleep in your bed, in your home, and woken up in a completely different part of the world, like some magician had snapped their fingers and you’d been the punchline of their very next trick. Much to your regret and distaste, some minor investigation revealed that where you’d woken up in the backseat of a car on the side of the road was in some state in the US. You’d sworn to yourself that you would never step foot here in your entire life and then, like God or whoever reigned above was laughing straight in your face, you’d just up and woken up in some random car in a place that made you long to be literally anywhere else.

Preferably somewhere where the occupants didn’t have such easy access to guns.

…like the two men who screamed and pointed theirs at you when you popped up from their backseat after they climbed into the cabin, fast food in their arms.

That was the first time you’d met the infamous hunting brothers, the Winchesters, and the first time of many you’d nearly died in their company.  

It had taken a while for them to trust you, but after you inviting yourself onto a few of their cases and saving their asses a handful of times (ignoring the amount of times they saved yours because you forgot that almost every American slept with a gun beneath their pillow) they’d eventually taken you under their proverbial wing. It helped that you had literally nowhere else to go and nothing but the clothes on your back and a bare handful of belongings to your name. Once they figured out you weren’t hiding anything up your sleeve and that you’re just naturally annoying and a little dumb, they’d happily invited you to become an official-unofficial part of their little hunting gang. This means you’re also familiar with the hilarious angel they have in their back pocket. Castiel is a riot and one of the things you miss most when you go off to hunt on your own.

Having been around during the whole ordeal of Lucifer and Michael going through the motions of continuing their family spat on an apocalyptic scale, you too grew to be familiar with their youngest brother, the archangel Gabriel. Of course, while you’d been there for a fair amount of the angel-turned-trickster’s shenanigans, you weren’t there for the final appearance he made at a hotel in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. In complete juxtaposition to the fact that you could count on one hand the amount of times you’d interacted properly with Gabriel, the sensations you experienced at the news of his sacrifice, his death, were unlike anything you’d ever felt before. You like to consider yourself much more emotionally healthy and with an emotional range far larger than that of a teaspoon and the Winchesters’, but that… that news was something that it had taken you months to recover from fully.

And even then, apparently your recovery wasn’t as complete as you’d thought, because hearing what the boys have told you now has made your eyes burn and your stomach turn into a nest of manic bees, your insides lined with flowers and pollen. You think, for a moment, that you just might be sick.

You’re sitting in the library, Gabriel having been taken to a room of his own by one Winchester while the other fills you in before they’re both reunited before you, and you’re in the kind of mood where you sort of want to just sit there and dissociate for a few hours, truthfully. You can tell you’re not going to get that opportunity though, so in the wake of the bombshell they’d just dropped on you about all you’d missed in the past few months—that they had apparently forgotten to tell you over the phone when you checked in occasionally— you do the next best thing you can think of for the moment.

Put it on the backburner, baby.

You massage your temple with your fingers as you lean your head into your hand, a sigh escaping through your nose. “See, this is why it feels like I have been brought on as a babysitter—I leave for a few months and you old men manage to dig up another almost-apocalypse and find and raise Lucifer’s kid?”

“Alright, first of all,” Dean whips out a finger to point at you, filling you with glee. You’ve barely been back a few hours and already you’re stepping back into your favourite “stir-the absolute-shit-out-of-Dean” pants. As always, he is almost pitifully quick to rise to the bait. “Old? Who are you calling old? Alright so maybe we have a few years on you but that’s just because you’re a toddler and w—”

“Dean,” Sam places a placating hand on his brother’s shoulder, a look that seems to be a mixture of amusement and exasperation crossing his features. “You’re making it too easy for her.”

The older Winchester pauses, turning to pin you with an accusing look. You smile, not even attempting to appear innocent. After staring at you for several long moments, Dean makes the ‘eyes-on-you’ gesture with his fingers before turning away, rolling the tension from his shoulders as he takes a seat across from you.

“You were gone for almost a year this time, did you have any luck, well, leaving?” Sam brings your attention back to him, the question dragging out a sigh that feels like it’s been dredged from the very depths of your being.

“No,” you answer, sounding somewhat petulant even to your own ears. “Why is it so hard to leave this god-forsaken country! I hate it here. I’m sick of trying to make a run for it and being zapped back into a swamp, or—or a pool at the top of a penthouse suite in the middle of some random city! It sucks balls.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dean waves his hand, enjoying the dirty look you give him. “So you still haven’t found whatever purpose you’re meant to fulfil while here?”

You huff, shaking your head. “No. It’s been years and I still have no idea why I woke up here that day. Or why I can’t leave.”

Over the time you’ve spent with the Winchesters, a few things became apparent to the three of you about your stay here. One, it was indefinite. You’d discovered quickly that you are, quite literally, unable to leave. Every time you get close to escaping this country you black out and wake up back inside. Sometimes in a helpful place, sometimes…. Not.

Two, the three of you had thrown around and entertained the idea that maybe you’d been brought here for a reason, that like them maybe you’d been divinely allocated a role to play. But you’ve been through a lot with the Winchesters, whether in person or by association, and still…

You’re no closer to being able to leave and return from whence you came.

You have no idea why you’re here!

This is something that has really contributed to your temporary career as a hunter here. That isn’t to say that this profession isn’t something you were involved in before you came here, but you’ve really… you really dove into it, whether as a distraction or as an ongoing investigation as to what on earth was going to set you free of your tie to this place. A part of you thinks that each case you take on, each person or family you save and creature you slay might be the one reason that brought you here, and the one task that with its completion will grant you freedom. You’ve never been a fan of being caged; just because this one spans a grand total of 9.834 million square kilometres doesn’t make it any less of one.

This most recent expedition that led you to part from the Winchesters for such a long time was another of your failed attempts to leave. You think you’ve tried escaping at every possible point along the coastline and border by now, with a definite lack of success.

“Well, if it really is some divine intervention keeping you here, then it’s better if you just sit back and settle down, twinkletoes.” Dean huffs a laugh, leaning back in his chair with an accompanying creak from the wood. “Those divine types have proven to be… kind of assholes.”

You frown, but he isn’t saying anything you haven’t already thought. It’s part of why you’d settled so easily into hunting here, actually. ‘When in Rome…’, as they say. You’re familiar with the hunting grind and there is comfort in familiarity.

“Are you going to stay a while?” Sam asks, opening the first-aid box he’d first brought over when you’d settled down. Ah, right—you’d almost forgotten about the injury on your arm, despite the fact that you are still pressing a palm to it. You listen as he speaks, almost swearing you can detect a hint of hopefulness in his voice. “You still have a room here for you, of course. We haven’t touched anything inside.”

“Yeah, mostly because we didn’t wanna deal with the mess and the booby-trapped doors—” Dean’s under-the-breath mutter is cut off by your coo, a wide smile pulling your lips.

“Oh, you two missed me, didn’t you?” Instantly, you are successful in ruffling Dean’s feathers— Sam might take a bit more work, though. “I know I really light this dark, dingy place up but I didn’t know it was that bad without me! Ah, perhaps I will stay a while. You know, out of charity.”

“Sammy,” Dean says, beseeching. “It’s not too late—you hold her back and I’ll find her key. It’s not too cold, she’ll be alright outside.”

An appalled and affronted look slips onto your face and Sam has to clear his throat so that he doesn’t laugh and add to his brother’s torment.

“I’m not a misbehaving puppy,” you say, holding your arm out for Sam as he comes over and finally freeing your bloody hand. “Wait, unless you want me to be. Been broadening your horizons beyond animated tentacle porn have you, Deanie-bo-beenie?”

On cue, Dean’s face flushes light red, whether from anger or a brief spritz of embarrassment, only God knows. You can see Sam’s face grow tense from the effort of holding back noise in your peripheral as he tends to your arm.

“You know what? I’m better than this. I’m gonna let it go.” Dean rises from his chair, making a show of dusting off your metaphorical drama. His light eyes flick to you, squinting. “I’m tired; I have a date with my memory foam pillow and nice, warm, feather duvet and a good night’s rest, so goodnight. I hope your bed has bed bugs, twinkletoes, and I hope they bite.”

“I hope you sleep well too, Dean!” you call after him, deciding you’ll have to give him a break from the bullying tomorrow  or else he’ll explode before you can have much fun. “Do you want me to come tuck you in?”

“No! Goodnight!”

His yell and disappearance down the hall is followed a few moments later by the familiar sound of a door slamming shut,

“That’s not very fair of you,” Sam announces, sounding strained and very much like he’s trying not to laugh lest Dean has an ear pressed to his door. “He’s too tired to fight back right now.”

“I know,” you answer, wincing as he wipes down the laceration on your bicep and cleans the blood away with an alcohol wipe. It burns, but it’s definitely not the most painful thing you have ever experienced. “I hadn’t seen you guys in so long, though. I couldn’t help myself.”

Sam simply snorts, reaching for the needle and thread to being stitching the skin back together, and you breathe harshly through your nose as you reach for another topic to distract yourself.

“Are the two—sorry, the three of you actually dads now? To… to Lucifer’s half-angel kid? I thought angels getting frisky with humans was, uh… illegal up in heaven.”

You feel rather than see Sam roll his eyes, your own pointedly directed away from your arm where he has begun to get to work. “It’s Lucifer, y/n, I don’t think he cares about what’s illegal up in heaven.”

You purse your lips—he makes a fair point. Honestly, you feel a little silly for questioning it. “Right, and he’s… trapped in some other dimension? An alternate world where the apocalypse really happened.”

“Yep,” Sam says, hitting a particularly painful spot with his needle. You hiss, giving him a glare.

“I wasn’t even gone a year! Just hearing all this shit is stressing me out so much, dude.” You sigh, attempting to adjust your position in the wooden chair without jostling your arm too much. Thankfully, practice has made Sam quick at his job and already he is almost done piecing you back together. He finishes up with a knot, snipping the thread and then placing a large bandage carefully over the wound. He dusts his hands once done, standing from where he was leaning against the table and proceeding to loom over you like a T-Rex.

“You’re blocking my light, bro,” you inform him, narrowly avoiding a subsequent good-natured smack to your good arm. “Damn, what the hell! Didn’t you take an oath or some shit? I’m your patient!”

“I was studying law, not medicine,” Sam retorts dryly. He turns to leave and put the first aid supplies away, his back facing you but not before you see how his lips twitch. “So your annoying ass is free game.”

“Maybe so,” you acquiesce, rising from your seat with a light grunt as you jostle your arm. You consider asking Sam where Castiel is, to see if you can get a hit of the good stuff and skip the healing process, but think better of it. You always feel a bit bad asking him to heal you, though you barely ever have to since he’s like a rabid mother hen the second he sees blood on any of you. “God, I’m beat. I didn’t think I could get any more tired than I was before, but as always catching up with you two has aged me a few years and now I’m just about as tired as you two are all the time.”

Sam doesn’t rise to the ‘old man’ bait you dangle in front of him—never really does, if you’re being honest; that’s mostly Dean’s vice— but he does offer you a smile that is unexpectedly sincere and fond.

“Go to bed, toddler,” he retorts, before continuing in a softer tone, “… It’s good to see you again, y/n. I’m glad you’re here. Dean and Mom are going out on a hunt in the next few days and I think you can really help with, uh… the whole Gabriel thing.”

For a moment, you don’t say anything. You’d sort of been trying to avoid thinking about the elephant in your mind, for the very same reason that makes your eyes burn once more. It hurts, a lot, thinking and imagining what he must have gone through at the hands of Asmodeus. It feels like your heart is going to tear itself to pieces in your chest from the sheer extent of your empathy and how terrible you feel for him. The Gabriel you saw cowering before you earlier is nothing like the confident feathery asshole you used to know.

Even having only seen him once, it’s enough to make you fearful of the possibility that… he might be too far gone to ever return to that last echo of his previous self.

“I’m not sure what I’ll even be able to do to help,” you respond, approaching the doorway to the hall with your bag in tow. You pause to finish what you’re saying, meeting Sam’s puppy-like gaze from across the room. “But I’ll try. It hurts to see him like that, so… I’ll stay a while, to do whatever I can.”

Sam’s answering thankful smile and nod is all you can ask for in response as you turn and head further into the bunker, dragging your bags back to the room you’d come to call your own over the years. Your gaze strays on the way to one of the doors that has a little note taped on saying, ‘please do not open suddenly or loudly’, undoubtedly the room that they have allocated to Gabriel for the time being. Heart heavy in your chest, you continue on down the hall and tear your gaze away.

You’re not sure how much you can do for him, but you hope you can do something.

next 

[bonesofapoet]

Blood of the Holy

[matt murdock x you]

author’s note: hey hi hello, if some of you recognize this format + writing style but not the blog, i used to share my work on my main @ladyofstardvst​ and caved on making a writing blog. yall dont need to sift through my non-writing shit just to find my work. i’ve never written for this nerd before but here we are with a study of a sort! be kind! i take requests now! tw for blood, implied violence, swearing

word count: 1894

ao3: here

Most people couldn’t stand the neon in the dark.

It was garishly bright, it was harsh, it was annoying at best. The sign would blink and linger behind your eyelids, stain the shadows in the dark like sunspots, make an impression that washed out the relaxing calm, the blanket of the night.

It keeps most people awake, Matt Murdock explained on that very first night. It doesn’t bother me, obviously. Take the bed. It’s not as noticeable in the bedroom.

But it didn’t bother you either. The contrast caught your eye on the second night; the colors would paint the monochromatic neutral tones of the apartment, how they would mix and melt into the chipped brick walls, the trim, the beams of the ceiling. How if you were in the right place – the right cushion on the couch, far enough back into the kitchen – it looked like a painting come alive right before your eyes. Something that would go on to live in a local indie gallery, something inspired by vaporwave, or whatever they were calling neon nostalgia these days.

Still. Silent. Chiaroscuro. Art in the wild.

It was like clockwork, the blinking. The colors coming and going at the first peek of evening shadow, only to blink right off at the first knock of the sun’s rays on the horizon.

After the third, fourth, tenth, twentieth nights it had become a comfort of sorts, namely for the days Matt Murdock wasn’t there to press you into the wall and kiss you senseless, or weave each other stories under the moonlight with a nest of blankets and concrete beneath you. When he wasn’t there to ghost his fingertips over your skin as you drifted off to sleep, so painfully content that you always wondered if this beautiful man with a devastating secret would be the end of you.

You never knew, but he often asked himself the same thing.

Then there were days that damned neon was the only constant about Matt Murdock, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Daredevil.

Moments of lovesick peace would only last so long.

Your skin would crawl on the nights sleep wouldn’t come. Mug of tea, coffee, something stronger cradled in your hands while your mind wandered, your feet wandered, your eyes drifted around this space of his, this little hideaway of yours. You would always hear him before you saw him, adrenaline spiked and oh so weary. Some nights he was covered in so much blood you didn’t know where it ended and his own crimson suit began.

“You’re still awake,” he would say, scowl tugging his mouth down, always sounding surprised. As if it was unusual, for you to be restless on the nights he donned devil horns to go hunting.

And you’re still alive, would be your reply.

He would stay close until dawn. You would gravitate toward him just the same, moths to flame, flowers to the sun. Conversations were hazy and hushed in the early morning-late night blur. They walked that fine fragile line between this is not okay, Matt, and you know you can’t shove me away as easily as everyone else, you stubborn ass.

Unspoken vs spoken. Horror vs love.

Clockwork, nonetheless.

Until one day, the clock shattered.

Matt Murdock doesn’t come home.

Then it’s days. Weeks slipped into months. Months slipped into a blend of minutes, moments, denial casually catching hold within as you found yourself still in his apartment – your little hideaway - watching the steady blink blink blink of the neon sign through the dirty, frosted window panes of the kitchen. Then the living room, then the kitchen counter. Cold tea, day old bitter coffee, something stronger untouched and unloved in the mug that hung loosely in your hands.

Those feelings of heartache and unease and an angry I fucking told you so lingered at the back of your mind, the tip of your tongue. The last time you saw him had been reenacted so many times, it began to feel like a dream. A nightmare. The flesh made into ghosts. Phantom lips brushed yours in such a gentle, such an urgent way that your pulse began to spike at the memory. The loss. The longing.

You thought about how you had gotten here, of all places, here – this apartment, this man’s life, both of you entwined with secrets and lies that could end both of you forever-

Everything was safer in the dark. What Matt Murdock hadn’t known – well. That wasn’t how he had met his end, after all.

It was almost too much to think about, on some occasions.

Until one day, when the clock began to tick once more.

You heard him before you saw him, the familiar cadence of his footsteps descended from above. The quiet slide of the roof access door snicked open and closed in the unholy hours of the night, the unholy hours of the morning.

The silence was new, however, and your eyes drifted up to see a shadow at the top of the staircase, frozen and tense and so very familiar.

“You’re still awake,” he said, and the tears were suddenly there; the ones that could never come, the ones that never seemed to leave. They were present, and the noise that left your throat wasn’t coherent, wasn’t normal, but a strangled laugh escaped your lips anyway.

“You’re still alive,” you replied. If not for the routine, your answer wouldn’t have been so intelligible. “You’re alive.” came the raspy whisper.

His silhouette nodded, began to limp down the stairs into the apartment proper. Began to finish his long journey back to you, back to everything, really. The mug in your hands was no more – placed safely, if not hastily – on the table, and you met him halfway.

“Yeah,” he said, voice quiet and so very hesitant as he clawed off the scarf covering his eyes. “I’m alive.”

There’s the hint of a smile that catches in the neon blink, one that you dreamt of sometimes, on the long nights. Shared breaths, lovesick grins, stray tears being gently brushed away followed in a fog, in a rush, in slow motion that threatened to dismantle so many things about his time away.

And then -

“Where the fuck have you been?”

He’s holding your waist, fingertips splayed, grip firm if only to convince himself that finally – finally, he’s here, you’re here, you're together. Your own hands slid to his shoulders, but you stepped back to keep him a few inches away.

Your gaze was hot and strong and analytical – Matt could feel your eyes as they saw bruised skin, torn clothes, battered, bloody knuckles. He’s been in worse shape, both you and he knew that, but he also knew he was no drawing, no painting, nothing close to a work of art worthy of a museum either. There were bloody, violent masterpieces under guard at the Louvre more worthy than he.

Had he asked you, you would have disagreed.

He can’t see the sorrow drowning the color of your eyes or the way softness carved a home on your expression, carefully melting away the tension, the anger, the fear. He can’t see you, but he does and even after all this time he still knew how to read the air around your mood shifts and the lilt of your voice. Still knew that after all he’s put you through – he felt a weight lift off his shoulders, Atlas freed at last.

He may have lost touch with many things, many people, but not once had he ever lost you.

“I’m sorry,” he began, emotion becoming thicker in his voice with every breath, every word that tumbled past his lips. It had always unsettled him, how you could unearth what he tried to hide, tried to bury.

Moths to flame, flowers to the sun.

He condensed the happenings since the building collapse after his stint with the Defenders, his words spilling out quick and quiet, rushed and worried.

But if he hadn’t finished what he started, what was he doing here? What was he doing with you? Why now?

“Let me �� let me get this straight. Were you going to let us think you died, until – when? You got your shit together? Killed Fisk?” his fingers tightened where they held you, unseeing eyes wandered anywhere and everywhere except right in front of him, right on you. You knew that look. Your voice softened. “Or were you just going to disappear? Like this meant nothing – like this means nothing? And as grateful as I am that you are – why are you here, Matt?”

He shook his head, ignored the cracks that broke open his heart like dropped glass. Your name spilled from his lips like a holy hymn that golden haloed angels could never hope to sing. No one could recreate the most divine sound in all of creation. Matt Murdock would always swear you were a goddess incarnate, no matter how sinfully blasphemous it was. “You mean everything.” he pulled you into him, moved so his face was close to yours.

“It’s not that simple,” he said after, and you deflated in an instant. The amount of times a variation of this conversation had been voiced between you – you would never know. It was like a renegade wildfire: possible to lessen, impossible to tame.

It was as quick as the changing of the seasons, how he took on the urgency you’ve only witnessed a handful of times - when he allowed you in the presence of Daredevil himself. You remembered what he asked of you lifetimes ago, between hushed words and bloody gauze, hands slick with red and a needle poised between your fingertips. How if danger ever came to your door, you would listen and you would trust, and you would let him do whatever it took to keep you safe.

To keep you both safe, you tried to correct. He would nod, and you would ignore that he never agreed to such a thing.

“We need to go,” was all he said, but you knew. You remembered.

The strongest jolt of fear slammed into you, bleeding a black and white, us and them mentality. It threatened to smother the blinking neon, the bright washes of blue and white felt muted, felt so very distant when you realized that someone was coming here, someone figured it out, figured it all out.

Oh.

That wasn’t the answer you hoped for.

Us vs them.

“So it’s finally happening.”

Matt’s hands fell away from you, one slid to twine your hands together and squeezed. He was solid, he was grounding. You looked into his eyes. “You know I won’t let anything happen to you,” he took his free hand, lifted it to brush your cheek with tattered knuckles, bruises blossomed like night blooming flowers. He left a trail of soft burning flames when he traced a path down to your jaw where he stopped and cupped your face ever so gently. “That’s the one promise I knew I’d never break.”

Fear melted away when you closed the distance to kiss him, felt that heavy soul twine with yours; all was suddenly right with the world for the first time in a long time, even if the anguish of this city was about to come crashing down on your shoulders all over again. It tore at your heart, this kiss, because it was so very reminiscent of the first time he ever kissed you. Bright eyes, flushed faces, the thrill of something new ignited all around you. The future painted with vivid neon instead of muted pastels. It felt bittersweet, and you knew down in the marrow of your bones that this could very well be the last thing you would ever share with Matt Murdock, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Daredevil.

“I know,” you whispered against his lips. “I trust you.”

Once those words were in the open, there was no going back.

Your secret could wait.

[wingsofkpop]

Hiraeth - I.VII: Shattered Memories

pairing(s): Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre: Supernatural!AU, Dark Magic!AU, Angst, Fluff, light Smut

warnings: Mature language, mentions of death and murder, mentions of trauma, brief depictions of sexual content, nudity, mentions of alcohol, some satanic themes, etc.

word count: 6,9k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

Your eyes desperately survey the dim room, searching for a way to escape from this strange man who magically appeared in your bedroom. There’s no possibility of reaching the door without alerting him to your motives, nor is the window even an option since your apartment is almost nine stories up. You’ll need to come up with a different plan… Even if it means fighting your way out. 

“Look, I know it’s hard to believe—” 

You glare incredulously at the stranger, curling further into your bed to create more distance between your forms while hissing, “Jackson Wang died years ago, so unless you have some logical explanation or something, then I’m going to kindly ask you to get out of my fucking apartment before I call the police!” 

“I do have a logical explanation!” The man insists as you take another glance at your surroundings. If you play your cards right, you might be able to grab the tea mug off your nightstand, throw it at the stranger, and while he’s distracted, make a break for the door. If anything, the noise will hopefully wake up Sana… 

You snap out of your thoughts when you notice the man beginning to approach your safe perch. Deciding now is better than never, you lurch forward to grab the cup and heave it toward the stranger with all your might. However, the object merely soars straight through the man’s head and shatters against the opposite wall with a loud crash. He continues to stare at you as if nothing even happened. 

A choked breath slips past your lips. “What… the fuck…” 

“I tried to tell you.” The man raises his hands, as if to promise pacifism, and literally slides one arm inside the closed door of your closet, “I am Jackson Wang, and I am dead… but you’re still somehow able to see my spirit.” 

“So you’re… a ghost?” 

He nods. 

You narrow your eyes, still suspicious. “If you’re Jackson, then how did you die?” 

“I was killed.” 

“By who?” 

Jackson tilts his head, “Mark never told you…?” 

Your shoulders slightly loosen at the mention of your witch best friend, but you still remain on your toes in case you have to grab and weaponize your lamp. “How do you know about Mark and I?” 

“Because I’ve been watching you guys.” Jackson’s eyes widen. “Shit—that sounded really creepy. Think of it like… a guardian angel? Kind of?” 

“What?” 

He waves his hands as if expelling the idea before moving on, “If you’re a supernatural being, and you die, your spirit doesn’t really cross over like a mortal would. You’re kind of just… stuck in this place of limbo called the Other Side.” 

“But how are you able to be here? And how can I see you?”

“Spirits can attach themselves to people or objects, and use their energy to stay in the land of the living.” Jackson shrugs, “As for how you can see me, I have no clue. I’m honestly just as surprised as you are.” 

You bite your lip, trying to configure whether he’s telling the truth. If only you had asked Mark to describe Jackson back in the cave, then maybe you could have matched up his appearance. But all you have to go off of is this ghost’s words… which for the most part, seem genuine. And he hasn’t tried to hurt you—big props.  

“Okay. Let’s just say I believe you for now,” You start before quickly raising a stern finger to point your companion, “but I have tons of questions. For starters, why the hell are you in my room?” 

“I don’t really know.” Jackson grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “It sounds really weird, but it was like I was drawn to you…”

“Drawn to me? You mean like a magnetic pull or something?” 

He nods. “Exactly. But I really don’t know why. Maybe it has to do with how you can see me.” 

Feeling hot, you shove the heavy blankets from your body and embrace the newfound cold air against your bare skin. An exhausted, baffled sigh escapes as you bury your face in your palms, hoping to calm the throbbing in your head. Your thoughts are too wild though, and you end up meeting Jackson’s gaze in a matter of seconds. 

“So am I supposed to play Ghost Whisperer and help you cross over…?” 

“I don’t think so.” You fight off the urge to flinch as Jackson collapses onto the end of your bed with a deep huff, “But whatever it is, it’s really nice to have someone to talk to…”

“Are you alone? Like can you talk to other ghosts?” 

“I can, but it doesn’t happen very often. A lot of people on the Other Side can be pretty… intense.” 

To your dismay, your heart yearns for him. You grew up on your own after all, so you can understand what it feels like to be lonely.

“You never answered my question from before.” You say after a brief moment of silence, “...Who killed you?” 

Jackson’s eyes are dark as he thinks over your question, almost hesitating to give you the answer. While he’s debating with himself, you take the time to study his features. Now that he’s sitting entirely in the light and you’re able to see everything. 

You’re not surprised you mistook him as a human, because there’s literally no physical detail that reveals his ghastly nature. Unlike the ghost stories you’ve known, his skin is dark like honey and not transparent, while his lips are slightly chapped and hued the palest of pinks. His hair is a mocha-type brown with a couple sun-kissed caramel highlights, complimenting the sharpness of his handsome features. 

In summary, he looked no less human than another man. Although probably a bit more on the attractive side. 

“It’s honestly a long and complicated story.” Jackson says after a while, yanking your attention away from his well-defined jawline. Even so, you still continue to stare as he leans back to lay on your mattress, staring up at the ceiling with a blank expression. “I should really tell you everything from the beginning.” 

“It’s not like I’m going anywhere at…” You peer at the clock above your closet, “3 AM. We’ve got plenty of time to talk.” 

He shakes his head, “It’s not that easy. I can’t stay on this plane for too long, or else some of the witches on the Other Side will pull me back.” 

“How long do you have?” 

“Honestly… seconds.” The ghost forces himself back to a sitting position in order to better face you, “We’re technically not supposed to cross into the plane of the living. I’ve been caught a couple times before, so the witches have been keeping a close eye on me.” 

You furrow your brows. “Why don’t the witches want you over here?” 

“Because they’re afraid of upsetting the balance of nature. You’ve talked to Mark a little about that, right?” 

“He mentioned it once or twice.” You watch as Jackson rises from your bed and begins to head back to the corner in which you first saw him. He catches your gaze when he turns back around, offering forth a small smile. 

“Sorry for scaring you, by the way.” He chuckles. 

You shrug, your own lips upturning slightly. “It’s not everyday you talk to a ghost.” 

Jackson nods at your response before glancing toward the mounted clock. It’s subtle, but you manage to catch the slight flash of worry that overtakes his bright irises. When he turns his attention back to you, however, the concern is gone. 

“I don’t know when I’ll be able to return, but in the meantime, I want you to go talk to my pack.” Unlike beforehand, Jackson’s tone is scarily serious. Though it still contains remnants of his unusual gentleness. “They’ll tell you the basics you need to know to start. And, (Y/N)?” 

“Yeah?” 

Jackson’s eyes soften. “I don’t want Mark to know anything about this, okay? You’ll understand better when you hear the story.” 

“Of course.” You thumb at a loose thread along the seam of your pillowcase before shaking your head toward the ghost, “Before you go, can you at least tell me who killed you?” 

“Like I told you, it’s complicated…” He sighs, “But if you have to know, the Prime Two had a hand in my death… specifically Jaebeom.” 

You don’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the name of the ancient hybrid. Still, it surprises you, and it doesn’t. Given the tension all between Mark, the pack, and Jinyoung and Jaebeom, it actually kind of makes sense. But what about the conflict that Changbin hinted at? Or Jaebeom’s bitterness with Mark? What has everyone been keeping from you?

So many puzzles pieces, yet no clue how to fit them together. 

“I have to go now, but I’ll come to you as soon as I can.” Jackson’s urge brings you back to reality. “Just do what I said and get as much info as you can, okay?” 

You nod. “I’m on it. See you soon, I guess?” 

Jackson smiles again. “See you soon, (Y/N).” 

You open your mouth to say something further, but in the literal blink of an eye, Jackson is gone. Just vanished into thin air. If you didn’t know any better, you swear you hallucinated the entire conversation… but after all you’ve witnessed in Moon Dye Bay, you do unfortunately know better. 

With a groan, you fall back into your pillows, although the exhaustion from before is long gone. You doubt you’ll be able to fall asleep anytime soon, so you rise from your bed and set out to clean up the broken pieces of the mug you threw at Jackson only minutes before. 

Guess having tea before bed comes in handy sometimes. 

 ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Steam wafts through the tiled bathroom, gathering in a blanket of fog along the glass walls of the shower. Jaebeom releases a sigh of relief as the hot water beats against his bare back and shoulders, massaging the tension from his muscles and soaking the rest of his naked body. To gain better access to the stream, he leans forward and presses his hands against the fogged glass for support. Less he wants to slip and fall. 

Jaebeom peers down to watch the water spill down the drain, tinted red from the blood decorating his skin—Jinyoung’s blood, to be more specific. His mind immediately rushes back to the memory of his brother calling out for help in such agony and pain. He wanted to ignore it. He tried not to care. But then Jinyoung called out his name… what else was he supposed to do? 

Jinyoung deserved a lesson for getting involved in witch business again, but Jaebeom couldn’t just sit back and let him suffer through the hallucinations of their hell of a childhood. He curses himself for giving into such weakness and angrily scrubs away the patch of dried blood on his forearm. 

Maybe if you hadn’t looked at him with those bright, horrified eyes of yours after he left the room… then maybe his inhumanity could have won the battle over his sanity. 

Jaebeom continues to clean himself as his thoughts wander like the steam of the shower. Jinyoung’s fever broke earlier, so he should sleep much more soundly for the next few hours or so. His body will need time to heal, more so because of his stupid, anti-human diet. Maybe Jaebeom will be able to finally convince the pretentious prick to hunt with him after all these years. Or at the very least, drink from a blood bag. 

A faint noise that sounds vaguely like footsteps awakens Jaebeom from his shower-thought reverie. He squints through the shower door, trying to see past the curtain of steam. The bathroom is vacant save for the blurred image of his own reflection. Even so, something still proceeds to urk at Jaebeom’s senses, like an itch he can’t scratch. 

There’s someone here. 

It only takes milliseconds for Jaebeom to corner the figure that sneakily crept inside the shower with him and press them against the tiled wall. A little, feminine giggle emerges from the intruder as the hybrid cages them between his arms and broad chest. His nerves immediately calm at the devious face that stares back at him, instead earning a loud sigh of annoyance. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t rip your fucking head off.” 

“Mhm. I know how… rough you like to be.” 

Jaebeom provides the female an unamused expression. “What are you doing here, Tzuyu?” 

“Come on. I know you’re happy to see me.” Tzuyu flashes Jaebeom a radiant smile that resembles one of a temptress. Because of their position underneath the showerhead, her dark brown hair is already soaked. He also quickly realizes that she is just as naked as him. “I can’t just drop by and see my most favorite person in the world?” 

“You and I both know that’s a lie.” 

Tzuyu smirks. “That you’re my favorite person in the world, or that you’re happy to see me?” 

“What do you think?” He begins to pull away from the female vampire, but she stops him with a tight arm around his neck. Before he can blink, Tzuyu’s lips are pressed firmly against his own. Her sweet taste invades his brain like a parasite, and he can’t help but melt into the kiss, hungrily pushing his tongue past the seam of her mouth to find more of her delicacy. 

When she pulls back, Jaebeom almost growls. He lowers his hands to tightly grasp her waist before pressing her even further into the wall with his own body. In an effort to make up for the loss, he busies himself by sucking and nibbling along the canvas of her throat. His pride swells when she moans at a particular nip. 

“A little eager, aren’t we?” Tzuyu mocks, deviously brushing her knee against Jaebeom’s gradually swelling manhood. His body thrums at the brief contact, quickening his abuse against the patch where her jaw meets her neck. 

“You’re the one who interrupted my shower, remember?” He abandons her throat to trail a hand up to her breast, roughly pinching at her taut nipple and smirking at the low groan that bubbles in her chest. “If anyone’s desperate here, it’s you.” 

“Touche.” The vampire arches her back more into Jaebeom’s alluring touch. The hybrid welcomes the newfound access, dipping his head down to take one of her buds past his lips. Tzuyu releases a faint whimper before burying her fingers in his wet locks. When she harshly tugs against his scalp, Jaebeom responds with a warning growl. 

He detaches from her nipple and chuckles darkly, “We also know that you are the one that likes it rough.” 

“Maybe I do.” Tzuyu’s smile is dangerous. “So what’s the big, bad hybrid gonna do with a helpless damsel like me?” 

Jaebeom relishes the squeal of surprise that flies from her lips as he lifts her body in the air, tying her legs around his waist with a smirk. “I can think of a couple things…” 

Just as soon as the words are spoken, the muffled ring of the doorbell distracts Jaebeom from his lustful rendezvous. He releases a frustrated groan, carefully lowers Tzuyu back to the floor, then shuts off the water. The vampire follows him as he exits the shower, watching intensely as he towels off and slips into a loose pair of sweatpants. 

“Stay here.” Jaebeom says before taking off, quickly making his way through his bedroom, downstairs until he reaches the front door. Shaking out his still rather wet hair, he opens the door, prepared to tear apart whoever interrupted his moment. 

However, all his anger vanishes into thin air at the visitor on his doorstep.

His eyes widen to saucers. “(Y/N)?” 

“Jaebeom.” The animosity along your features falters when you notice his bare chest. You clear your throat before locking your gaze with his own. “How’s Jinyoung?” 

Jaebeom’s mood deflates. You’re here for Jinyoung. Not him. 

“The worst is over.” He replies truthfully, “He should be back to full health in the next few hours or so.” 

“I’m sure he could have been better a lot sooner, but whatever, right?” Jaebeom decides not to drop the fact that he actually did heal Jinyoung. Besides, even if he wanted to, your voice would have beaten him to it, “Anyway, I’m here because I need to know what happened to J…” Confusion invades his veins when your voice suddenly cuts out. He notices your gaze on something over his shoulder, internally cursing himself for already knowing what it is. 

“Who’s this pretty, little thing?” Tzuyu sidles up beside Jaebeom, eyeing your speechless form from head to toe. Her hand slithers to lazily rest on his tricep, but the hybrid can spot a symbolism of claim anywhere. And judging by the strange look in your eyes, so can you. 

“I thought I told you to stay upstairs.” 

“And miss meeting your human pet? How could I ever?” 

Jaebeom shoots the vampire a warning look. Tzuyu innocently bats her eyes. 

“I was actually just leaving.” You say, tearing Jaebeom’s attention away from his devious companion. He wants to say something further, maybe ask you to stay a little longer, but you’re already tugging your bag further over your shoulder and backing away from the door. “Tell Jinyoung that I hope he feels better, ‘kay?” 

Jaebeom shakes his head. “Sure, but (Y/N)—” 

You’re already walking away before he has the chance to finish his sentence. Jaebeom watches your form until it disappears inside a car, and even then, he watches the car until it drives past the entrance gate of the estate and out of sight. A strange, empty feeling remains in his chest, as well as the beginnings of annoyance and rage. 

Tzuyu leans forward to litter light pecks across his bare shoulder. “Should we… get back to where we left off?” 

Jaebeom slams the front door shut with a pound before pushing past the vampire without so much as a response. Tzuyu’s sigh follows him as he makes his way into the living room where he heads straight for the liquor table. He begins to pour himself a drink while Tzuyu situates herself against the doorway. Even with his back to her, he can feel her piercing gaze staring into his soul. 

“She seemed nice… (Y/N), was it?” 

Jaebeom downs his first glass of bourbon before shaking his head, “Drop it, Tzuyu.” 

“So I’m not allowed to learn about your other girlfriends? Though I have to say, I’m surprised you’d ever go for a human.” 

“It’s not like that.” He answers, glaring at the pouting vampire from over his shoulder. “She’s a friend of Jinyoung. We’ve only met like twice.”

Tzuyu smiles. This time it doesn’t spark arousal through Jaebeom’s body. It strikes fear. 

“I saw the way you looked at her, Beomie… I wasn’t lying when I said she’s a pretty thing.” 

Her tone of voice sends warning bells through his chest. 

Jaebeom hisses darkly, “Stay the fuck away from her, Tzuyu. I mean it.” 

“I would never lay on hand on your fragile human, Beom.” Something about the way her eyes gleam leaves an uneasy feeling stirring through his chest. That, and the way she looks down to check her nails with a sinister smirk. “Though I’m sure it would be so easy to cut out that sweet tongue of her—” 

“Tzuyu—” 

“Just kidding.” The vampire leaps from her perch against the doorway to steal the drink from Jaebeom’s hand. He watches her warily as she skips toward the window, staring out on the estate courtyards as she sips at the alcohol. Though her back is turned, Jaebeom can practically feel the cogs turning inside her head. 

He only hopes she keeps true to her words. For your sake. 

 ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

The purr of the car engine blends with the hum of your cell phone receiver. With each ring that passes, the trees outside the window grow more and more abundant while the hope within your heart only becomes less and less. You sigh when the familiar monotone message clicks across the line. For a moment, you debate on whether or not to leave yet another voicemail… It’s not like she’s answered the dozens you’ve already recorded before. 

The little hope that remains outweighs your logic. “Hey. It’s (Y/N) again. I don’t know if you’re not getting my messages or just ignoring me, but… I’m really worried about you, Jihyo.” You bite your lip, readjusting your grip on the steering wheel before steering the vehicle onto another branching, dirt road. 

“Sana was really shaken up last night and things are just kind of screwed up right now—for fucksake, Ji, please just pick up your goddamn phone and call me!” You end the call with a lot more force than necessary, tossing your phone into your open bag resting on the passenger’s seat. In order to calm the frustration bubbling through your veins, you focus your attention on the winding road ahead. 

After somehow managing to acquire the location of the werewolf pack’s hangout from Bambam, Sana agreed to lend you her car. She needs some time to cope, especially with Momo and Mina’s “sudden disappearance”, so she’s taking the next couple of days away from work at Moon Dye Bay’s local cafe. 

You thought it would be wise not to drop the real bomb about her high school friends when she was already wrecked over Jihyo’s walk-out, and while you hate lying… what choice do you have? If you tell Sana the truth, then you’d have to also tell her how and why Momo and Mina died. And with that, you’d have to tell her about the bay’s secret society of witches, werewolves, vampires, etc. 

Disgust filters through your body as you’re reminded of your less than awkward visit at the Project Estate. The fact that Jaebeom is able to fuck one out of probably very many of his pretty call-girls while his best friend endures the worst of all sicknesses right down the hall just rubs you all the wrong ways. Maybe that whole speech about his humanity from Jinyoung was one big hoax to get you to feel sorry for him, but you refuse to do so. 

You also refuse to linger on how that woman you saw with Jaebeom was one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen… and how it settles an uncomfortable pit in the depths of your gut. 

At the sight of the cabin, you push all thoughts from mind and maneuver the car to pull up in front of the large residence. It surprises you how abandoned and poorly-taken care of the outside of the cabin is, considering Bam said that everyone in the pack basically lives here. Then again, if one of your closest friends and packmate was killed out of the blue, you wouldn’t care much about appearances either. 

After cutting out the engine and grabbing your bag, you exit the vehicle. Bird songs and the buzzing of mosquitoes welcome you as you make your way up to the front door. You almost trip over a loose board on the cabin’s wraparound deck, but you manage to catch yourself before you slam nose first into the wooden ground. Just as you’re about to lift your hand and rap your knuckles against the door, a familiar voice seizes your attention: 

“(Y/N)? Is that you?” Dahyun emerges from around the side of the cabin, carrying a homemade, woven basket full of wet laundry. With a hand on her hip and a raise of her eyebrow, she continues, “You’re the last person I expected to see today… Did Mark send you?” 

“No, no.” You shake your head, “I was actually hoping to talk to Chan, or maybe Yugyeom about something?” 

Dahyun offers a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, hun. Everyone’s out today except me and some of the youngsters.” She pauses to support the basket against her hip. “Is there anything I can help you with? If you’d like, we can talk while I take care of these clothes?” 

“That would be great actually.” You agree, returning Dahyun’s bright smile with a weak grin of your own. The werewolf nods and gestures for you to follow her with her free hand, which you do so without any complaint. 

Once you turn the corner, your jaw almost drops at the sight of the backyard. Unlike the front of the cabin, which looks so unkempt and depressing, the back is the total opposite. It almost reminds you of a mini oasis, with the tiny pond full of flowered lily pads and the bushes of vivid, flourishing roses. Twinkling fairy lights hang from branches of trees, and you can only imagine how pretty it would appear at night. 

You and Dahyun pass a couple of other strangers playing Uno at one of the few picnic tables stationed around the massive yard. One of them, a young dirty-blonde teen, looks up as you walk by and offers a kind smile, which you can’t resist to return. 

Dahyun hums, “That’s Felix. Chan’s little brother.” 

“Really? I didn’t know he had a brother.” 

You take a seat on a mossy tree stump, watching as Dahyun sets down her basket and begins to hang the wet laundry along an already prepared clothesline. After staring for a few moments, you climb back to your feet and move to help the werewolf. 

She grants you a grateful smile and shrugs, “Most don’t. Felix hasn’t triggered his gene yet.” 

“His gene?” You repeat, pinning a large, black T-shirt onto the line. 

“Oh right. You probably don’t know much about wolves yet.” Dahyun peels open a moist towel and continues, “Basically, we’re born with this gene that has to be ‘triggered’ in order for us to activate our werewolf abilities.” 

“So the whole werewolf bite or scratch thing is a myth?” 

“One hundred percent bullshit.” She laughs. 

You chuckle as well, before inquiring further, “How do you trigger it?” 

Dahyun’s laughter immediately cuts out. Thinking you said something wrong, you open your mouth to reconcile, but the wolf beats you to it. Her tone nowhere near as light-hearted as before: 

“You have to… kill someone.” 

Your stomach twists, butterflies of revulsion fluttering all the way up to your chest. You notice how Dahyun no longer tries to meet your eyes, instead fully investing her attention in wringing out the dripping wet mass of fabric before pinning the corners to the line. 

“It’s usually an accident for most of us though.” She shrugs with a faraway expression, “Sometimes we just lose control of our emotions and things get out of hand… then somebody ends up dead, and you turn the next full moon. Whether you meant to or not.”  

You reach over to place a comforting hand on her elbow. “I’m so sorry… That sounds horrible.” 

“It’s just the world we live in.” Dahyun seems to snap out of her traumatized state and throws a slightly awkward smile in your direction, “Anyway, once your gene is triggered, you turn into a wolf every full moon for the rest of your life.” 

“Do you have control when you turn?” 

“Not exactly. Our werewolf form is like a totally different part of us.” 

You nod in understanding. At her guidance, you begin to take down the clothes that had dried beforehand while she finishes hanging the last of the remaining laundry. Once the last garment is pinned to the clothesline, the werewolf takes a seat in the grass and moves to begin folding the dry batch. You do the same. 

“Now with all that aside, what was it that you wanted to talk about?” 

“Oh. Right.” You bite your lip, trying to come up with the best way to bring up a dead Jackson without striking a personal chord. After a moment of silence, Dahyun must notice your apprehension, as she drops the socks in her hands and leans forward to lightly pat at your calf with a patient smile. 

Her kind facial expression alone is enough to evoke a slight wave of bravery from your soul: 

“Well, I was wondering about… Jackson Wang.” You say carefully, keeping your eyes on Dahyun’s gradually faltering smile. 

The werewolf leans back from you with a heavy sigh before releasing a soft chuckle, “It’s been a while since I’ve heard that name. Though I’m a little surprised… I thought Mark would have told you all about Jackson by now.” 

You shake your head. 

“Jackson was our first Alpha, before Chan took over. All of this actually belonged to his family—” She pauses to gesture to the cabin. “—but after his parents found out he triggered his curse, they gave it to him so he could have somewhere to get away. Eventually it became a sanctuary for the werewolves of Moon Dye Bay.” 

“Mark told me Jackson was his best friend…” 

Dahyun nods. “Ever since high school. Mark helped Jackson when he turned the first time, and Jackson was there for Mark when his mother died.” 

Your heart warms at the thought of Mark having such a close, supportive relationship with someone. However, that same feeling falters when you remember Jackson’s mysterious, tragic death. 

“So how did he die?” You ask quietly, peering over Dahyun’s shoulder to check the state of the other inhabitants in the backyard. Felix and his other friends are still engaged in their rather intense card game and are paying no mind to you nor Dahyun. The information lessens your anxiety, though only slightly. 

You return your focus to your companion when she tosses a wrinkled shirt back inside the basket with a bitter glare. “The Primes killed him.” 

“But why?” Dahyun turns at your inquiry. “There had to have been a reason? Right?” 

“When the Primes first came back to town, about four years ago, Mark and Jackson came up with a plan to try to kill their ancient asses once and for all.” 

“How? They’re invincible?” 

“Mark was going to gather enough power to break the immortality curse that makes them untouchable.” She answers, “Once Mark took out their safeguard, Jackson would drive a stake through each of their hearts.” 

You frown. “I’m guessing that didn’t go as planned?” 

“Mark couldn’t get the magic in time, but Jackson was never one to back down from a fight.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Dahyun rolls her eyes. “Jackson was one of the best people I will ever know, but his ambition always went to that big-ass head of his. That night, he was going to kill the Prime Two or he was going to die trying…” 

“So you’re saying it was… his fault he died?” 

“Yes and no.” She hums with a shrug. “Like I said, Jackson was always that ride or die kind of person. He was passionate and driven, but he was also reckless and stubborn.”  

You furrow your brow before leaning back on your palms. Puzzle pieces are slowly starting to fit together, especially concerning Mark and why he blames himself for Jackson’s death, but what doesn’t make sense is why Jackson died in the first place? If Jaebeom and Jinyoung couldn’t be killed then, and still can’t be killed now, what threat is a brash, pig-headed werewolf?... And why would Jackson be so driven to kill the Primes that he’d give up his own life doing so? 

Before you can spill your concerns to the waiting werewolf, the buzz of your phone seizes your attention. You retract the device from your bag to check the text message, finding a thread of new messages from Sana, one of which asking when you’re going to return to the apartment. You shoot her a quick answer with a promise to also pick up some dinner before you turn back to Dahyun. 

“I should probably get going. I have a couple errands to run before the sun goes down.” 

She rises to her feet in synchronization with you. “Of course. I hope I helped at least a little.” 

“You helped so much, Dahyun. Really. Thank you.” 

“I’m glad.” The werewolf smiles. “It was really nice to see and talk to you, (Y/N). If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to come visit me again.” 

“I appreciate that more than you could know.” You lean in to give Dahyun a quick, easy hug before walking with her back toward the front of the cabin. In the midst of approaching Sana’s car, your mind shifts back to another important, yet crazy thought that occurred to you while in conversation with Jackson last night. Without thinking about the consequences, you pause and ask Dahyun one final question: 

“Is it… possible to bring someone back from the dead?” 

Judging by her tense shoulders and bewildered expression, your abrupt inquiry takes Dahyun by surprise. She merely stares at you with saucer-like eyes and parted lips for a moment, until she seems to regain her composure. 

Even then, her words are muddled and full of confusion. “I-I mean, I don’t know anything about witchcraft myself, b-but I think so?” She narrows her eyes. “...Why?” 

“Just wondering.” You play off her curiosity by pulling your keys from your bag and opening the driver’s door. With a weak smile and a nod, you bid the werewolf farewell. “Thanks again. I’ll see you around.” 

You don’t wait for Dahyun’s response, too worried that she might somehow pick up on the plan slowly building inside your head. Without a second to spare, you switch on the engine, put the vehicle in proper gear and back out of the cabin’s driveway. Dahyun watches from the deck, and though you’re distant from one another, you can feel the intensity of her stare as you maneuver back onto the dirt, forest roads. 

Once you’re a decent distance from the cabin, you find your cell phone, pull up a specific contact and balance the device on your shoulder. The line picks up after two rings, and you don’t wait for the usual chime of a greeting. Not when you’re so deep into everything now. 

“Bam, I need everything you have on necromancy.” You say into the phone, squeezing the leather cover of the steering wheel in a mixture of anticipation and excitement. “And I also need you to promise not to say a word about this to anyone… Not even Yugyeom.” 

 ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Changbin is fuming. Absolutely fuming. 

It feels like his entire body is made of electricity, coursing through his veins and boiling his blood red-hot. He can’t control the trembling of his hands. Not even when he stuffs them inside the pocket of his hoodie. The urge to break something is strong, but Changbin doesn’t want to break just anything… No—he wants to break someone. Hurt someone. 

There was once a time he would have never thought these words. Then again, that was before the Primes came to town, and before Jackson was murdered. Everything changed after that. Everyone changed. When the pretentious, youngest asshole of a bloodsucker showed up to reveal that Jackson’s body couldn’t even be handed over, no one put up a fight. No one stood up for their Alpha. Life just went on, as if nothing had changed. 

A hiss sounds through Changbin’s gritted teeth as he thinks back to his most recent argument with Chan and Yugyeom. Neither of them even cared when he told them that Dahyun was the one who came at him first. They didn’t listen… but why would they? Changbin is just the runt with the anger issues, right? Why would anything he have to say matter? Why should they give a damn about his perspective… about his pain?

No one understands how much Changbin misses Jackson, nor do they understand how much anger it brings him that his legacy still goes unavenged. For fucksake, no one is brave enough to say his goddamn name aloud anymore. And even when he’s mentioned, everyone pretends as if there isn’t one giant ass elephant in the room. It makes him sick. Furious. 

Changbin is suddenly awoken from his racing thoughts when his shoulder slams into the body of another walking pedestrian. He reels around and regards the hooded stranger with a deep growl, “Watch where you’re fucking going, asshole! Unless you want me to break your fucking arm!” 

“That won’t be necessary.” Changbin watches, unamused, as the stranger removes his jacket hood. His face is familiar, he realizes. Changbin feels his anger grow tenfold. 

He pulls back his own tattered hood with another growl, “You better have a good fucking reason to be lurking in our territory, witch.” 

“I came to talk to you.” The witch remains unphased by the wolf’s aggression, even when the latter stalks closer and closer to his lean form. “I think you’ll like what I have to say.” 

“Oh yeah?” Although the male is slightly taller than him, Changbin doesn’t hesitate to get up in his face. “And what makes you think that?” 

The witch doesn’t pull away, but merely shrugs. “Because we both want the same thing… Revenge.” 

Changbin’s ears perk at that single word. His ferocity falters, prompting him to create distance between his and his companion’s bodies. After tucking his hands back inside his pockets, he doesn’t say a word, but nods for the former to continue. 

The witch smirks.

“What would you say if there was a possibility to destroy the Prime Two?”  

“I’d say you’re crazy.” The wolf bites his lips, “...but I’d also say I’m the slightest bit interested.” 

“And if I told you there was also a possibility of hurting Mark Tuan in the process?” 

This time, a mirroring smirk pulls along Changbin’s lips. 

“I’d say I’m in.” 

 ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“Are you sure I don’t need to come over there?” 

Youngjae rolls his eyes at Mark’s concerned tone, adjusting the phone on his shoulder to better his grip on the thick grimoire in his hands. “No, hyung. Jisung and Lia left hours ago, so it’s just me.” 

“I can help you out.” 

“I really don’t think I need your help for a plant revival spell.” He glances toward the array of wilting flowers and herbs, before releasing a chuckle into the phone. “Seriously, hyung. Take the time to rest… You had a long day yesterday.” 

He can almost see Mark shaking his head over the line. “Trust me, I’m very well-rested. I slept close to sixteen hours last night.” 

“Then sleep another sixteen. Satan knows you need it.” 

Youngjae sets the grimoire down on the countertop beside a yellowing, potted basil. He lays his hand over the ancient book, feeling the electric rush of magic entering his body through his palm. Once he gathers a satisfactory amount, he removes his hand and instead points toward the dying plant. 

“I just… hate not being productive, you know?”

Youngjae watches the leaves of the basil gradually lighten and shift from rotted to fresh, finally answering when the plant stands tall, proud and very, very green: 

“You need to give yourself time, Mark-hyung. That’s the most productive thing you can do right now.” 

“I… I guess you’re right.” Mark sighs, and even through the phone, Youngjae can pinpoint his friend’s exhaustion. He hums in response and turns to revive a drooping sunflower, making note to move the plant to a perch where it can reach the sunlight. 

“By the way, have you heard from (Y/N)?” 

“No. Not since last night.” Youngjae answers. 

“I texted her this morning and this afternoon, but she hasn’t texted me back.” The siphoner doesn’t respond, focusing on ripening the cherries of the sick miniature fruit tree. “Jihyo apparently left town last night… You don’t think that’s something to be concerned about, right?” 

Youngjae shakes his head. “She was probably spooked by an ex-boyfriend or something. And I’m sure (Y/N) is busy at the university. You know how hard she works.” 

“Yeah, I know. I just wish she would at least text me back.” 

“She probably needs time to process too, hyung.” He reasons with the head witch, glancing toward the front of the mausoleum when the knock sounds from the door. “I gotta go, but I’ll let you know if I hear anything.” 

Mark hums in agreement. “Thanks, Youngjae.” 

“Mhm. Get some more sleep.” Knowing Mark would retaliate with his command, Youngjae hangs up the phone before he can respond. The siphoner mumbles a quick illusion spell to hide any evidence of witchcraft to the mortal eye, then heads toward the front door, unsure of who would be visiting the mausoleum this late in the evening.

Who Youngjae certainly doesn’t expect to see behind the door is you, standing outside with a large mass of books cradled within your arms. 

Youngjae’s eyes widen when he notices one of the titles of the books, as well as the flames of determination burning inside your eyes. He parts his lips to inquire further, but you beat him to it… and your words nearly knock all the air from his lungs: 

“I need your help to bring Jackson Wang back from the dead.” 

[grahammasurian]

Dumping Your Responsibility.

The dumpster outside my apartment building was completely overflowed. The truck missed a couple weeks for some reason and people just kept piling their shit on top regardless.

“My sin will be forgiven, the next sinner will go to hell!”

This came into my head whenever I thought of the garbage situation. I considered myself 99% innocent since I didn’t use the dumpster during these couple weeks. Unfortunately when disaster happens it doesn’t care how much you were involved, all it sees is your darkness.

What I could have done was call up our landlord. Maybe I didn’t add directly to the trash pile but I still could have brought attention to it. Unfortunately my mind gave me a great reason for not calling him, a wonderful why even bother type of belief. These curses will kill you but they provide immense relief.

He lives someplace nicer and keeps his back turned on this building, so if I don’t tell him anything he’ll keep believing whatever fantasy he’s living. Whenever I bring up something for him to look at he puts it off or conveniently forgets about it, can’t say I blame him. I'd love to do the same sometimes and then feel guilty about it for the rest of my life. It’s hard to convince myself that a life of eternal guilt is worse than a life of hard work. Maybe the simple solution is to just disregard the guilt and make everyone despise me, though I can’t say that seems like a good long term strategy.

I guess everyone likes to avoid responsibility too, don’t get me wrong I get it, because man it sure feels good to not take anything seriously, just sit back and relax through life, I’ll lay down in my bed and fold into a quarter circle. Pull my knees up to my chest and gently hold myself, like swinging in the breeze floating along to somewhere better.

Eventually some birds had a war over the trash that was at this point spilling everywhere, old food, old clothes, plastic shit, maybe real shit. It was a disaster but seemed to be an appropriate punishment for us. I watched a seagull pull apart a bag for 30 minutes, something about the completely boring and ordinary scene held a power over me. I imagined this feeling of our civilizations being consumed again by nature, it’s easy to forget that nature is constantly trying to integrate us more effectively. Integration with an ocean with a mysterious intention.

We could have salvaged things there, rescued some of our dignity and just accepted responsibility for what we did by not doing. I sat some nights debating whether or not I should just go out there and clean up everything alone. I didn’t mind the day, but at night I just loved how things seemed to come to life inside me. There was a power that I didn’t have access to during the day.

I decided it wasn’t worth cleaning up, after all I don’t really care what these people think of me, unless they express it to me. Plus I felt like I fit in better with my environment as a lazy drifter. When I run into the people that live here occasionally there is enough willpower on all our parts to say “Hi” and then move on our way. The two people that live under me, man and wife, maybe around late 50’s early 60’s always give me a glimpse into a possible future. The guy looks like his soul has been sucked out and not in a good way. It scares me for a moment and I tell myself I’ll keep it in mind but my actions don’t change.

The next week after the missed pickup and our experiment with apathy, something happened.

It was 12:33 AM, I was laying down in my bed with the window open, listening to the wind and feeling the slight breeze on my skin. Sometimes I’d lay there for hours listening to music or in silence, using drugs of course. The sounds of the night combined with distant sounds of the city created the backdrop for the worlds I explored in my mind. I break away from the atmosphere and write some ideas down in some form then go back to my mind.

I heard a familiar sound, the mother of this girl screaming in that resentful kind of way. Whenever someone talks that way to me my stomach gets sick, I see this person is using me to escape from something. You know instantly that this isn’t about you anymore, it's about them.

I hated the way this mother yelled at her daughter, I didn’t have kids of my own but I didn’t mind them, I generally see children as innocent beings until they gain awareness. When they become aware they turn into wood, hopefully they make it through and become real but many don’t. Some play as the twisted craftsmen, shaping the world with design. Night after night I’d hear this poor girl being molded into something that will make her unhappy for the rest of her life.

Even though it’s hard to feel connected with darkness, you still elicit feelings for things of the night. You react more on principle and not bigger picture at night, this mother was injecting venom deep into the mind of her daughter. Like a jackass I sat there each night it happened and listened to it like music.

 Being man enough to walk down there one day and call her out on her shitty behavior was always in the back of my mind, but then I would think some more and figure what difference would it make? Sometimes I snap out of my delusions and wake up, I see who I am from up here.

Just look for the right words.

It didn’t happen every time but sometimes this warped girl would dash outside, slamming doors and shouting behind her. Most times I’d hear her small steps pace around or walk down out of earshot then eventually I’d hear her again coming from the other side of the building, maybe doing two or three laps like that before cooling off and gaining enough strength to go back. She feels like she just wants to give up but chooses to continue to face that fate which shows just how much courage she had.

This night the young girl made her usual escape, something about the scene caught my attention. Normally I just ignored it for the most part, but tonight I felt worried for her and listened to see if she was okay.

The shriek of her screaming scared me sober. That kind of pitch that you can only get when you feel real terror.

Confusion at night amplifies fear to a level that can go beyond anything you’ve ever felt. Sometimes hearing a loud noise randomly in the middle of the night only to realize it was something conspicuous is an interesting moment of tension and release of tension. When you listen to death it creates tension that doesn’t go away unless you force it to release.

I couldn’t see much but the sounds made up for the rest, I looked on in horror as this poor unfortunate girl came running towards the front door to come back inside. She must have forgotten to prop it open a little this time like she usually did. The door was shut, she couldn’t escape through there and it was the only chance she had time to try.

This whole thing happened so fast it was as if my mind refused to think about what I was seeing, this bear that must have smelled some food nearby came across her instead.

Hearing someone produce screams that come from a dangerous place, sends a painful shock through you. It would have been nice if I was one of those people that got off on that kind of thing but unfortunately I had to deal with the feelings of misery, dread, sadness, fear, anger, all at once.  

A little bit slower than what should have been immediate there was incredible energy from all around, people coming out and making noise, not too many but enough for me to be impressed.

The general sentiment at the time was:

“Oh My God!” A big fat lady wearing a shaggy blue sweater screeched out. There were many other intense shouts, deflated yelps, sobbing murmurs, all mixing together slowly creating the atmosphere for a tremendously horrific scene.

All these half awake people, semi-disconnected souls felt something deep down within them for once. For the first time in decades some of these hopeless people felt alive, they acted without thought calling back to our primate ancestors. They witnessed a driving force, without realizing the lesson unfortunately.

Some of the people approached the girl to try and attempt some kind of help and others stayed away, accepting the situation or too afraid to know how bad it really was.

Some sobs were heard throughout the night as people came and went, voices that sounded defeated, voices that sounded ready to give up and heavy with guilt.

“Emily! No!” The mother cried. Obviously still drunk. Obviously deluded into thinking her daughter is anywhere close to alive.

“Please baby I’m so sorry! Please wake up baby!”

I had great disdain for this mother, but at that moment I felt bad for her. This woman made mistakes and in the end all it causes is suffering.

They came for her daughter, whisked her away into the abyss forever. Black cloaks riding into the stars on their skeletal horses. I wasn’t sure whether or not the constant beating I was hearing was a drum or my heart. We summoned these demons with our ritual, the choices we made were acts of incantation that brought forth monsters with the power to possess mortals, the possession was the final step in ensuring resurrection lest one of us snap out of the hypnosis and rescue the rest from the gaze of Medusa.

Then some downcast EMT workers took away her body, from the low looks and words after immediately coming upon the scene it was clear that hope didn’t exist anymore. I never saw the aftermath personally, where the actual attack happened was obscured to me by the awning over the door. Sometimes imagination makes things worse.

The mother followed her daughter into the darkness 3 weeks later.