#like my friend had to go to the hospital a fortnight ago cause they were in agony and couldnt walk and their gp sent them a referral

[dream-launch]

I am in so much pain and discomfort

[itsasainz]

passionfruit | pierre gasly x reader

Summary: You’re pulling away, so is he. Neither of you can blame the other, it’s just the natural progression of things.

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings/tags: anxiety, breakdown of a relationship, angst, minor implications of some mental health difficulties

a/n: never written for pierre, but here I am writing all this in a few hours. I don't know where this came from lmao. requests open <3

masterlist!

Listen

Seein’ you got ritualistic

Cleansin’ my soul of addiction for now

‘Cause I’m fallin’ apart, yeah

He can pinpoint the moment you realised you’d reached a stagnant point in your relationship with him to the minute; it had been early December — he had spent the fortnight after Abu Dhabi sorting everything out with Alpine, having wrapped things up with AlphaTauri within days of the last race. You’d flown back to London on the Tuesday after the race, leaving him in the Middle East with his new team — you still had a job, you’d reminded him, and that he’d see you in two weeks when he came to London to see you. It would be your third Christmas together, and you were spending it in France with him. Three weeks together, the longest you’d have spent together consecutively in months. He remembers the realisation in your voice, the two of you stood in a cramped South London flat you hated; still refusing to move to Milan.

“Pierre, we’ve had this planned for weeks.” you had said — there was no malice in your tone, a surprising lack of your usual heat. He remembers it striking him more deeply than he’d anticipated — the disappointment, and the overwhelming loneliness in your voice.

“Mon ange, there’s nothing I can do. It’s a team thing, I can’t start missing them before I’m even a proper member of the team.”

Your eyes never left his, a sense of judgement in the furrow of your brow. “Is Esteban going?”

He opened his mouth to say something, then a flicker of doubt arose. He’d thought he wasn’t, but now he thinks about it, the Frenchman had been discussing it with Elena only days ago. “I think so.”

“Then they’ve got one driver, they don’t need two. You’re double booked, and we’ve had this planned for weeks.”

He’d sighed — you understood exactly why he couldn’t just cancel, and he now understands that you wanted him to confirm to you that you were also a priority, and that he wasn’t only focused on work. He remembers the way you’d looked away from him, tears threatening to spill; it had felt disproportionate in the moment — crying because he couldn’t make it to dinner with your friends who he barely knew was dramatic. Now, he regrets his dismissal.

You’re asleep beside him, turned away, as curled up as you can be in a plane seat. He’d been surprised when you’d told him you were still coming to Bahrain, and then embarrassed that he’d assumed you wouldn’t come; did he really think that poorly of your relationship?

He’d realised, in his travels through January and February, his days away from you, that he can only really breathe when he’s with you; now though, you seem further away, like he’s never quite with you, even when he’s sitting inches away from you. He wonders if the closest you get these days is during sex, and hates the idea that nearly three years of your relationship might have come down to sex being the most emotional you can be with him. When was the last time you told him about your work anxieties or, for that matter, any of your actual emotions, deeper than a dismissive comment about being stressed or simply fine.

Appearances are maintained at the airport and the hotel, where you smile and kiss his friends on each cheek, laughing and joking with them like you’re not down, like you’re not avoiding his conversation. It persists into the weekend itself — you spend more time with Isa than with him, chatting in hospitality until he’s done, and then seem to immediately shut down, even if he knows you’ve had a good day. You’re brief with your affection until, seemingly suddenly on Friday evening, as he’s skipping through channels on the TV in the hotel room, you wrap yourself around him, ear pressed to his heart, breathing soft and hands cold. He’s puzzled, almost upset by your sudden affection, but he leaves his thoughts at a kiss to your temple. He falls asleep with you on top of him, your shampoo filling his senses.

The next day, after Quali, you apologise for his poor luck. Again, he finds himself blindsided; you’ve never been one to apologise for that which you can’t control. He turns it over in his head all night, once again finding your affection puzzling, and his reaction to it even more confusing, and decides he’s overthinking it. You fall asleep in his arms less often than he’d like, and he’s got to make the most of it.

Sunday has a stranger vibe still. You’re withdrawn, and he can probably count the words you share on his fingers. It’s impossible to know how to deal with it, or what to do or say to fix it. It’s that thought that he gets stuck on in the media pen after the race — what if it can’t be fixed? What if it’s not his responsibility to fix it?

When Charles asks if you’re coming out after the race, Pierre responds for you, given your absence. “No,” he says, “I think she’d rather stay in tonight.”

“Are you staying in?” Charles frowns. It’s admittedly unusual for Pierre to want to come out on nights like these without you at his side.

“Nah, I’m coming.” he assures his friend, leaving you a text to say he won’t be home until late.

Tension

Between us just like picket fences

You got issues that I won’t mention for now

‘Cause we're fallin’ apart

You want to say; points are impressive given where you started. You want to say; I’m proud of you. You want to see him, at the very least, but other than the ten minutes he spared for you after the race, you’ve barely spoken to him. His text is glaring up at you, a cruel joke.

He doesn’t want you here.

It’s the most logical explanation; he nearly jumped when you started cuddling on Friday, and barely any words have been shared. At least if you’re not speaking you’re not arguing. It doesn’t help that you’re down as it is, feeling like your brain has been fried by travelling and anxiety and the overwhelming feeling that you’re at the end of a chapter in your life. It doesn’t help that he hasn’t asked, hasn’t probed to find out more about your current state.

It’s not his responsibility, you keep reminding yourself, he’s your boyfriend, not your parent. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, though. The debate has been circling your mind for hours. If he cares so much, why doesn’t he say anything when you’re like this. If you’re as grown as you think you are, why are you so dependent on his care?

There's a nineties RomCom on the TV — you leave it on in the background while you scroll back through your texts with Pierre, wondering when it got like this, when he started to feel so distant. Who started it? Is it possible to say it was either one of you? Is it salvageable?

A thought of breaking up passes through your mind, snagging on unwelcome thoughts. You know that of the two and a half, nearly three, years that Pierre has been your boyfriend, more than two of those years were blissful. But the past months are tainting it — if you were to break up, would your memories of his love be marred by how lacking it feels in these moments?

The thought that snags, catching like cotton on barbed wire, is that perhaps you have wasted the first half of your twenties being in love with a man who cannot love you like you need him to. You think of the nights out you’d vetoed to spend an evening with him, of the opportunities you’d passed on to be around when he was in London, or the things you’d missed by constantly jetting off to Milan or whichever Grand Prix he was headed to. You think of the hours of your life you’ve spent in airports, anxious and tired, uprooting your life to spend 24 hours with him, to cry two nights later when he dropped you off for your flight home. You think of the years of your life you’ve spent caught between where your home was — with him, or with the rest of your life. It wasn’t a fair comparison. It wasn’t fair to resent him for something he had repeatedly provided solutions for.

Nevertheless, it felt clearer now. You didn’t feel settled in his company the way you always had — no, now you felt anxious. Anxious about being enough for him, about how good of a wag you were, or how good you were at being his girlfriend, at doing everything you felt you should.

Passionate from miles away

Passive with the things you say

Passin’ up on my old ways

I can’t blame you, no, no

It’s strange, you realise, that your communication with Pierre suddenly spiked the moment you were apart. How could you feel closer to him from 600 miles away than you did when you were right next to him?

He’d been texting lots, the two of you telling each other about your days again, complaining about rude colleagues or getting excited over the smallest of things. Over the phone, he’d listened while you talked about how you’d been down lately, worried about work and friends and, though you didn’t say it, him. He’s loving, and you return it in earnest. You miss him more than you care to admit, and for a few seconds at a time, you get the sense he misses you too. There’s no bickering, not a cruel word said.

You’re doing most of the talking, that much is also true. He listens, which feels like an achievement, but you still catch yourself wondering if he’s absorbing what you’re telling him, or if he still thinks about you when you’re not on the phone or texting. You don’t tell him you’ve been crying more than usual, or that your anxiety is through the roof, nor do you tell him that whenever you try to find the source of your anxiety, your mind finds to him like a compass finds north. You don’t tell him that you’re biting your nails again, or that you keep making mistakes at work.

Midweek, you’re in your kitchen, cutting a passionfruit in half on FaceTime. The pulp has covered your fingers, and you sit with a bowl under your hands, a spoon scooping the seeds out of the rind. For a minute he’s distracted by the fact that he’d forgotten your love for the fruit, and then wonders if they’re in season. He watches you eat a little, and continues what he was saying. He’s talking about the Saudi Grand Prix, about the logistics and some issues with his flight. A few weeks ago he’d mentioned that he wanted you to be there, but he’s avoiding talking about guests now, or Paddock Passes.

“Pierre,” you say, a deep breath.

“Yeah, love?”

“Do you want me there?”

There’s a long pause, stretching out before you. Does he want you?

“Do you want to be there?” he asks in return.

It’s like a kick to the gut. You don’t have it in you to answer, only a fear that if you open your mouth it’ll all spew out — the resentment, the fear, the anger you suddenly feel. You want to be there for him, and it feels like he’s just told you you’re no longer an important factor in his well being — no longer a person who makes him feel remotely good. What’s worse is that you think that, if that is true, it’s entirely justified. You’ve not been the easiest to be around lately, nor the most easily placated. He hangs up not long after, and you wish he couldn’t make you cry quite so easily.

Passionate from miles away

Passive with the things you say

Passin’ up on my old ways

I can’t blame you, no, no

It seems to Pierre that you are present in every spare second he has. Walking between meetings, pausing during training to take a drink — you’re there, in his mind, a constant reminder that he can’t breathe. Bahrain fucked with his head — suddenly, not even your presence eased his mind. You’ve always been easy to be around, aware of the dynamics and moods around you, always knowing what to say or what to do. You weren’t like that in Bahrain, you were quiet and withdrawn and a hundred miles away. The thought that circulates his head comes back stronger every time he thinks of you, misses you — is it him? Is he the issue?

That night in your flat, back in December, has been turned over in his head so many times he’s sure his retrospection has completely distorted the night, that his memory of it is more of a manifestation of all the possible ways he could have fucked up than a true representation of what happened. He’s trying to find time for you, responding to your texts the moment he has a free minute, FaceTiming you on his free evenings. He’s going to Enfield for a few days before he’s off to Jeddah, and the idea of getting to spend a few days with you is exciting, and yet somehow he’s dreading it.

He’s not sure how he’s gotten to this point, especially when he cares so deeply for you; his dread seems to root from the fear that he’s worse for you than he is good, and that is too scary a thought to address. He wants the best for you, he always has, and for years he thought he was that — something right, and something that made you feel better, happier, the way a loved one should. Now he's less sure that that’s true — he’s scared he’s draining, and the thought is pulling him away from you. What’s worse is the fact he knows, intuitively, that your feelings are mirroring his. How do you break out of this? How do you get back to a place where you are both confident in your love for one another, and assured in the fact that you are loved?

And then on Wednesday he’s watching you cut that passionfruit and he’s saying more than he has all week, getting the drama about travelling to Jeddah off his chest, scared to bring up the possibility of you coming with him in case you shut him down, and he has to go knowing you actively avoided coming. That’s when you drop the question, right as he’s stumbling over how not to get rejected if he asks you to come. He doesn’t want a repeat of the awkward silence that plagued you in Sakhir.

“Do you want me to be there?”

He doesn’t know what to say. Yes, God, he wants nothing more, but if you’re going to be quiet and cold like you were in Sakhir, he’d rather go without the stress of doubting himself and your relationship. He finds it strange that you’d ask — he would have you by his side every weekend if you’d let him, and he is certain you know that. In his head, the only explanation for your question is that you’re asking for a reason not to go. If you don’t want to be there he won’t ask you to be.

He doesn’t get a response when he turns the question back on you, and the seeds of doubt have been planted. His security about where he stands with you has crumbled, its already worn foundations collapsing under him. He is nearly winded by the panic of losing you. By the time he’s understood how he feels and what he wants to say, you’re hanging up, wishing him a good night. He curses himself for his indecision, and prays you’ll text him to say you do want to come to Jeddah.

Listen

Harder buildin’ trust from a distance

I think we should rule out commitment for now

‘Cause we’re fallin’ apart

It’s cemented in his mind that he has to end things by the time he’s landed in London, your text waiting to say that you can’t wait to see him. It’s for the best, he thinks, that he doesn’t drag this on for longer than need be — you’re clearly miserable in this relationship, and it is the right thing, the good thing, to do. You won’t end it yourself, he knows you well enough to know that; he knows you have a thing about not giving up, it’s a trait he understands better than you’re aware of — he can respect nothing if not your commitment. But he doesn’t truly believe that commitment of this kind, where he keeps making you cry, where neither of you can see a way of fixing it, is the kind you should cling to. It’s one thing to be committed, it’s another thing entirely to refuse to see that you are clinging to something that is long gone. He loves you, and he is more than aware that you love him, but he cannot justify the static, drawn out suffering of your relationship’s breakdown. He thinks you’ve probably already broken things off mentally, that your final probes have been about confirming that it’s the right thing to do — he’s done little to help his case.

He stands in the stairwell of your flats for longer than he should. He’s motionless in the landing between two floors, suitcase beside him, suddenly wondering if he should just get it over with. He can’t though, he’s not ready, and it’s not fair on you if he’ll be around for the next few days. He’ll do it on the last day, so you don’t have to look at him for too long.

He’s never been less sure of himself. That’s why he’s doing this — if he should be sure of anything, it should be his relationship.

When the doubt persists for the rest of his three days in London, he is assured that neither of you are in the place for a relationship. It feels strange thinking that knowing that you’ve spent nearly three years together, but he guesses you’ve grown apart. Grown apart or fallen apart, he’s not sure there’s much of a difference when it comes to you two.

On Wednesday morning, eating breakfast in your kitchen before he gets ready to go to the airport, he braces himself. He’d meant to do it last night, but you’d gone out for dinner together and he was too distracted by self doubt to do what he meant to.

“Y/N,” he starts. You watch him squirm, trying to find the words, and he suddenly realises you look expectant, like you know where this is going. “Do you actually want to be with me? Because I just have this feeling that you’ve been preparing yourself to break up with me for weeks.”

With the way your silence fills the air, he’s suddenly wondering if this is how you felt on FaceTime the week before. Your silence is the worst kind of murder.

“You want to break up?” you ask, never one to beat around the bush when you don’t want to. You’re more concise than he is, better at putting yours and everyone else’s thoughts into reality.

“No, but I don’t get the sense that either of us are particularly happy.” he admits. For the first time he wonders if the honesty he can exhibit around you is due to your own honesty, and not because he’s simply more comfortable in your presence; he is anything but comfortable now. Your bluntness is salt in the wound.

“So what, you’re leaving?” you ask. “You think that leaving is going to fix us?”

He shakes his head, “I think leaving is better than trying to fix a relationship that is dead in the water.”

You frown. “Dead in the water?”

He hates the way you repeat his words back to him. “It’s the better thing. I don’t like it, trust me, I don’t. But I can’t keep making you cry, and I can’t ask you to move to Milan again.”

For a second there’s a glimmer in your eyes and he thinks you’re about to tell him you’ll move to Italy. He wouldn’t let you, not matter how much it hurt.

“Don’t tell me what the better thing is.” you practically spit.

“Y/N…” he says, watching you stand up.

“I love you.” you tell him. “I’m in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you.” he says. “That doesn’t make us right.”

You’re crying. He’s simultaneously horrifyingly guilty and utterly assured that he’s doing the right thing. “Get out of my house.”

Leavin’

You’re just doing that to get even

Don’t pick up the pieces, just leave it for now

They keep fallin’ apart

Your jaw is tight as you watch him put his coat on. He stops at the door. “Y/N,”

“Stop looking at me like that.” you say, a newfound venom in your voice. You open the door for him, showing him out. He starts down the stairs and you find yourself calling out to him.

“Pierre, leaving is the coward’s way out.” you say. You’re angry, beyond angry, but the feeling in your chest is the same kind you get at a funeral, the heaviness of knowing that the inevitable has happened and it’s painful no matter how much you knew to expect it. He only nods, leaving you barefoot in the hall.

Back inside, you book a flight to Milan. It’s surprising how quickly you’d accepted the end of the relationship — perhaps there was some merit in his idea that you’d already broken the connection in your mind. You’re tapping your bank card on the kitchen counter, looking at the notice on your laptop confirming the purchase, and you’re completely and utterly done with him. His silences, and how the only times you ever seemed to talk lately ended in tears.

It’s easy to blame him, you acknowledge, easy to say he’s the issue. You’re not blameless.

Milan is the same constant hub of business it has always been, but its culture gets to you a little more than usual. It seems like every café and every restaurant is one Pierre had showed you, and you’re all the more determined to get the hell out of the city; you only have one stop, his.

It’s the easiest time to do it — you can get all your belongings from his flat and go straight home, not even a day away from home. The walk from the station to his flat is a familiar one, one you’ve walked a thousand times. Without Pierre, it’s easier — you don’t have to stop every five minutes for selfies with a fan, but somehow that gets to you. Perhaps it’s the young-ish fan, a teenager, who looks at you with the curiosity of someone who knows exactly who you are and doesn’t understand why you’re here. She frowns slightly, points you out to her friend, who gasps. As you pass, you hear one of them say; She doesn’t live in Milan though. Why’s she here without him?

When you get to his flat and let yourself in, you allow yourself to check your phone. He’s left a text. I can still see your location, you know. Why are you in Milan? You ignore it, opening up your empty suitcase and starting to make your way around the flat; room by room, you extract your things from his. Meanwhile, your notifications are going into overdrive. These are hardly his first texts — he’d texted and called you from Heathrow telling you he regretted it, and he needed to talk to you the moment he got back from the race — but you’re determined now. If he thought you were so bad for each other, you’d make sure to be gone by the time he got back.

I know you’re getting your things. Please, wait until we can talk about this.

Can I call you?

Mon ange, please answer

I need to talk to you

I fucked up

I love you. I’m in love with you.

Eventually, you cave. You’re sitting in front of your packed suitcase, your key to the flat on his kitchen counter.

“Love?” he answers. It must be late where he is, but that’s the least of your concerns.

“Pierre.”

“I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want you to leave me.” He says, “You’re right, it’s the coward’s way out. We should try, at the very least.”

“Don’t you see, Pierre, I have. I have tried more than ever these past weeks, and, d’you know, when you said what you did I finally understood something. I don’t have the capacity to try any harder — I don’t have the capacity to love you in the way I think you need me to. I don't think you love me the way I need you to either. You were right — more than I’ll ever care to admit — but we can’t drag ourselves through this. Let’s not torture ourselves.”

There’s another long silence. Silences seem to be half the communication between you these days. “I can fix this. I can pick up the pieces, I know it.”

“Pierre, I don’t want you to. Stop trying to pick up the pieces, stop trying to fix us. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is, and I refuse to get in your way. Let’s leave it as it is, and not ruin the memory of us anymore than we already have.”

“I love you.”

“I know, Pierre. I’m sorry we couldn’t love each other right.”

“It’s my fault.”

“Ours. It’s our fault.”

I can’t blame you, no, no

[apixrl]

DRIVER'S LICENSE.

katsuki bakugou x fem! reader

WARNING(S): angst. cheating. swearing because it's bakugou.

word count: 4.5k

song: drivers license // olivia rodrigo (i wonder why...)

note(s): so i captioned this *at the time of writing* 'hello and welcome to i've had the worst two weeks ever so i wrote a katsuki oneshot to cope' and it's probably one of my most personal pieces of writing tbh

"-come Tuesday and we'll potentially see an end to this heavy downpour of rain. Temperatures will be on the rise to around-"

The talk on the radio cut short at the jab of your finger, heaving a great sigh which faded into the muffled pitter-patter of rain from outside. The streets had been showered with heavy downpours for the last week or so, no sign of sun or a still and restful day. Notwithstanding the miserable outdoors, the windscreen wipers on your car never ceased in their duty to grant you a clear view of the road ahead. And whilst you were grateful for their devotion, it didn't feel clear in the slightest. In fact, the road had never felt so blurry.

Shivering against the cold night chill and tucking your knees cosily to your chest, you eyed the raindrops on the windows. They raced against one another before they dripped down to your car's body, their glossy presence obvious thanks to the many hues of street lamps that surrounded them. You could have watched them for hours, being honest. Something about the droplets of water battling it out quite enticing. Anything to take you away from the cruel reality you were living in.

Your heart ached and yearned. But to no avail, the one you ached and yearned for didn't love you back.

Not anymore, at least.

Just the mere thought provoked a pulsating pang to resonate throughout your entire body. A pang filled with grief and sadness. Anger and hurt. You missed his sun-kissed face on the sunny mornings. You missed his eyes and how they gazed at you from across the room. You missed the smiles and laughter he would only show for you and you alone. The sense of glee and euphoria that came with that honour. Yet all of it was gone and there was no way you could get it back.

The memories of what had been triggered more waterworks. Hot, salty tears dug at the corners of your eyes and trickled down your face. Your motionless car concealed your cries and sobs. Every thrash against the wheel as you questioned to nobody in particular what went wrong and why. How you didn't see the signs sooner. What you could have done better. When he stopped loving you. If he ever planned to stop loving you. Whether it would have hurt more if you found out sooner.

All these questions with nothing to answer them.

Katsuki Bakugou had always fascinated you. From the very moment you met. You accompanied your friend on a double date, and he was the guy who she matched for you. Whilst he originally acted as though a blind date was the last place he wanted to be, underneath the aggression you could tell there was something much more genuine and true.

And your assumptions were correct. Truth be told, Katsuki Bakugou was one of the most genuine and truest people you had met (at the time). Once it was just the two of you, he allowed his true colours to unveil. Through the smallest of kind gestures that still haunted your mind to this day. Then upon confrontation, as you bid each other goodbye at your back door, his denial resulted in a flirtatious contest which then proceeded to an intimate night that changed your life forever. From there your mind was set.

He was the one.

Emphasis on was.

So blinded with a fairy tale love you grew so accustomed to, you never saw it coming. Never in your two-year relationship - that had so much strength and commitment built on top of it, never did you think that Katsuki Bakugou would throw it all out of the window like it was nothing. Disregard your loyalty and adoration for a drunken one night stand that slowly became an occasional hookup. Which soon became a mandatory pastime once a fortnight. Then twice. Maybe more than that. You wouldn't put it past him with what you knew now.

He kept it from you for nearly six months. Six months. The only reason you discovered his lies and deception was because you were let off early one night from work. You worked a night shift, see. Your last job had fallen to shambles, and it was temporary whilst you searched for a new one. And whilst that did take a toll on your relationship with Katsuki Bakugou, mostly finding time for intimacy since his working hours were during the day, none of that gave him any right to go and do what he did.

That wasn't one of the only reasons, you knew that for sure. There were other motives for his lack of loyalty. But you were never told. After you froze at the sight of another woman under his hold and stormed straight back to your car to flee. After he chased you down the flights of stairs in nothing but baggy pants into the streets of a twilight Musutafu. After you screamed into the darkness and belted your fists against his chest. Fists that were driven with rage and hurt and every emotion that burned like the hottest of fires and froze like the coldest of ice. He never even told you. He never made an effort to address it. Nor had he attempted to call or even try to visit your Mom's house - where you stayed as you searched for a permanent place to live. Just because you retreated for your car and cried that it was over, he never tried. But that didn't mean you weren't allowed an explanation. An apology. Something to give you a form of closure and a reason to move on. But you never did.

That wasn't even what hurt the most, either.

As silly as it was, the thing that hurt you the most was the very car you sat in.

EIGHT MONTHS AGO . . .

The red glow of traffic lights hit Katsuki's vermilion irises as he stared dead ahead at the long line of vehicles, the ash-blond heaving a sigh into the air. His finger tapped impatiently against the steering wheel he gripped with one hand, the spare rested casually against your upper thigh affectionately.

"I can't believe we have to sit through this torture just to go to some damn party," Katsuki grumbled, taking a glance over at you. His brows furrowed when he met you peacefully slouched down, nose dug into your phone as you presumably played some sort of game to pass the time. Like you had no care in the world for your predicament.

"It's your best friend's birthday, love," You mused back, Katsuki surprised you even listened based on your focused expression directed towards your phone. "It's not like we can just miss it,"

"Yeah, but we could have missed all this pain by taking the train instead of driving across town during rush hour,"

"Trains are icky, the seats would have ruined your suit and my dress," You pointed out, looking at the blond over your screen, sending him a sweet smile. He cocked a brow, a smirk creeping its way onto his lips as a scoff of a laugh broke out between them.

"Right, and laying down like a sloth is gonna help keep your dress uncreased?" He returned, amused at your realisation. At his comment, you sat up faintly and pouted your lip.

"Driving means more time to play Gravity Pops, and so does traffic,"

"Seriously? That's the game you're playing? You're such a dumbass,"

"Yes! I'm in the top 11% globally! I need to get to number one!" Was your protest, your arms flailing ahead of you briefly for dramatic emphasis. Katsuki clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, though the small smile plastered over his lips betrayed his initial reaction. Unable to deny your determination, he spoke with confidence and almost a sense of pride.

"Number one, hm? Clearly rubbing off on you aren't I?"

"In a way, yes,"

"That's my girl," Katsuki remarked, earning a giggle from you that was uplifting to hear. It was there your attention went back to your phone, but Katsuki wasn't done. "So, speaking of cars, Y/N," Hearing his chosen tone - which sounded suggestive, you eyed him closely. Hesitant to reply as you had a sense of what he planned to say.

"...Yes?"

"Have you thought any more about getting your driver's license yet?"

Called it.

"...No,"

"What?" Katsuki began, tilting his head. He was surprised that he felt surprised. You had said those words in regards to this topic countless times. Still, he persisted. "Is that a no meaning you haven't or no meaning that you don't want to?"

"Both?" You half-guessed, sheepishly grinning at the look you were sent. "Look, cars scare me okay? And so do roads. And people. My nerves wouldn't be able to handle it! I can barely communicate with people face to face, so me being on the road is a recipe for disaster!"

"I know but -," Katsuki exhaled sharply, understanding your reasoning. You had voiced these concerns when confiding to Katsuki about your fears of the road. Something built and corrupted from social media as well as phobias and fears in general, it was a battle you had yet to overcome. You wanted to drive but was terrified of messing up or causing chaos on the road. Potentially inflicting harm to someone and yourself. You still weren't sure what triggered it all, but over the years it had manifested into something quite irrational, to say the least. Katsuki had been supportive of it and whilst he truly would love to always act as your personal taxi - you couldn't hide from it forever. It wasn't his job to keep you in your comfort zone. That, and he couldn't always be there for you that way. What if he was miles away and you had somewhere urgent to go like the hospital? "It's not as scary as you think. I know it's hard to believe that but seriously. The freedom you get from driving is amazing,"

"I'll think about it a little longer, okay?" You said with hesitancy, looking at Katsuki for a sign of confirmation. He nodded in defeat, knowing you probably needed more time and felt put on the spot. So he averted his eyes back to the road to check if the traffic had moved at all. It had not.

"Okay," Katsuki said. "But I can't be your taxi service forever,"

"But I like you being my taxi service," You jokingly said, a little sadness in your tone. "Your road rage is funny and I like watching you get out of the car and walk to my door after pulling up in my driveway,"

"What do you mean?" Katsuki asked, catching the twitch of a smile on your face upon saying those words. It struck his interest in what you could mean.

"You know, like when you say you're coming to pick me up?" You explained. "You pull up at my driveway and I don't know... simple things like that just remind me of how much I love you. It's dumb really, but it's important to me,"

"Really?" Katsuki questioned in disbelief. How something so small and meaningless could mean so much was puzzling. He couldn't understand why it was so special to you. But that didn't invalidate it in any shape or form. So he pushed that aside, replacing his wonder with gratitude. He returned to your bashful and flustered features, feeling a smile grow on his face.

"Yeah," You said, shrugging to downplay your words. "I love you. Stuff like that means a lot to me,"

"I love you too, even though you're a dumbass," Katsuki said, humbled by what you had said. The two of you shared a gentle exchange, your hand grabbing hold of Katsuki's as you gave it a squeeze. He squeezed back, and silence ensued. Had he realised such a thing sooner, then Katsuki would have pulled up in your driveway much more than he had been doing. But at that a thought struck his mind, victoriously smirking as he had an idea on how to potentially sway your worries. Or begin swaying it. Something was better than nothing, after all. "But what if I wanted you to pull up in my driveway one day?" His words caused you to look over at him in curiosity, hearing the seriousness in the question. It caught you off guard momentarily, having to contemplate as you gradually concluded that he had a point.

"Well one day, maybe I will," You vaguely replied and sat up a little bit. The hand holding yours pulled back and lifted to land on your shoulder, gripping reassuringly tight.

"I hope you do, I'd like to get in on this driveway action," He joked and smirked, faith riddled in his expression. You giggled ever so slightly, tempted to lean forward and peck Katsuki on the lips in thanks, but never a thing was to happen as the alerting red light from outside switched to warm amber.

"Ah!" Katsuki yelled in triumph, his attention leaving you swiftly as he got back into the driver's seat. Giving you no opportunity to respond to him and overall ruining the moment. "Took fucking long enough!"

The light turned green, and he set the car in motion, leaving you with your thoughts and the words he had uttered that day as the traffic stood still.

All your efforts, all your time devoted to getting over your fear of driving and the road as a whole... all of it was pointless. You did it for him. You promised him you would overcome your fears and better yourself. He built that motivation up brick by brick until you could grab hold and seize control. He wasted all that time to get you to reach such a stepping stone only to abandon it once it was through.

Just so you could pull up in his driveway, just like he requested. And what did you get in return when you finally did? A stab in the back and the loss of your other half.

You wiped your eyes via the sleeve of your hoodie, dampening the cuffs. Sniffling and exhaling a shaky breath, your gaze landed on nothing in particular. Yet somewhere within your clouded mind, you found interest. As that was where your gaze remained for a certain amount of time. You weren't sure how long exactly. It could have felt like an hour and only been five minutes. Or it could have felt like five minutes and was actually an entire hour. Either way, the clock ticked on and didn't wait for you to stop.

It was a good thing you had pushed your fears down and rose above them. It just pained you that you didn't even do it for yourself. Without Katsuki Bakugou, you never had any intentions of doing so. As a matter of fact, you had set out to take the train or bus for the rest of your life. Hell, you were going to use a bike and scooter if you got desperate. Had he even acknowledged how much work you put in just to get where you were? Was all that effort part of the reason why he decided to cheat? There was absolutely no telling. Absolutely no telling at all.

You wondered what he was doing now. Was he laid in bed resting peacefully? Out with his friends for a boy's night only? Maybe cooking his favourite curry? Possibly on a late-night jog despite the harsh weather? It never stopped him other times.

Did he ever think about you? Regret what he did and the actions he took? Had he ever considered apologising? Would he ever apologise? What if he was celebrating the fact you were no longer in his life? Had there ever been any love there for you in the start? Did he ever actually want you to get your driver's license because he believed in you? Or was it so he could get rid of you with much more ease? Make his departure less severe and less selfish? A way to justify his choices because it's not like you were hopelessly left to suffer everyday life now that you had a means of transport. Was he really that cruel?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sharp jingle of your phone, the device lighting up as it sat in the passenger seat to your left. It took two or three rings for you to glance over at it, E/C eyes sore and drained from crying out. You squinted them to read the caller, seeing the name 'Work' fade in and out on the brightly lit screen. For a second or two you argued back and forth on whether to even bother picking up. Something about reaching across for your phone requiring a magnitude of energy you no longer possessed. Having spent it all on your cries of agony and the deprivation of your old life as a whole.

However, you had ignored your work in the last couple of weeks too many times now. So many times that pulling the same stunt again would probably risk you losing your job. It's not like your work was interested in why you felt such overwhelming pain... all they cared about was you turning up to do what you were hired to.

So using a forceful hand, you leaned over to pick it up. You fumbled to grip your phone and accepted the call with a dainty tap of your thumb. Then you blinked away your tears and subtly sniffed, pressing your phone to your ear to address the caller.

"Hello?" You practically croaked, quick to clear your throat and push any signs of upset down. It was presumably dry from how much you'd cried in the last two hours.

"L/N! Hey! Glad you finally picked up!" Unlike the droll and unvarying tones of your boss, the person on the other end was much more lively and greeting. So much so you could only assume it was none other than your work colleague, Etsuko. Probably the only person you genuinely liked where you worked, and the only person who made the time pass by faster. "I was worried you were gonna leave me on answer phone again,"

"Hm, what? Oh right. Yeah. Sorry about that. Haven't been feeling too great," You lied, even though it wasn't a complete fib. You hadn't been feeling great at all. You had never felt so rock bottom. It all just originated from your mind over anything else. But when did work care about that?

"Sounds like it, I hope you've been okay!" Still cheery as ever, Etsuko followed up with a laugh to fill the silence you created by not saying anything. "Is everything well? It's nothing serious, is it?"

"No. It's not. Just some dumb cold I caught," You excused. "I'm better now, though," Slouching down in your seat, you decided to ask the question that had been roaming your mind the last minute or so. "So why are you calling?"

"Oh, right!" Etsuko said. "Mr Kobashigawa was just wondering when you planned on coming back - for schedule reasons and to get people to fill in for your shifts,"

"I er...," Not entirely sure how to answer, you stuttered as your words cowered away in your attempt to speak. "I don't -,"

"It's okay, he doesn't need an answer yet," Etsuko reassured. "Maybe in the next day or two, though? He wasn't really specific, being honest,"

You sighed at the guilt brewing in your stomach. You weren't even sick for crying out loud! Why were you lying just so you could wallow in your own sadness?! Like that was going to change anything! Sitting around and crying wasn't going to give you what you wanted. You weren't getting him back. Katsuki Bakugou wasn't yours anymore. He made that clear by cheating. By making minimal effort to give you an explanation. By causing you so much pain with little care or concern. Why couldn't you get it through your thick skull that your feelings didn't matter anymore?! That they were being wasted on a lost cause. A lost relationship!

"Well I mean -," You started, running a hand through your hair as you tread carefully on your words. "I could come in tonight? Has Mr Kobashigawa got someone to fill for me yet?"

"Um... no? I don't think so?" Etsuko answered, uncertainty in her voice. "Let me go check. Be right back!" And with that, the line fell dead. The call didn't end, just Etsuko placing the phone down to get an answer for you. Leaving you all by your lonesome once more.

Reflecting, you could see the logic in your thoughts. The best course of action would be to hold your head up high and live life the way it was before. When you were happy. Just... excluding the factors that actually made you happy. Which was him. Wouldn't that be healthier than crying all the time?

Yes, it would. But was it what you wanted? Not really.

"L/N!" The voice in your ear startled you to the point you nearly dropped your phone, panicking through a gasp as you fiddled to grab hold of it again.

"Wa-! Careful you nearly scared me half to death!"

"Oops, sorry!" Etsuko giggled softy, sounding as perky as ever. "I'm just excited to tell you that nobody's filling in your shift! You can still come in for ten-thirty!"

"I-I can?" You asked. After an upbeat 'yeah!' filtered through your ears, you considered your options. Remaining in the serene, quiet confines of your car with only the downfall of rain to accompany you sounded like utter bliss, given how you felt. But you felt an internal kick up the backside which told you - no... demanded you to just get over this moping attitude of yours and look on the bright side. To get over the lack of closure and simply... move on.

Yeah... if he found out you were an utter train wreck thanks to the damage he inflicted; Katsuki Bakugou would probably revel in it. He had a history of gaining pleasure from other's misfortunes... or it was rumoured he did (during his younger years, anyway). You had never wanted to believe it but you couldn't find a reason to refute it anymore. After all you had been through, it seemed to fit his character and personality more than ever. So with that fact apparent, you held a firm forefront and searched for a determined tone, and made your answer to your friend.

"You betcha I'm coming in! I'll see you in half an hour!"

Too enthusiastic? Probably. Still, it was better than acting pessimistic and hopeless. No matter, however, because that was exactly the attitude Etsuko had been hoping for.

"Alrighty!" She exclaimed, smile audible in her voice from the other end. "I can't wait to get our dynamic duo going again! I've missed you!"

"Yeah, me too, 'Suko," You hummed in agreement.

"Great! Catch ya later my partner in crime,"

"Heh. You too, dumbass," You found a reason to smile from her childish behaviour, though your choice of wording seemed to hit a nerve. It did more than that, it practically reverted all that confidence and progress you had made in the last ten minutes of being on the phone. All from one innocent word that escaped your lips.

Dumbass.

That's what he used to call you.

The phone call had ended without you even noticing, your phone still pressed to your ear as a small buzz sounded into it. You stared dead ahead, flashes of all the times he had said that word to you running through your memory. It was his form of a pet name. Some might see it as a little degrading on the surface, but you never minded. Once you learned the deeper meaning of the name, it became something equivalent to the likes of 'Sunshine' or 'Angel'. If anything, you ended up preferring it to those sorts of nicknames. Hence why Katsuki Bakugou had called you it on so many occasions.

No. Stop it. You can't let something like that bother you. Not after the efforts you just went to. Stop. Shaking yourself out of it, you returned to reality and permitted your phone to drop onto your lap. Your hand once holding it gripped onto your steering wheel, the other following shortly behind to do the same.

"I love you too, even if you're a dumbass,"

That rung in your head one final time, tormenting and mocking your present. The things you'd be willing to do to hear him say that to you one last time...

"No," You firmly shook your head, banging it lightly against the headrest to return yourself to reality. An attempt to knock those words to the back of your mind where you could lock them in a securely tight safe for the rest of eternity. "Just... just don't think about it. Easy. Just focus on what you're doing now," You reached for your keys which sat in the ignition, taking hold and turning them ever so slightly. Your car stirred to life, engine rumbling and the dials lighting up in a form of warm greeting. "You're going to work. No more feeling sorry for yourself,"

No more feeling sorry for yourself.

Your eyes set themselves on the road ahead. The vacant, dark and solitary road that didn't wait for you to make your decision. Life moved on after all, so if you were going to do anything - it was to catch up and take the winning lead.

So despite your circumstances; your inner desires and wishes and begs for what you wanted back but to no avail would ever get, you pulled out of your parking space (which had long exceeded the time limit, thankfully nobody was around to see) that drowned in pitiful rains of the night, and began to make your way down the street. In search of a place better than the one you were trapped in.

An endless road that wasn't all that clear, you were going to tackle it. Not for anyone else, unlike the last time you met difficulty and hardships. No, no, no. This time it was for your sake. All the mental energy to recover and become a better version of yourself, in the endgame it was all for you. You could push past all the deceit and lies you had been told and you could push past your normality which was him. Katsuki Bakugou. The man that hurt you as nobody had ever done before. You could create new normality without him.

A thought of forever he created and destroyed, resorted to driving alone past his street, never to be thought of again.

[hysterialevi]

Blood on the Looking Glass pt. 2

From Geoffrey’s POV

GUARD OF PRIWEN HQ

Returning to our base after a long day of work, Woodbead and I made haste in the darkness of the night as birds sang faintly in the distance, signaling the start of a new dawn. 

To my disappointment, the Guard of Priwen hadn’t been making as much progress as I’d hoped...and we’d already been here for an entire fortnight. I knew catching Reid would be no easy task -- especially in a city like Paris -- but it was evident that the Ekon had grown accustomed to evading our men. 

After all, we spent so much time fighting him in London. It only made sense that, the more we hunted him down, the more he would adapt to our tactics. And he was no longer some confused, fish-out-of-water newborn. 

Jonathan had evolved into an experienced, superior Ekon with the blood of an ancient vampire...and he certainly knew how to put it to good use. We couldn’t afford to make the mistake of underestimating him. I already made that mistake once -- and it cost me my life.

“You think the others have found anything yet?” Andrew asked me, disrupting the deathly silence.

I sluggishly slid a hand down my face, opening the entrance to our base.

“Hopefully. I have faith in the Guard’s skills, but Paris has been barren lately in terms of leads. Reid certainly knows how to cover his tracks. And so do his allies.”

A brief memory flashed in my mind, causing a scoff to escape me. 

“To think, I used to believe Jonathan would end up getting killed by some random Priwen. The first time I met him, he was nothing but a feeble corpse seeking refuge in the rundown Pembroke. I never expected him to become the threat he is today. Shows you how foolish I was to not kill Swansea. ...What was that man thinking? Offering vampires shelter? In a hospital, out of all places. It’s no wonder their patients always turned up dead.”

Woodbead followed me inside, locking the entrance behind us.

“None of us could’ve predicted this,” he reassured. “Especially not from someone who used to make a living saving people. Trust me, you’re not the only one who didn’t see this coming.”

I shook my head. “But it’s my job to know, Andrew. As your leader, it’s important that I’m able to detect these types of threats from a mile away. Otherwise, we’d all be dead.”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “Ah...I should have put a stake through Reid’s heart the moment I saw him. Would’ve spared London a colossal amount of trouble...but I suppose regrets are useless, aren’t they. All we can do now is put that leech down, once and for all, and avenge the countless lives he’s taken.”

“Come,” I beckoned. “Let’s see what the others have been doing.”

Entering our headquarters, Andrew and I were greeted with the distant sound of conversation coming from the rest of the members as we passed by our fellow Priwen. There weren’t as many of us in Paris as there were in London, but even then, I still had confidence in our success. 

After all, a smaller family meant it was easier for us to communicate, and on top of that, these people were chosen for being the best of the best. It was like having our own, elite group within the Guard...and that was precisely what we needed to kill Reid. I just hoped he hadn’t formed his own family.

Strolling through a tall, wooden archway, I headed towards the main area of the base which had been decorated with Priwen banners, swords and shields on the walls, shelves stuffed with books about vampires, elegant drapery, paintings of previous leaders, and a simple but bold chandelier hanging aloft.

But what really caught my attention was the large, circular table in the center of the room. It had been crafted out of a majestic mahogany with intricate designs of leaves, vines, and gargoyle heads carved into its sides. And on its surface, lay a vast map of the city marked with all sorts of icons. It was the perfect device for the Guard.

Upon arrival however, I noticed that there was already a pair of people seated at the table discussing something clearly urgent as they exchanged hushed words, careful not to alert anyone outside the base.

Among them was Eleanor Gray, a middle-aged woman who joined the Order just a couple years ago. She appeared stern and motherly on the outside with the gaze of a hawk, but carried a fire that burned like no other within. 

Her signature feature was a lengthy scar on her nose that she received from a fight with a Vulkod, and her short, black hair only had a few strands of silver in it despite her age. Just by looking at Eleanor, you’d never be able to guess she had such a dark history with Doctor Reid.

Apparently, the leech actually started out as a friend of the family, but things took a dark turn when her son grew too attached to him. It left the boy completely vulnerable to the Ekon’s true intentions, and one night, he decided to spend some time with Reid...only to never come back. 

Even worse -- when her husband tried to look for their missing son, he too met the same fate. By the time Eleanor learned what had happened, Reid was already long gone.

Their deaths instantly drove Eleanor straight to my doorstep. She just appeared outside our base one day, standing in the middle of the pouring rain with nothing but a shotgun in her hands, and a desire to get revenge.

The man sitting beside her now, Alexander Hale, was the first to befriend our new recruit. 

Hale was a much different story compared to Eleanor. In fact, I didn’t really know what his story was in the first place. Alexander had never been a man of many words, and he only ever spoke when he thought something needed to be said -- which made him quite a mystery to the rest of us. 

Regardless of his wordless tendencies however, Alexander still managed to be one of the more prominent members in the Guard. His head of neat, auburn hair was quite hard to miss, and his globular, blue eyes stood out like a pair of crystal orbs. There was also the fact that his presence alone was enough to make an impact. I had seen rooms full of people fall completely silent upon his entry, and even I couldn’t deny that he did hold a somewhat intimidating temperament. 

I supposed that was why Hale made such a skilled vampire hunter.

Approaching the large table, I immediately got the attention of the other Guards as Eleanor’s head perked up, both of them now focused on me and Woodbead.

“McCullum, Andrew,” Eleanor said, sounding somewhat relieved. “You’ve returned. Did you find anything whilst you were out investigating?”

Woodbead pulled out the diary from Elise’s apartment.

“Another lost soul, I’m afraid...” He replied, placing it on the table. “It was a young woman named Elise this time. According to her diary, Reid had been seducing her for quite a while. And she fell for it.”

Eleanor’s nose crinkled in disgust, her eyes sinking downwards.

“...That bastard,” she whispered. “Always preying on those who can’t fight back. Oh...poor girl. I hope she was the only victim you discovered.”

“For now,” I confirmed. “What about you? What were you discussing before I arrived?”

“Well, there’s good news and there’s bad news,” she replied. “The good news is we may have identified one of Reid’s accomplices.” 

“...And the bad news?” I asked.

Eleanor leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “We think they may be another Ekon named Edward Blackbourne. The locals here call him ‘The Pestilent.’ Apparently, he’s been around since the early eighteenth century, and has a habit of targeting young women. He’s also become somewhat of a bogeyman. The strange part however, is he hasn’t been in France for that long. The woman we spoke with said he only arrived two years ago.”

The pieces clicked in my head, leaving a feeling of dread in me. 

“...The same time Reid left London. That can’t be a coincidence. Where is this woman you mentioned?”

“She works at the nearby pub,” she answered. “Her name is Adelie. Though, be warned, she has a reputation for being somewhat...crazy.”

I raised a brow. “Why’s that?”

Eleanor chuckled, though not out of amusement. “She believes in vampires...but no one believes her.”

I gave her a nod. “I see. Well, I’ll go have a word with her; find out what else she knows. In the meantime, I want you and Alexander to patrol the area around here. I don’t know why, but I’ve noticed most of Reid’s victims have been from these parts. If we’re going to gather anymore clues, we should do it here. Andrew -- you’re with me.”

Woodbead straightened his posture. “Ready when you are, sir.”

Eleanor rose from her seat. “As are we.”

“Then let’s get to work, people,” I ordered. “We don’t have long before Reid or Blackbourne decides to strike again, and I certainly don’t plan to wait for them. These murders have to end now. So let’s move!”

Swiftly taking our leave, Andrew and I wasted no time in hurrying over to the pub Eleanor mentioned as we glided through the dawn’s fading darkness, anxious to avoid the sun. 

I knew it was incredibly risky to wander outside during this hour, but I couldn’t afford having my own men grow suspicious of me. There was already tension among the Guard with all the recent killings, and the last thing I wanted was for us to lose trust in each other. If my time with Carl Eldritch taught me anything, it was that infighting could be just as damaging to our Order as any vampire out there...and he was right.

“Sir.” Woodbead called out, causing me to pause for a moment.

“Yes?” I said. “What is it?”

The young man glanced at the sky, clearly preoccupied with something.

“...If you want me to speak with Adelie alone, just say the word. I could easily get the information we need, but I don’t want to see my leader burn alive just because we were a few minutes behind schedule.”

Despite my urge to retreat to the shadows, I refused.

“No, it’s better if I’m there. Anything could happen with all these vampires lurking around, and if trouble were to find us, I’d prefer you didn’t face it alone.”

He continued to push the subject. “You’ve seen me fight, McCullum. I know the scars on my face say otherwise, but I can defend myself. You don’t need to worry about me.”

I remained unswayed.

“I’m coming with you, Andrew. There’s no telling what we can expect, and I--”

Suddenly feeling light-headed, the world began to spin around me and I found myself stumbling for a second before tipping over, hurriedly using a nearby wall for support as Andrew practically threw himself in front of me. 

“Sir!” He exclaimed, fretting like a worried parent.

“...I’m...I’m all right...” I mumbled, waving a dismissive hand. “Just...need a minute...”

Andrew furrowed his brow in concern, instantly pinpointing the problem.

“You need blood, Geoffrey. You’re not getting enough.”

I gazed at him with heavy eyelids, shrugging weakly. “...And where...are we supposed to find that?”

Without saying anything, Woodbead simply gestured to his own neck, slightly pulling down the collar that concealed it. Again, I declined.

“We’ve talked about this before,” I reminded him. “I’m not feeding on you. Or anyone, for that matter.”

Still, Andrew insisted. “I can handle giving a little blood.”

I pushed myself off the wall, attempting to move on as if nothing happened.

“Well, I’d rather not take the risk. By nature, vampires are addicted to blood. If I taste even a drop of yours, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

“But--”

I regained composure, taking a deep breath. “I’m fine, Andrew. Really. My thirst won’t kill me, but it could kill you. Now, enough about this. Let’s return to the mission at hand. We only have an hour or so before the sun’s up. We should make haste.”

At last, the young man gave in, letting out an unsure sigh. 

“...As you wish, sir. Just...keep an eye on yourself, yeah? I don’t want you falling over while we’re out in the open.”

“It won’t come to that,” I reassured. “I promise.”

In reality though, I knew Andrew was right. I wasn’t going to be able to ignore this thirst for much longer. Ever since the minute I woke up in that godforsaken hospital where Jonathan left me, my throat had been parched. 

So far, I had been lucky enough to resist the temptation, but with every passing day, I could feel my body withering more and more as an aching sense of hunger consumed it from the inside-out. 

It continuously climbed its way up my list of concerns, and I had no idea when I would reach my breaking point. But no matter what, I told myself I couldn’t give in to the thirst. I just couldn’t. I refused to betray my people’s trust like that...and I wouldn’t.

A familiar voice suddenly whispered in my ear, their ghostly words interrupting my thoughts as my vision turned red.

“...Rotten or pristine, each heart contains the seeds of life. Drink at this river. Dry it all...!”

A series of chills ran up my spine. 

It was Jonathan. He was listening to me. I could feel it. 

No, I said to myself. Don’t do it. Resist the thirst. You must...!

Reid’s ominous chuckle echoed in my head.

“It is wise for the huntsman to sometimes let his prey go...but no famished hunter can run for long. Not even you...”

I gritted my teeth in frustration.

“Leave me be, you filthy leech...! I won’t walk down the same path as you. I won’t become a murderer.”

Another laugh escaped Jonathan, his tone dripping with malice.

“Give up this pointless charade, my progeny. You and I both know it won’t work forever. Embrace this gift I have given you, and welcome your true potential with open arms...”

With that said, my vision gradually returned to normal, and the red drained from the world like blood leaking out of a vampire’s feast. Before loosening his clutch on my mind however, Jonathan left me with one, final piece of advice as a temporary farewell.

“Satisfy your hunger...” he warned, “...or become it.”

[pizzamaximoff]

Royal Responsibilities

I FINALLY GOT MY LAPTOP FIXED Heres a request from ages ago that I’m finally able to finish and post

Story: As the youngest princess of Lindon, you are required to attend to some royal duties every so often, even though you’d much rather traverse around on adventures. On this occasion you end up travelling to the Great Greenwood on behalf of your domain and a certain elf prince captures your attention and heart.  Warnings: Oropher is not nice, Thranduil is a Prince, lil teeny bit of angst  Word Count: 3,517

The woodland realm wasn’t like your home, it was hidden away. Shrouded in the vast depths of the Greenwood, it was a kingdom kept tucked far from the rest of the world. Your own home was much more open: being a falmari elf of royalty you travelled, you explored the seas of Arda and the lands too. You weren’t confined to your halls of residence in the Grey Havens but instead you were out interacting with everyone who visited, local or not. You acted more like that of common folk than a princess, contrasting with the other clans of elves who believed they were above the other races.

Spring was slowly approaching when you had received word that you were to travel to the woodland realm on behalf of the kingdom for a spring equinox feast, your parents and brothers being away on other business to the island of Númenór, not for anything serious but it was often required every few decades on a peace keeping standard. Of all your travels you had never once attended those to the kingdom of Oropher, always deciding to go on an exploration or adventure of some sorts instead of attending to the required responsibilities. Yet on this occasion there was no other member of royalty at hand so the duty fell to yourself. You had reluctantly agreed: these events often meant you had to present yourself in the manner of a princess, flowing dresses instead of practical leggings and the behaviour of a “proper” elven maiden. Your various dresses and essentials had been packed and with a group of your most trusted servants (who you actually considered friends) were off to the Greenwood. You had arrived later than you were expected to, only by a day or so for you had been distracted by the various travelling merchants and wandering groups you had met along the journey. You were eager to support and so various new pieces of jewellery now adorned your neck and wrists, nothing of gold or silver but of leather strips and coloured gems encased in brass and steel. You didn’t wear a silver circlet to indicate your status instead a simple weaved leather band with a teardrop of Lapis Lazuli in the centre. It was something that hinted at your position without being too flashy for your own personal tastes. The gates of the Greenwood were opened, your horses and carriages being taken in another direction after you had dismounted, careful not to step on the flowing hem of your sea blue gown. A silvan elf with a thin band of silver welcomed you with a bow, quickly sending others to alert the king of your arrival and take your belongs to your quarters for the stay. He soon lead you through the winding paths of the palace, his light chestnut hair swaying ever so slightly in the light breeze of the halls. Your eyes wandered in shock at the never ending palace, the beautiful contrast between the natural dark branches and the intricately carved works. It was unlike the other elven realms: your own home was more contrived of sculpted stone decorated in thick vines of ivy crawling up the walls, it was open to the sea and the everlasting horizon. The grand halls of King Oropher, however, were darker and closed off to the world. Your pace slowed as you absorbed the surroundings causing the advisor (or so you assumed) to turn around after noticing your distant footsteps, his green eyes narrowing by the tiniest amount at your dawdling. “Lady (y/n), please follow, the King is awaiting you”, he spoke gesturing ahead. “Ah right, sorry” you apologised sheepishly, cursing yourself under your breath at your behaviour. You had to present the maturity of a princess and not your usual self for you feared your family would never let you out on your explorations if negative word of the trip reached them. The light increased as you reached what seemed to be the heart of the palace, the throne room. A wooden throne with large and dramatic antlers extending outwards, upon the throne rested the King Oropher. His eyes were narrow and cold as he looked over you. “Princess (y/n) of Mithlond, welcome to Eryn Galen” his voice was monotonous and as cold as his glare. You were still for a moment before giving a quick curtsey before speaking. “King Oropher, I thank you for your hospitality. I must apologise for my lateness I had a few bumps along the road one could say” as you spoke you faintly registered the sound of foot steps approaching, brushing it off as an attendant. You were wrong, so very wrong. The owner of the footsteps waltzed into our line of sight while speaking. His deep voice commanding the room as he spoke. “Yes, it would very well seem so.” His icy blue eyes glanced over your body, lingering slightly on the lightly mud stained hem of your ocean gown before returning to your eyes. You shuffled awkwardly as he gazed over you, self conscious and regretting not changing to a new dress. His own robes were forest green with intricate silver embroidery along the collar and sleeves, they were pristine and gorgeous. His hair was of a platinum blonde, reaching the middle of his back and his height, well he was the tallest elf you had ever met. The King turned his eyes to the younger elf whom was of obvious importance with the twisted silver circlet upon his hair. “Thranduil.” He scolded harshly and it clicked that he was the prince of Mirkwood, Oropher’s only son. Thranduil rolled his eyes at his father before swiftly closing the space between you, he then took your hand in his own lifting it gently. His eyes were locked on yours the entire time “Forgive me Lady (y/n),” His voice was as smooth as honey, and he placed a soft kiss to your knuckles which almost caused your legs to turn to jelly. “Prince Thranduil at your service” a smirk upon his handsome features as he noticed the way your breath hitched. “It’s uh a pleasure to make your acquaintance” you rushed out, voice higher than usual. A cough brought you back into the room and out of the little bubble you had found yourself in. Both catching your own and Thranduil’s attention as he turned back to face the King, dropping your hand. “We shall allow you to get settled for the rest of the evening, if you need anything one of the maids shall attend to it, the feast will be held in a fortnight.” with Oropher’s statement you were escorted out of the throne room, but you couldn’t help to glance back at the prince from over your shoulder, happy to find that a smile graced his face as he watched you.

You awoke to a strong knock on the doors of the guest chambers. You groaned, opening your eyes and wincing at the bright light that assaulted them. The knock came again at your lack of response. With sleep disorientating you, you called out a weak response to let whoever was knocking know that you were coming. You dragged yourself out of the soft and plush bed and stumbled to the door, it was most likely your personal maid Phelorna coming to wake you for the day so you didn’t bother gathering your robe or smoothing your hair (she had seen you in worse states). Pulling open the door your eyes met a chest instead of the sea blue eyes of your friend. You slowly looked up meeting the widened eyes of the very prince you had fallen asleep thinking of. You both froze in place his eyes darting down for a split second and a faint blush appearing on his pale skin.  You quickly remembered your attire of a thin slip night dress and with a squeak you slammed the door shut. Your skin was warm with embarrassment, wishing you had put on the robe. A moment of silence passed before Thranduil knocked at the door again lightly, this time it was accompanied with his voice, deep as ever making your knees weak and in turn causing you to slip a little down the door you rested on. “My apologises, I didn’t realise you had just awoken.” Despite the expression you had seen on his face, his voice was particularly calm and controlled, unlike your own as you responded with a stutter. “Th-the fault is mine, my prince, I should have been decent”. With your words you could have sworn that you had heard a faint muttering of something from him, but you brushed it off as nothing. “Anyhow, did you need anything?” you continued, curious to know why he had come to you. 
“I was wondering if you’d like to join me in the Royal Garden’s they’ve just come into bloom and it is quite beautiful, after you’re ready of course” His voice wavered slightly, as if he was nervous of your response. You smiled at his request, however you spoke your head, he was just being polite, a good host, nothing more. “I would, very much enjoy that, but wouldn’t it take you away from your duties and the other guests, I don’t want to be a burden.” you said to him. “It’s no hassle. I’m sure the others will be fine, they’re of my father’s type anyway, all rather boring and dull.” You giggled lightly at this before responding. “Give me 10 minutes and I’ll be out.” You dashed back to the bedroom, pulling a sea green dress out and quickly changed. You smoothed your hair down, and tied back the front section. You went to rush back, holding up your skirts as to not trip, turning back to pull on your new items of jewellery and your head piece. You pulled the door open again and grinned at the tall elf who was shocked at your speed. “Lead the way, my prince” you said and he smiled as he walked towards you, holding his arm out for you to hold, which you do. “Please, just call me Thranduil.” Your smile widened as you looked up at him. “And call me (y/n) , if I’m honest I’m not too fond titles, or any of this princess business”. He chuckled at this and soon lead you to the gardens of Mirkwood and you were engaged in conversation the entire time.

The days passed and you had spent every waking moment with Thranduil. It started with the royal gardens, you would the talk walks or journeys through the forest, something to quench your need for adventure. Thranduil was eager to join your journeys, guide you through the forests. He would teach you the different plants and wonders of the Great Greenwood, it was more than you could’ve ever asked for on your stay. You detailed your many explorations to him, the changing environments of Arda and the various weird wonderful people or creatures you had met. He was fascinated, only ever having visited other nearby elf settlements or the nearby human city of Dale and Dwarven stronghold of Erebor. For such a great elf it seemed his life was sheltered, closed much like the kingdom he resided in itself. As you travelled through the forests and talked the nights away a strong bond had begun to build between the pair of you. Although there had been moments where King Oropher would be nearby, you could always feel his harsh glare upon you, as if he thought of you as a common elf; someone not good enough to be so close to his heir. Whenever he was around Thranduil would pull away ever so slightly, bringing a small distance. It was upsetting but you could see the need to please his father in him, so you let him pull away.

Even so, by the time the feast was held you and Thranduil had become as this as thieves, there was never a moment of discomfort when you were not with him. He sat at the main table next to the King, at the head of the open roofed hall, the stars shining down on him. Combined with the warm candle light it illuminated him, causing the long blond locks to seemingly glow and his eyes to sparkle. When your eyes met he smirked, knowing of your staring, you in turn smiled sheepishly but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. He was perfect, as if the Valar had crafted him themselves. It was only when Oropher called his name that he reluctantly pulled his gaze from you. You sat at a side table, observing the father and son, Oropher didn’t look particularly pleased as he spoke to Thranduil the latter’s strong brows furrowing and a frown settling onto his features as Oropher spoke. Oropher’s own eyes gestured briefly to you and his face turned sour and that’s when you realised he was talking about you. With shame you looked down, resorting to picking at the food on your plate with the cutlery, appetite suddenly gone. The dinner went on the same way it was only once the dancing began that you perked up, Oropher had left sight and Thranduil had promised to dance with you before the festivities began. You rose from the elegant eat and rounded the corner of the table. Thranduil to moved round, you walked towards him a bright smile upon your face. It was gone as soon as you had out it on as he walked away, instead to another elleth. One with eyes of sapphire and hair of white gold and a dress of a shining silver. He took her hand in his as he kissed it gently, just as he had done with you on your meeting. He hadn’t spared you a single glance as he lead the woman off to dance. It was as if the past two weeks had never happened, that you had just become another plain face in the crowd, a bore. You were brought out of your frozen state by another young ellon, a silvan elf with sweet green eyes. “Excuse me, may I ask you to dance” He asked, somewhat nervously with a warm flush on his cheeks. It was quite cute, however, you were really not in the mood to dance thanks to the Prince so you politely declined, mentioning that you needed a moment away from the party. His head fell in what could only be described as a crushed ego and you were quick to console him, “Ah but maybe later, mithril.” you said with a smile. He brightened up again and nodded enthusiastically making you laugh at the younger elves ways before excusing yourself. The weight of Thranduil’s ignorance came back in full force as you left the open room. The teal gown you wore was beginning to feel to tight and your head light so you began to make your way to a place where you knew you could relax with everything going on, the gardens. As you suspected they were empty, all servants working on the feast and all guests in attendance.  The beautiful flowers in full bloom were illuminated by various lantern posts lined along the path of the gardens, you followed down the path with your hand delicately passing along the petals and shrubbery. It filled you with peace, allowing you to push thoughts of the Prince to the back of your mind. The minutes passed and you had reached the secluded pool that was hidden deep within the gardens. The night sky above caused the pool to glitter, it was so inviting, tranquil. You pulled of your shoes and hiked up your dress, settling on the lip of the pond so your feet and calves were submerged into the clear water. It was a cool blanket against your skin, and finally being with the water reminded you of home, oh how you wished you were still there. It was in the silence of the night with your head resting in your hands, which in turn rested on your thighs, that you let your thoughts return. The harsh gaze of the King was one thing but Thranduil, that was unbearable. You sighed letting the emotions build and the tears to slip out. Your body shook lightly with the soundless tears turned sobs, it had been a a long time since you had last cried. God you hated it.  The influx of emotion was suffocating. You took a deep breath to calm, deciding to never go on outings for your parents ever again upon your return. A sea voyage for a few months sounded quite tempting. Together with your trusty crew and away from all the soul draining responsibilities. You could be free to do as you pleased without the watchful and judging eyes of society. The sound of footsteps startled you, they were restrained and light as if the owner was attempting to remain in stealth. You froze, wiping your tear stained face with your sleeves and doing your best to halt the sniffles and shivers. Hopefully whoever was walking through would notice your presence and be swiftly on there way. Yet it seemed luck was not on your side as the voice which called your name belonged to the Prince himself. You visibly stiffened but still payed him no attention. Maybe he’d get the message and go back to the other woman. You couldn’t blame her to be honest, she was beautiful and probably as kind as the spring itself. When he spoke your name again you listened this time. It was weak, feeble full of nerves unlike the confident tone he usually spoke with. It was broken. You couldn’t ignore him even if you tried and so you slowly turned to face him, although you couldn’t quite meet his eyes you could see how he towered high above you from your seat on the plush grass. Without a sound he kneels by you, taking your head in his hands; you want to pull away from him yet his touch felt so natural you could not, your eyes still averted, finding the  rippling water more so interesting instead. “(y/n), look at me.” His deep voice was soft but commanding. When you chose to ignore he repeated, with more softness, stroking under your red eyes with his thumbs. The delicate touch coaxed you into submission and your eyes finally met his again. Although his face was mostly stoic you could see the pain and guilt in his eyes. The sight had the tears welling up once again, before they could spill you were pulled into a tight embrace. Thranduil’s body was surprisingly warm, a relaxing contrast from the cool night air and water surrounding you. You were startled to say the least but more pleasantly surprised. You could feel his voice through his chest as he spoke, it was oddly comforting although he was the source of your sadness. “I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to cause harm to you. For once should not have listened to my father.” He ended with a sigh, you knew it was personal but you had to ask. “What did he say of me?” You spoke, albeit muffled, weakly. “It wasn’t personally directed at you, but you see my father is still quite traditional. He would prefer it if I were to court one of his chosen suitors, all daughters of generals and nobles. If I’m honest I find them all quite boring much too focused on trivial matters with absolutely no strive for adventure.” You laughed at this, mood lifting greatly. You realised how stressful it must be for him, as the only child of a great king. As the only heir to the woodland realm there was a huge responsibility placed upon him. It was only natural for the king to want what was best for his son. You were aware that you weren’t exactly the greatest option of a potential romance, always out being reckless on your journeys, not quite the picture of elven grace and elegance. You shrunk in his hold becoming insecure and as if he knew your thoughts he pulled away from you, gently lifting you by the chin to face him again. “That being said, he does not get to choose who I fall for. If you’ll have me, my lady (y/n) than I would be honoured to travel with you, to learn from you and to be with you.” He now averted his gaze on you, the slightest hint of anxiety in your answer hidden within him as his hand dropped. This caused a smile to break out on you, all signs of your previous upset state gone. You brought your hands to his much larger ones, clasping them tightly. “I would love that.” As you spoke his eyes widened in shock before a smile spread on his face and you were soon pulled back into his arms. Maybe your royal duties were fruitful after all.

Taglist:

@evyiione

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

DOTW 6

Eren whimpered in misery. Dancing on a busted ankle was agony. Dancing every single day, twice a day, for the last week on a busted ankle was agony. Marco had stuck by his side since the first day they'd met, Eren teaching him how do his hair and makeup properly, while Marco tried to cover the best he could for him. His ankle was painfully swollen and hot, his body felt feverish, and the stuffiness of the club left his lungs struggling for air. The painkillers he'd been swallowing down left him nauseous, but all of it was worth it if he could dance. Leaning heavily on Marco, the fellow omega supported him back from the stage and down to the changing room. Sitting him down in his usual spot, Marco took his leg into his hold, placing it up on the chair the omega had claimed for his own "Eren... this doesn't look very good. I think you need to go to hospital" "It's fine..." "You were whining and baring your neck" Baring his neck in an attempt to lure in an alpha to help him. Gross. He had Marco now, he didn't need help "I told you I can't go to hospital" "Why not?" "We're not having this discussion again. I'm just tired. A good nights sleep and a hot shower is all I need" Marco chewed on his lip, his eyes filled with unshed tears. In a lot of ways, Marco reminded him of himself, except Marco got to have a life and go home to an alpha that truly loved him "Hey, no. No tears" "But you're hurt" "It's just my ankle. Anyway, you looked hot out there" Marco blushed, his face was flushed red from dancing, but Eren knew he was blushing under it all "Not me. The way you move... I will never be that beautiful. It's like you're making love to music" Eren snorted, grabbing Marco's hand "You're not too bad yourself. I've never had this much fun dancing with another omega" Together they brought every alpha to their knees. Marco had taken over the title of "Angel", while Eren played the devil, luring the sweet little angel into his hold. Together they danced, grinding against each other nipping at each other's skin. Marco wasn't comfortable taking the lead, leaving Eren to. He didn't mind. He was sure Marco wouldn't be at the club for much longer given his alpha had managed to get himself a better position at the company he worked for. They didn't need Marco to be out working now, and while he'd miss him, he wanted his friend to hurry up and leave. He saw the way alphas looked at him, insisting Marco stay inside the club with him until his alpha picked him up personally. It didn't feel like they'd only met a fortnight ago. It felt like he'd known Marco all his life. They'd both come in early before each shift, and had spent hours dressing each other up. Eren taught Marco all the basic moves he needed, and how to move to the music, while Marco humoured him. Zeke wasn't happy that he'd been training the new omega, so Eren was careful not to talk about Marco more than he absolutely had to. He hated lying and deceiving his brother, but he feared Zeke would finally turn against him and abandon him for being so weak. Letting himself into their change room, Eren pulled Marco close as Reiss stared down at them as if disgusted "I need you two to get back out there" "Our shifts are over" "You'll dance when I tell you to dance. They want you back out there" Marco the freckle faced saviour, went and stuck his foot in it "Sir, please. Eren's hurt" Reiss's nostrils flared like a snorting bull "What do you mean you're hurt!?" "I'm fine. Marco is just worrying over nothing" "Eren..." "Marco, drop it. I'm fine" Marching over to them, Reiss grabbed his arm and hurled him from his chair, forcing him to stand on his own two feet. Yelping, his ankle rolled, Marco grabbing him before he could fall "You're a fucking disgrace! How am I supposed to sell you like this!? I told you that you're not to make trouble for me! Get the fuck out of here" Marco clutched him tightly. Not used to Reiss's angry outbursts, the omega let out a small whine "You two aren't worth all this trouble. Get out of here. I expect this shit sorted out by tomorrow" "Yes, sir" Reiss left them, Eren slumping against Marco. He struggled to breathe. That horrible struggle that usually came right before vomiting. Sitting him back down, Marco fidgeted "I didn't mean to get you into trouble" "You didn't. Reiss doesn't like strong omegas who speak up. Have you texted Jean?" "I did before went up on stage. He'll call when he gets here" "In that case, we should get dressed" "I'll grab your clothes for you" "Thanks Marco" Eyeing himself in the mirror, Eren wanted to strike out and punch it. He looked absolutely horrible. His waterproof foundation starting to run from the sweat and heat, exposing the deep bags beneath his eyes. Fuck. He could sleep for a fucking week and it wouldn't be enough. Dressed in his jeans and crop top, Eren hugged his hoodie. Inside the club had been boiling, but outside he freezing. He wanted to put on his hoodie, but didn't want Marco worrying while they waited for Jean. He'd never actually met Jean properly, only exchanging a "Hi" kind of thing as Marco climbed into the car "Are you sure you'll be fine to get home alone?" "Yeah. Reiner and Bertholdt get off soon, so I'll catch a lift with them" "I still don't know how you live with three alphas. Jean is forever leaving his stuff everywhere. It's like cleaning up after a child" "I swear alphas never grow up. Zeke's alright, but... I mean. They can't even put their dirty dishes in the dishwasher" Marco giggled "They're so bad" As laughter spilled out of the club, Eren grabbed Macro's arm. Pulling him away from the alpha pack leaving "You don't trust them, do you?" "They're drunk and ramped up" "I mean alphas in general" "Oh... no. But it's fine. I'll protect you" "Devil Eren saves the Angel Marco again?" "Something like that" Peering past Marco, he frowned at the group of alphas moving towards them. He couldn't see Reiner on the front door, or he'd have called him over "Hey pretty omegas. Looking to party?" Snorting and nudging his mates like it was hilarious, Eren rolled his eyes "Go home guys. You're drunk and if they see you, they'll ban you" The front alpha's smile dropped "What the fuck did you say?" "I said to go home. We're not interested" "The fuck did you say to me?" Marco whimpered, Eren head swimming from the onslaught of angry scents. Pulling Marco back, he moved in front of him "I said, we're not interested" "Who the fuck do you think you are?" "Who I am, has nothing to do with you. I just work here, and can get you banned if you don't fuck off" "You whore! You've obviously never had an alpha teach you your place in the world" "No omega would want a Neanderthal like you" Snarling, the alpha stepped forward, grabbing his hoodie and ripping it from his hold. Throwing the garment on the foot path, the man spat at it "You need to learn manners" Eren had never been great at controlling his temper as a kid. His rebellious side had been torn from him as he'd been trained to learn his place. If he'd been alone, he could taken it. But Marco... he couldn't let Marco get hurt. Growing, he brought his hands up, shoving the alpha, as he gripped his shirt front "Why can't you just fuck off!? We didn't do anything to you!" "Eren..." "It's ok Marco. He hasn't got the balls to do anything" From the street came a beep. Jean always beeped to let Marco know he was there. Distracted by the beep, Eren was grabbed and thrown to the sidewalk. His ankle cracked, pain flaring up his leg "Eren!" Marco screamed his name, the poor omega sounding terrified. Booting him in the ribs, Eren's breath was forced from his lungs. The alpha laughing as he kicked him again, and again "This is all you omegas are good for! You disrespectful slut! Dancing up there. Being a fucking cocktease. If you were my omega, you'd know your place!" "I'd rather die than be yours. You're revolting" The words brought a smile to his lips, even if it was a fucking struggle to get them out "You little whore!" Kicking him in the face, Eren vomited. His whole body was shaking with pain. The throbbing in his growing worse "Jean! Jean, we have to have help him!" Why hadn't Marco run? He should have run... he could have been in Jean's car in seconds. "What the fuck is going on here?" No. Not Reiner. Not like this. He'd tell Zeke... and Zeke would be so mad. Why couldn't he have come before all this happened?! "We're teaching this omega some manners" "Reiner, please. He was just trying to protect me..." Marco was sobbing now. The alpha having paused his onslaught of rough blows "It's alright Marco, the police have been called" No... not again. He'd caused another incident for the club... "What the fuck!? I was teaching him a lesson, obviously no one ever has!" With his eyes closed, Eren didn't see what was happening. Gentle arms wrapped around him, Marco pulling him close to him. His cinnamon and sugar scent filled with pair and fear. He wanted to comfort him, but he'd chewed the inside of his mouth up. Words were hard to form "Eren... why did you do that? You didn't have to try and protect me" Forcing his lips to move, he forced a smile "It's ok. As long as you're ok" "Jean... he didn't even get out the car..." Poor Marco. He adored Jean... and the way he talked about him, it was hard to believe Jean hadn't come to his rescue "Eren, I'm so sorry... I didn't want this... I'm so sorry" * Coming off his shift, Levi was drained. The shift had dragged on, with only minor things, like the alpha who'd called an ambulance because their sister had gone into heat and he had no idea how to make it stop. Erwin had laughed way too much... way, way too much. He was so beyond fucking done. Despite his constant use of suppressants, he'd gone into a shitty fucking rut, and since coming back everything had felt half a step off. With a weary sigh, he hefted himself into his Range Rover, desperately wishing he had a cigarette or something to perk him back up until he got home. Synching his phone with his car, soft rock came through the speakers. He didn't usually listen to much in the way of music, but he needed something to keep him awake. Almost timed to the second of him pulling out the driveway, the song playing was interrupted as a voice announced an incoming call from Hanji. Groaning, he took the call. If he was mad at her, he'd be able to stay awake during the drive "Levi, can you get to the hospital like A-sap?" "I've just come off shift. I'm driving home" "Levi, please. This an emergency" "Hanji" "Eren's here. He's had the fuck bashed out of him, and he just had a massive fight with his brother. I don't want to sedate him, but he won't let anyone near him" Levi forced himself not close his eyes as he took a deep breath. She hadn't brought this shit up for weeks, and now... for fucks sake... "Haven't you got staff trained for that kind of shit" "He's scared, and not making much sense. I need to find out what his past medical history is before I put him under, or if he's taken anything for the pain. The omega who was with him said he'd taken painkillers, but he didn't know what kind... if he's been taking anything that contains aspirin..." Levi cut her off. Telling himself he didn't care or shouldn't care this much "Shouldn't it be on his file?" "Levi, please. The kid's falling apart. He keep screaming for Zeke and to go home. He's all alone here, and he's scared. He doesn't want the surgery, but he took his own cast off. If he ever wants to dance again, he needs to let us help him" "And how am I going to change his mind?" "I don't know. I just can't stand to see him like this... just 15 minutes. Please. If he doesn't calm down, then that's it. I will never mention him to you, ever" "1 minute" "10" "2" "5 and I'll behave" "Fuck. Is that even possible?" "Yes. Maybe... I can try" "Fine. But you fucking owe me for this" "I know, and I wouldn't be asking if Eren would just see sense" Pulling an abrupt U-turn, Levi wondered why he was even heading there. His alpha was angered over Eren being bashed, and Hanji's words of abuse came to mind. Had his brother fought before they'd arrived at the hospital, leaving Hanji to witness the aftermath and clean up? Or did something happen at the club again? And what kind of idiot cuts a fucking cast off? Hanji shouldn't have used a fucking plaster cast to begin with. No one used plaster casts anymore "Levi?" "I'm on my fucking way, make sure Olou knows to let me in" "Nanaba is on, but I'll let her know" Ending the call, Levi really did wonder what the fuck he was doing. If Eren was distressed, he wouldn't want anyone near him. Why was he listening to her? Why was he turning his life upside down again because of her? The hospital had counsellors. They had people trained to deal with distressed omegas. They had professionals and plenty of scent calmers and cancellers. And who was the omega with him? Why couldn't he calmed him down? Fuck. He couldn't cope with all this bullshit. Arriving at the hospital, Nanaba let him through. The whole ER seemed bathed in the scent of a distressed omega, though he knew that had to be in his mind thanks to all the cancellers. Still, he found his feet taking towards the source of the scent, even if his mind was wandering. He didn't know what to say. How was he supposed to magically make Eren calm down? "Levi!" Turning around, Hanji was standing there with a file in her hands "Thank god you're here. Quick, come with me" Striding past him, Levi was left to jog the few steps to catch up with her "What happened?" "He was standing up for another omega outside the club. A group of drunk alphas bashed him, and when his brother turned up, they ended up having a huge fight..." "And you couldn't just talk to him?" "I tried, but after his brother left... well..." "And the omega he was with?" "His alpha took him home" Rather than being in a bay, Eren was in one of the monitoring rooms. The omega was curled in the corner of the room, rocking and whining softly. The scent of rotten something hung in the room, the smell rolling his stomach as his alpha flared, angered Eren had been left like this "I just need to know what he's been taking for his ankle" "Ok. Five fucking minutes, then you come back in" "I'll be right outside the door" Walking over to Eren, Levi squatted down "I heard you've had a shit night?" Placing his hand on Eren's head, Eren let out a strangled scream. The teen kicking out at him, his breathing was shallow, gasping for air as if he'd run a marathon "Oi. Brat. Calm the fuck down. Come on, you need to breathe. Hanji just wants to help you" Panting the words out, Eren continued to work himself up further "Home... I want to go home" "You can't when you're this hurt" Raising his head, Levi winced at the teen's bloodied face. His lips was split, both eyes blackened and Levi suspected the kid's nose had also been broken. With his body no longer curled, he could see the bruising peaking out of the gown "Home..." "Eren, you can't go home" "I want Zeke!" "Your shitty brother left you here. He's gone. Now you need to help yourself out and tell me what the fuck you've been taking for this ankle of yours" "No! Give me Zeke! Please. Please give me Zeke" "Zeke isn't here. You're not a little kid. You don't need your fucking hand held. I need to know what you've taken for your ankle. That's all" "I want to go home" This wasn't working. He preferred to be blunt as he wasn't designed to be soft and cuddly. If the kid wasn't going to listen to him when he was being blunt, he'd have to change tactic. He'd seen enough abuse cases to know that logic and reason didn't always make sense "You can have Zeke and you can go home, but only if you let Hanji fix you up. You don't want him seeing you covered in blood, do you?" "Z-Zeke?" "That's right. You can go back to Zeke. You just have to cooperate" "I can't do anything without Zeke" "Then you need to tell me what you've taken" "P-panadol" "Just panadol?" The kid had to be hurting something fucking fierce. His ankle looked horrible, his body beaten, and he fucking stank. Maybe Eren had a naturally high tolerance for pain? He'd been pretty lucid when he'd fallen off the stage "Can I really see Zeke?" "If you're a good omega" He felt sick saying the words. Like he was encouraging the abuse. He could see why Hanji thought he'd been abused. The kid sounded like a child as he demanded his brother and to go home... his mind just couldn't believe the omega who'd flirted with him, was now a balling baby "I'll be good... just don't let them get me again" "No ones going to get you. Come on, brat. I need you to get your breathing back under control. In through the nose... and out through the mouth" "Zeke... need Zeke" God. Could the kid shut up about his brother and start worrying about himself. Eren was still struggling to bring his breathing back under control when Hanji knocked on the door and scared the shit out the kid. With wide eyes, Eren gave a funny little squeak before his eyes rolled back "Levi?" "You can come in. You just ruined all my hard work" Lifting the unconscious omega, Levi couldn't believe how warm and soft the teen was "Is he alright?" "He finally passed out" "Did you get him talking?" Laying Eren down on the hospital bed, Hanji straighten out the teen's ankle as Levi brushed Eren's hair back from his face "You were right about him being abused. His brother's got him believing he can't do anything by himself" "Zeke was quite upset he was injured" "Sure. Look, he said he's only taken panadol, but if your taking him into surgery, he'll need to be closely monitored. He's been vomiting" "Yes, I already know. But look at your you're worried about him" "No, I'm angry that alphas still think it's ok to train their omegas to be useless. I'm angry at you for putting me in this situation where I have to encourage him over his abusers to calm him down. I bet you didn't even try to appease his need for his brother. You went straight to trying to tell him what you needed from him, didn't you?" "M-maybe. He was just so cooperative the last two times" "And this time he'd fought with his alpha. Seriously. Don't call me for this shit again" Looking down at Eren's face, the teen looked so frail and young. Levi hated the way his heart hurt over the sight. His alpha wanted him to wrap his arms around him and promise him everything would be ok, like it was some kind of fairytale. Life was no fucking fairytale. People didn't just fall in love and live happily ever after "You managed to calm him down, and get him talking. Thanks, I owe you" "You could have done it too, if you'd actually shut your mouth for a change and listened to words coming out Eren's mouth" "He wasn't making sense" "He was scared and wanted his brother. He wanted to go home. No doubt Zeke made him like this, completely dependent on him, and he didn't want to disappoint his brother. He'd probably walk through glass if he thought that would make him happy" "You really got through to him, didn't you?" "No. This is all from listening. Now get him prepped. I'm going home" Levi was certain he hadn't been needed at all. Hanji's loud personality had upset the teen because she'd talked at him, rather than too him. Stumbling to his car, his mind was already home and in bed. His next shift started in 6 hours, and despite only needing a few hours of sleep each night, he honestly felt like he could sleep for a lifetime. * Levi only knew a few days of "peace" before Hanji cornered him at work. She was coming off her shift as he was delivering a patient. First corning Erwin, before the pair of them ganged up against him. Dragged along under the pretence of paperwork, he was blindly lead into a room without asking. He didn't think Erwin would conspire with Hanji against him, but he was an idiot. The moment he stepped into the room, he let out a growl "What the fuck?" Glaring at his two friends, Erwin shrugged while Hanji smiled as if she wasn't a mischievous bitch. Laying on the bed, Eren was curled into another omega, both purring though Eren's purrs were the purr of an omega trying to calm himself "I just wanted to show you he's doing better. He's going to be feeling very sad and sorry for himself, especially as we had to pin and screw his ankle back together. He spent two weeks running around on it. Can you imagine the pain? He's a strong boy" "And I need to know this... because...?" "Because Marco there has been his only visitor. I've tried calling his brother, but he won't answer" "Maybe he's busy working?" "Or he's abandoned Eren" Levi's eyes narrowed further in disgust. An abandoned omega was nothing to be smiling about... "Why does all of this make you so happy?" "It doesn't make me happy. I have no idea how anyone could turn their back on such a sweet omega. I just wanted you to see him" "I've seen him. I'm leaving" "Without talking to him?" Pushing his way past Erwin and Hanji, he didn't know what he was supposed to say. The kid had his friend, and the pair of them were obviously close. If Eren had been abandoned, his friend would probably take him in. So absolutely none of this had anything to do with him. Ignoring the tall male alpha walking past, he continued through the maze of halls, leaving Erwin to catch up with him "Levi, wait up" "Don't fucking say it" "So that's Eren?" "I told you not to fucking say it" "He's just not what I was expecting. He seems to have really made an impression on Hanji" "I don't know what her fucking problem is" "I can hazard a guess" "Not you too..." "I saw how you looked at him" "And how was that?" "You were glaring, but your eyes softened when you saw him" "That's a load of shit. You're conspiring with Hanji. Admit it, you're both ready to marry me off to the first omega that you find's single" "Not just any omega..." "I fucking quit. I'm done with both of you" "She told me you managed to calm him down" Levi scrubbed his face tiredly, grumbling the words out "Hanji doesn't know how to shut her mouth. Anyone could have calmed him down. Anyone who bothered to talk to him" "He's still pretty cute" Levi barely kept himself from growing. Eren wasn't his omega. He was just the omega being forced on him by Hanji and now Erwin. That was it. Why couldn't everyone just back off?! And why couldn't they see this would only hurt Eren in the long run. The kid was used to being treated like property, if they got into his head and somehow convinced him that Levi was interested, the boy would cling to him, only to have things come crashing down again once the truth came out. It wasn't the basis for a healthy relationship. Not that he wanted one. Especially not one with Eren. No. He didn't want to date the omega at all... He did not have a thing for the kids green eyes. He did not have a thing for the teen's soft warm skin. And he definitely did not have a thing for Eren's pink and pouty lips. He did not like Eren. Nope. No way. His alpha was an arsehole, and given he was getting older, the need to mate and ensure his lineage was just driving him crazy. Yep. He was going crazy... because even that was preferable to admitting he might every so slightly like Eren.

[infinitysdecendants76730]

Infinity’s Descendants

“Céleste’s return to Marseille”

Neither Céleste nor Jean-Laurent had been seen in months but Azazelle barely had time to dwell on their whereabouts. Work days were long and the hospital was overflowing with those who were ravaged by the plague. The city streets were lined with the corpses of those who had been taken by the plague. On her journey’s back home Azazelle would scan the faces of the new corpses hoping and praying that she didn’t see the face of her sister or her lover. In the small amounts of alone time she did have she forbade herself from thinking any thoughts except those that involved her loved ones returning to the city of Marseille.

Céleste was walking past a window when she heard the sound of children’s laughter. She drew the curtains and saw a family that had stopped for a picnic in the field. There were two little girls dancing in circles and laughing. As she watched those girls play it was like a fog lifted and for the first time in she couldn’t remember how long Céleste thought of her sister.

“Cassius my love” celeste whispered running her fingers through the damp hair on the back of his head. He let out a low hum letting her know she had his attention. “I need to return to Marseille” she said. Cassius rose up on his elbow. « Pourquoi? N’es-tu pas heureux ici à Paris? » he asked, concern etched on his face. “It’s not that. Of course I am happy here in Paris.” Said Céleste. “Then what is it?” he asked. « C’est ma soeur » said Celeste. Cassius understood exactly what Céleste was saying. He too, although be it hundreds of years ago, had a family of his own and felt these same feelings about his family members . Cassius’ maker, however, denied him the opportunity to see his family one last time and had he not already been void of life the pain of never seeing them again would’ve killed him. He swore he’d never be that cruel. At that he said “Return to Marseille. Gather your things and get your affairs in order but you must not let your sister see you” he said. “What do you mean? Why?” asked Celeste. “You are not who you used to be Céleste. Our existence cannot be known to mortals not even our family. I don’t doubt she thinks you dead by now. We must keep it that way. It’s what’s best for her and our kind” he said.

Céleste was terrified when she arrived back in Marseille. It looked nothing like it did when she left. The buildings were worn and tattered, the streets were almost empty excluding the bodies lining them. It was even more imperative that she found her sister now. She felt absolutely horrible for leaving her sister alone in a time like this. Céleste stayed in her carriage outside of Hôtel-Dieu, the hospital Azazelle worked at for hours and never saw her sister. She was about to take her leave but saw Delphine, one of Azazelle’s friends, and decided to inquire about her sister’s whereabouts. “Delphine!” Shouted Céleste.

 

 “Céleste, we all thought you were...” delphine’s voice trailed off at the sight of Céleste’s pale skin. “I know what you thought but that is of little importance at the moment. Please Delphine, my sister, have you seen her?” asked Céleste. Sadness filled Delphine’s face. “Azazelle has not been to work in a fortnight Céleste. No one has seen her anywhere” said Delphine. “Has anyone checked our home?” asked Céleste. “We have. No one answers and the letters we have left for her have not been moved” said Delphine. « Et mes parents? Savez-vous s'ils lui ont parlé? » Delphine looked at Céleste with a face full of pity. « Céleste, je ne sais pas comment te dire ça mais ... tes parents sont morts. They both fell ill from the plague. Within two weeks we had lost them both » Delphine’s eyes teared up. « Oh mon dieu » Céleste said coming to terms with everything her sister had been through. « Je suis vraiment désolé. On t'aurait dit si on savait où tu étais mais ... eh bien tu sais...» Delphine hesitated. Sparing Delphine any more awkwardness Céleste said “Thank you Delphine. Careful on your journey home. The hour is getting late” and in the blink of an eye Celeste was gone.

The entrance to the house was exactly as Delphine described. There were several letters addressed to Azazelle LeBlanc from several friends of the family and town officials. Céleste collected them all and knocked on the door. It was completely quiet. Even with Celeste’s enhanced hearing she still could hear nothing. Céleste knocked again “Zaz, are you in there?” She still heard nothing “It’s Cele, please open the door if you are in there” This time she heard movement followed by a crash and a thud anyone else standing outside the door would’ve heard nothing. “Zaz!” she screamed Céleste. Céleste kicked the door completely off the hinges. The living room was empty. The kitchen was empty. Hallway? Empty. Azazelle’s room?...empty. Laying on the floor in what once was her room Céleste saw her sister. The gown Azazelle was wearing swallowed her, she was pale, her lips had a purple tint to them, and her eyes were dark and sunken in. Céleste kneeled down to pick her sister up and gasped when she wrapped her arms around her little sister. The bones in her back were protruding and she weighed nothing. She picked her up and sat her on the bed, tears forming in her eyes. “Zaz, mon dieu. Je suis désolé. I am so sorry” Céleste whispered as she rocked back and forth with her frail sister in her arms. “Cele” Azazelle said, voice trembling and weak with low eyes “I th...” she was fighting to keep her eyes open “...thought you” “Shh I know, just rest, it’s ok” whispered Céleste. Azazelle’s eyes closed and tears silently fell down Céleste’s cheeks. Celeste could still hear Azazelle’s heart beating but it was very weak and faint. She had to help her. She didn’t know what to do but perhaps Cassius did.

“Céleste you never should have brought her here. Do you know what you have done by doing this?” Cassius asked furiously. “I know but I couldn’t leave her alone to die. She is my sister and I left alone for far too long” said Céleste. “Céleste you must let go of your mortal emotions! Nothing good will come from them” Cassius ran his hair through his long black hair. “Should she survive she will be given the death penalty for passing the mur de la peste and possibly you as well for aiding her!” exclaimed Cassius. “I am well aware of the consequences of my actions both for myself as well as for my sister. Mortal emotions or not I will not leave her side again, so you can either help me care for her or leave us alone” said Céleste.

“I will send for a doctor. If there is anything that can be done for her he will be able to assist. In the meantime we must feed” said Cassius. “I have no desire. I only wish to stay with Azazelle” Céleste said gently rubbing her sisters hand.

“Her eyes and lips indicate that she has been ill for quite some time. Bloodletting is the only option, it is possible that we me be able to rid her of the disease but I make no guarantees. I would strongly suggest that neither of you be present while this is taking place unless you have quenched your thirst for the night” said the doctor. “I am not going anywhere” Céleste said firmly. “It is alright. You may proceed” Cassius said calmly. “Very well then” the physician pulled a scalpel from his bag. He made a six inch incision on the insides of both of Azazelle’s ankles as well as her wrists and sat metal bowls under her limbs to collect the blood following from her body. Azazelle was so weak she barely even budged when the blade pierced her skin. Vampires could smell if blood had impurities so initially the blood pouring from Azazelle’s limbs had no effect on either of them but as the hours passed and the night turned to day the impurities began to leave Azazelle’s blood and the scent was beginning effect Cassius.

“If the impurities are leaving her blood why has her condition continued to decline?” asked Céleste. “Unfortunately Mademoiselle, we do not have the answers to all things. For now we must leave the matter in the Lord’s hands” the physician said softly. “Monsieur Cassius, May I have a word with you in private?” he asked. “Certainly” Cassius led the physician out of the room, much farther than any other person would. Presumably so Céleste could not hear the conversation. “I must warn you doctor not to get too close. I fear that I do not posses the same amount of self control that Mademoiselle LeBlanc does” Cassius warned causing the physician to take quite of few steps back. “I regret to inform you that Mademoiselle LeBlanc’s sister will not survive the day. She has lost too much blood. I will pack her wounds and give her something for the pain. The only thing that could be done after that is provide her with whatever she needs to keep her comfortable until the end” said the physician. He didn’t linger after telling Cassius this, he made his way back into the room to tend to Azazelle. Cassius remained in the hallway pacing up and down contemplating how he should tell Céleste this. He was coming up with nothing, the thirst was hindering him from thinking clearly. He would go feed again and return.

When Cassius returned Céleste was in the same exact spot she was when he had left, by her sisters bedside. “Céleste Mon Cherie, I have some rather unfortunate news” Cassius said rubbing her arms. “She is going to die isn’t she?” asked Céleste. Cassius took a deep breath and kissed Céleste’s hair “She’s lost too much blood. Her body could not replenish it as fast as she was losing it” said Cassius. “This is all my fault. I should never have left her” said Céleste. “Do not blame yourself for this” Celeste shook Cassius’ hands off her shoulders. “I left her, I promised I would protect her and I let this happen. Now I have to live forever without her” sobbed Céleste. “Cele, please calm yourself. You are well aware that death doesn’t have to be final” said Cassius. Céleste quickly turned to face Cassius “Will it work?” she asked. “It is hard to say. She has lost a lot of blood” said Cassius. “Will do you it? It worked on me” Céleste asked hopefully. “I cannot but I do think that you should try” he said.

“Cassius I do not know what to do, please, help her” begged Céleste. “I have told you that I cannot turn her. I will assist you though” he said. Fear flooded Céleste’s eyes. “You have nothing to fear, you are ready” he said calmly “Remember Celeste, you must refrain from drinking the last drop or it will draw you in and you will die. Since Azazelle does not have much blood it will not be long after you have starting feeding that you reach this point” Céleste ran her hand over her sisters hair once more. Lifting her sisters head from the bed and tilting it to the side she exposed her flesh. Céleste’s eyes turned red as she softly sank her fangs into Azazelle’s neck. Azazelle’s eyes shot open as a shock of sensation that was very similar to the pleasure of passion shot through her body. However, within seconds Azazelle was almost at the point of paralysis. Panic stricken Azazelle couldn’t even will herself to speak. Céleste held her still as she drank. “Ça suffit” Cassius said softly placing his hand on Céleste’s shoulder. Azazelle felt Céleste’s teeth withdraw and the puncture wounds left in her neck felt like enormous craters full of white hot pain. Céleste softly laid her sister back on the bed and bit her own wrist. She held her wrist over Azazelle’s mouth and the drips of blood fell on her cheek and lips. Azazelle licked the drop of blood that had fell on her lip but her eyes did not open. Céleste pressed her wrist to her sister mouth and she tried to move her mouth away. “Drink Zaz” Céleste kindly whispered. Azazelle trusted her sister whole heartedly so if she was telling her to drink then that was what she would do. She sunk her teeth into Céleste’s wrist and began to drink.

The pain whipped through Céleste. Zaz’s body tensed and her left hand grabbed Céleste’s wrist as she swallowed the first spurt. The pain grew stronger and stronger so that Céleste almost cried out. She could see it as if it were molten metal coursing before her eyes.Her sister was pulling sucking the blood from Céleste that she had just took from her. She was sitting up now of her own accord. And a numbness came over Céleste. Harder and harder Zaz drew and faster. Céleste felt Zazs grip on her tighten. Céleste wanted to force her away but she couldn’t do it and when Céleste herself grew weak it was Azazelle who held her up. She was swaying and the room was titling but Zaz continued until Cassius pushed her away.

Azazelle fell back onto the bed. Her form swelling it seemed under her pale night gown. The dark circles around her eyes had gone away; in fact every blemish she had ever had had gone away. Céleste closed her eyes fore she was uncertain if what she was seeing was real. She opened them once more and saw it was no illusion. The wounds on Azazelle’s throat were gone. Her youthful beauty had been restored.

Céleste looked down at her wrist. The wound was gone but the thirst was undeniable. Her veines spoke to her, calling out for blood. “Céleste you must feed” urged Cassius. She had given more blood to Azazelle then she had taken. Celeste refused to leave her sleeping sister. The change was something she felt no one should be left alone during. She and Cassius sat at Azazelle’s bedside and Céleste rested her head on Cassius’ chest while her sister slept.

It was thirst that awoke Azazelle. The scent was faint but almost irresistible. She sat upright and peered at her sister and Cassius. « Céleste mon amour, réveille-toi. Ta sœur est réveillée” » Cassius whispered as he tapped Céleste’s shoulder. She too was weak.

“You both need to feed. Let us all go. Azazelle we can show you the way” spoke Cassius.

[legion1993]

Chained By Sweet Hungover Rhythms

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Prompts: “It’s 8:30, i have a hangover and you’re annoying me.” (Dialogue Prompt) Chained To The Rhythm by Katy Perry (Song Prompt) 

this is dedicated to the wonderful person who put this lovely idea together and inspired me to write this lovely piece @thing-you-do-with-that-thing may you enjoy this as much as i did writing it 

Plot: Based in Season 11 ep 9 we find a distracted Dean who with his brother Sam decides to investigate the murder of a preacher they think it could be connected to Amara but Dean goes into the morgue to look at the body and runs into our reader who he had hooked up with 3 years prior... what starts as something innocent soon discovers as something that was ready to be more but didnt cause they had their memories erased and only now do they get them back and thus also getting eachother back... But how long will that last?????? 

A/N: this is written specifically for week 1 of the Supernatural Hiatus Writing Challenge 2017 this contains a few of my own twists to the in between points of this episode so bare with me for this crazy adventure... hope you guys enjoy it if so give it a love tap and a few comments would be most appreciated... :)

Never once had either of you thought things would end, but that night it did for a Jinn hunt gone wrong 2 lovers seperated for they were so sure it could have been more..

“Dean don’t the floor its rigged to blow... i know you came all this way to save me but save yourself, save your brother get out of here...” Dean looked around and got knocked over by a jinn hitting him on the head your name falling from his lips in a slow breath; shortly after that you screamed Dean’s name as that same jinn knocked you over the head as well, then everything to them felt as though their bodies were being dragged off...

they both woke in the hospital a few days later with no memory of who eachother was nor what happened. they were released only hours later after a few tests and talking to the doctors but still felt like they were missing something, they felt like something had been torn away from them.

no one expected this to last no one had wanted them to do this hunt, they exited the hospital only to discover there wasnt any shortage of space for they bumped into eachother exiting the hospital you got knocked off your balance but apoligizing to eachother Dean strode off with his brother Sam towards the impala and you towards a taxi which would take you to the nearest bus depot.

over time the reader & Dean have emerced themselves in hunting full time no questions comments concerns or anything, they were trying to find someway to fill the void the emptiness within their own hearts, the void that was created when the jinn wiped their memories of eachother.

for together they were stronger, but you seperate them you kill their strength and you show them what its like to be truly weakened by your own emotions.

It is said some lives are linked across time and space. Connected by an ancient calling that echoes throughout the ages. something that is older than fate herself. you and Dean had always been connected by Destiny. for it would be another 3 years before you would see eachother again.

----------3 YEARS LATER----------

amara is slaughtering preachers in search of a way to get in touch with her wayword brother God, Sam and Dean meet with crowley who didnt believe Dean at first when he told him about how if Amara were to unleash her full power that not even crowley the king of hell would be safe.

crowley then tells the boys that there may be a way for Sam to meet with Lucifer, but that they would need to neutralize Lucifer`s power. Upon their discovery of that knowledge, Crowley continues to tell the boys that the only way to neutralize lucifers power is the need for certain spell work; which would come from the book of the damned, which they learn is in the book of the damned, which they find out is with Rowena.

the boys work with Rowena and Crowley to get everything ready while Dean catches wind of the murders being done by amara decides to leave Sam and rowena in the bunker to set up the spell while dean goes to investigate. Meanwhile, you are rolling into town the same time as Dean you both end up at the police station not acknowledging eachother at first until the sherif turns to acknowledge you noticing your badge he says, "well agent your partner is already inside the morgue come let me show you where it is.."

at this point you were very confused, you had no idea what kind of idiot boy scout you were dealing with but you were sure going to kick them in the ass if they screwed this up for you. you followed the sherif who let you into the morgue and you wlked in behind him, stopping slightly as you caught sight of the other 'badge' you immediately cleared your throat and gave him a small smile as he extended his hand to you, "agent dean macoy..."

you took his hand, "agent 'your first and last name' so your my new partner... from headquarters i assume... funny they didnt tell me you were coming in on this..." you said with a snarky attitude kinda not getting a good vibe from this guy. as he chuckled and began to show you the otopsy report you as the radio in there was going it was playing your favorite song,

"Turn it up, it's your favorite song Dance, dance, dance to the distortion Come on, turn it up, keep it on repeat Stumbling around like a wasted zombie Yeah, we think we're free Drink, this one is on me We're all chained to the rhythm To the rhythm To the rhythm"

you sang loud enough that your 'partner' could hear you, he then smiled and looked at you, "you know this song is like totally easy to strip to right?" you turned to him and chuckled, "whats the title if your a fan of this song for your own twisted reasons?" agent macoy chuckled and you could tell he liked your sass, "Chained to the rhythm by katy perry... im not an idiot i wasnt born yesterday sweetheart.. would you like to get a beer after work partner?"

you agreed and walked out of the station together and started talking you both discovered your interests were the same, you also discovered you were both staying at the same motel across town. you guys drove back playing leap frog on the road, upon their arrival back at the motel to discover that their rooms were beside eachother.

with a swift chuckle out of Dean he got out of his sweet looking 1967 Chevy Impala, coming to your drivers door and smiling as he opened the door helping you out of the car. you smiled as your hands lingered, your eyes locked onto eachother with the look of lust swelling across the seas making your heart beat faster in your chest.

Dean cleared his throat and walked you to your room and kissed your hand and smiled, "such nice soft hands for a hunter... how long you been in the life?" you smiled and sighed, "that is a story better left for the bar... meet by ur nice impala when we are cleaned up and done?" you say as you lean over and kiss his cheek the stubble off his chin tickling you.

"absolutely sweetheart..." dean smiled at you one more time before you both entered your rooms at the same time. you were relieved to remove your fed outfit, and now to find your perfect outfit to go to the bar in with Dean. you loved the way his name sounded but you wondered if that fed name was his actual name or his fake name.

considering he is a hunter too it wouldnt surprise you if that wasnt his real name so you called Garth and decided to check in, "your name whats the word on those church murders is it something heavenly or hellish???" you chuckled and smiled, "calm down Garth i met up with another hunter when i went to talk to the sherif. he has these green eyes that make my heart soar... we are actually going to grab some beers for some relax after our win at the police station."

Garth chuckled on the other end and you smiled as you zipped up your favorite mini jean skirt and put on your jet black tank top, "oooo your name gots a date your name gots a date... i want a full report on it within the fortnight..."

that made you laugh as you tried to do up your leather boot, "of course Garth i gotta go ill call you tomorrow.." you hung up the phone and laughed grabbing your holister and tucking it under your right boot and tucking ur gun in there and then you grabbed your brand new leather jacket (cause your other one had been shredded by a werewolf a while back).

you made sure you had your phone but left your pager in the room and obviously had your ID and your wallet you werent sure where this night was going but it was looking good so far. you made sure your room key was in your wallet and then you exited the motel room. you looked up to see Dean, looking ravenously hot leaning on the hood of his sleak black 1967 Impala.

"well well well she cleans up good for a huntress... perfect to match my hunter... wouldnt you agree..." Dean said as he strode towards you, making you smile, "Dean when i checked in with my friend he mentioned to me that i should have started dating years ago... not saying you know i dont actually know if this is a date or not but he said he wants a full report within a fortnight..."

Dean laughs as he opens the passenger door to his 1967 Impala and lets you inside. the leather interior cool against ur skin but u didnt care, things at that moment just seemed to feel normal like it had all happened before. Dean closed the door when you were safely inside and he crawled in on his side. he stuck the key in the ignition and your face lit up happily as the engine purred to life, you smiled as led zepplin or metalica or whoever it was blasted thru the radio you didnt know why but it made you all warm and fuzzy inside.

like something out of a dream or a movie, something that made your heart skip a few beats till he reached and took your hand in his and your heart stopped slightly as you turned slightly to look in his eyes, "this is gonna sound crazy but i feel like i already knew you before today... i'm sorry if that sounds crazy but its just how im feeling."

Dean tightened his hold on your hand for the fear he had in his stomach was far too great, "no no no 'your name' dont ever think anything sounds crazy for infact i feel the same way... but why would we both be feeling like this i mean it cant possibly be the fact that... no no no there wasnt anyone with me on that hunt and plus i think i would remember...."

you looked at his now very confused, confused as to what he was talking about you took a sigh and you smiled lightly, "remember what dean?? whats going on???" you asked now slightly worried that dean might have... "yourname dont walk out on me please i dont want to loose you after i say what i am going to i fear i might..."

you reached out and touched his cheek lightly feeling his stubble run across your palm, "im not going anywhere dean i promise.." Dean breathed in and sighed, "about 3 years ago to this day i woke up in a hospital and my brother said i had been attacked by a jinn with no major injuries but he also mentioned someone else had been found where i had been found too but why would he mention that to me if not for me to question eventually he ignored me on it and everyday since ive had to live with the feeling like im missing something."

at that moment it occured to you that a similar thing had happened to you about 3 years to date, "it doesnt sound horrible actually something similar happened to me about 3 years ago too except i dont know what happened doctor said that i came in with brusing and a small concussion and a sprained shoulder but was also knocked out from the time i was brought in till 2 days later and that i wasnt the only one brought in too... same sitchuation what the hell is going on???"

Dean at that moment had an idea, he knew it was gonna be a long shot but it was their best chance possibly at finding out more about what this all means and what actually happened... dean then turned to the window and turned off the car as a smile crossed his face. he got out of the car and came over to your side and smiled as he twirled you closing the door and walking with you into his motel room, "just relax 'yourname' im not gonna get freaky but we are gonna get some answers... Castiel if you got your ears on get your feathery ass down here we need answers and we need them now"

at that moment a small woosh, suddenly a man in a trenchcoat was standing across from you and dean. now dean who now got up and sighed, "cas we need help something happened to us and made us not able to remember all the details we need to know what happened and whether or not we are connected by something..."

"actually you are... Dean Winchester meet YourFirstandLastname and vise versa your story is one hella complex thing you already knew eachother but 3 years ago you were on a hunt together you had slept together and chased this cluster of jinn across america agreeing to meet in the middle for the final 2 but when you arrived together you were a couple and it had taken you guys 1 year and 7 months of working as a couple to get that far but along the way... well why dont i show you that very same day...."

Castiel came to you and dean and touched your foreheads showing you everything from that same 24 hours:

Dean stopping at a little jewelry store and getting an engagement ring,

you both showing up at the abandoned mental hospital where the jinn had set up shop,

Dean following your every move as you did his and you both killing the first jinn only before Dean getting hit really hard and passing out slightly and you getting taken by the second jinn,

dean getting up and scowering the entire facility but finding you tied to a chair in what he presumed to be the morgue but the floor had been booby trapped and dean getting clunked on the head,

saying your name as he passed out and then you screaming his name before you got clunked on the head and passed out both of you waking up in the same hospital, both of you walking out of the hospital and back to present day...

once Cas took his fingers off yours and Dean’s foreheads you both shook your heads from the sudden return of your memories and then Cas smiled,

"your parents were destined to have both of you exactly at the precise moments you were conceived and born because you are soulmates... your destined to be together written in the stars type thing. you both were destined for a greater purpose and for that i leave you to get back to your original states."

Castiel disappeared shortly after his statement, you got up and stood at the mirror in the bathroom sighing as you splashed some cool water across your facial features you looked at dean through the mirror. you smiled lightly as your head felt like it was about to explode, your memories changing and you started to giggle,

"after all this time i thought i was alone, i never imagined that coming here would not only let me figure out this case but allow me to find my soulmate. let alone finding out it is the famous Dean Winchester, Garth Fitzgerald talks about you all the time."

you said as you strode back to him slowly but hearing him chuckle was what made you look up at him, "Garth that’s your friend, Garth really why him why Garth... is that who wants you to report in..." you giggle as you trip over his napsack, landing in his lap, his arms tightening around you, "yourname i know that this has been just crazy, its been very crazy and we have been seperated for 3 years but right now we need to make things official they should have already been official but you need to accept my question now..."

you felt dean reach into the pocket of his leather jacket and then move himself out from beneath you, you watched him kneel on the ground in  front of you,

"yourname i know that getting our memories back filled in alot of blanks but right now its just about us. so one very important question still needing to be answered, yourname will you become a Winchester and marry me in the process???"

you nodded as he slid the ring on your finger, "yes Dean although me becoming a Winchester means my family line is officially dead, oh well we were all ready a dead line, together we start something new cause we are all chained to the rhythm and we can turn it up cause its our favorite song and we will dance dance dance to the distortion..."

you kissed him pinning him to the bed between the giggles, laughing, beers, shirts flying, everything flying around the room the feeling of sensation and pleasure fill the bed your lives and the room.

-----THE NEXT MORNING-----

you woke up to your ringtone, "It is my desire Break down the walls to connect, inspire Ay, up in your high place, liars Time is ticking for the empire The truth they feed is feeble As so many times before They greed over the people They stumbling and fumbling And we're about to riot They woke up, they woke up the lions (Woo!)"

Dean stirred beside you and tightened his grip on your waist as you reached for your phone and groaned at the call display, "Garth, its 8:30 i’m hungover and you're annoying me with this call because..." Garth cleared his throat on the other end as you felt dean bury his face into the back of your neck as he groaned kissing your neck now sort of conscious his stubble drafting cross your neck, "well yourname how did the evening go..."

dean picked up on the fact that it was Garth you were talking to and he nodded for you to put this on speaker, "Garth you best have a good reason for disturbing me and my gorgeous fiance at this obscenely obnoxious hour of the morning." Dean kissed your lips softly as Garth gasped, "dean my man hows it going??? & yourname you didn’t tell me you were with Dean Winchester, nor the fact that you knew him i mean both of you... but how?????"

you smile as dean buries his lips into the crook of your neck and you giggle, "Garth, that`s a long story which i will tell you when we next do a meeting, but i plea you to spread word around amongst the hunters that Dean Winchester is getting married and formal invites will follow..."

you smiled as a light moan slipped from your lips and Garth cleared his throat, "well well well so whens the wedding????" dean then sighed, "bye Garth we will speak to you when we do..." dean then closed the call and hung up you only smiled and laughed it was the most amazing night ever.

-------- 1 year later---------

THE DAY HAD ARRIVED, the flowers everywhere, the bunker dun up in loads of twinkle lights, the hustle and bustle of Charlie and others rushing round, getting everything ready but mostly the annoyance of Sam and Charlie having you and Dean trapped away from eachother.

Charlie having you stuck in your old room & Sam having stuck Dean in what was soon to be your shared room but there was something that made today seem like something out of a dream.

thru text tho you and dean were able to exchange i love you's and chit chat while you both were prodded and poked and dressed and such by Charlie and Sam. everyone was having fun but as the music started you started to get nervous...

you and dean were allowed to call only once both of you were ready, "Dean i don`t know if its just me but now wearing this dress and these stupid heels, i suddenly am nervous to do this in front of all these people..."

"don`t stress sweetheart just think we will be legal after this.. trust me we have been chained into the same rhythm for a long time and today is my favorite day cause today i get tied to the woman who has made me a better man... i`ll see you out there babe..." Dean said as Sam and Charlie both entered your quarters and announced it was time and took your phones away hanging them up...

you breathed in and smiled as you heard the intro to your favorite song and you started to sing along, "Are we crazy? Living our lives through a lens Trapped in our white picket fence Like ornaments..."

as you were led from your room down the hall which now had a red carpet and still yet you continued to sing but once you entered the main hall you were stopped by Sam who had volunteered to walk you down the aisle even tho technically he was also the best man but he was the closest person to do the job and you wouldn`t have it another way.

you walked over to Sam who hugged you and congratulated you before linking your arm in his and the chorus started and everyone rose as Castiel said, "all rise for the entry of the bride..." at which point you started down the aisle with Sam and as soon as you locked eyes with dean you were sure you would fall but you knew that wouldn't happen as long as you lived with these fantastic people.

it was here finally as Sam placed your hand in deans and took his place beside his brother you smiled as you and dean approached Cas who smiled,

      "ladies gentlemen friends family it gives me the extreme honor of marrying Dean Winchester and YourFirst&LastName, these 2 people have been through so much being hunters, this life is never easy but when things get tough the tough stay strong for it is the strength of family and friends that gets us through this rough life. now as dean and yourname have opted for saying the short and sweet versions of their vows i would like to invite them to do so now..."

dean straightened up and smiled,

      "yourname i know we have been through so much but now we never have to be alone again you have a home with me and Sam and everyone here we know how this life is especially for someone who had no one else who searched for so long we know that nothing is easy, but everything comes with a price, you paid that price when you started hunting you killed the thing that took your family from you.. but it was your courage and thrill of the hunt that brought you to me, now we never have to be apart again. i love you yourname and i`m happy your mine..."

you smiled and sniffled slightly as you sighed,

       "Dean your right you always are no matter what anyone says, i know we shouldn`t have taken our time together the first time for granted but loosing you and yet still ever worse loosing my memory of you has made me a better person a stronger hunter and as you said the huntress to your hunter. i`m proud to on this day become your wife and i only regret not stabbing that stupid memory stealing jinn when i had the chance... i know i`ve said it before but i wasn`t kidding you make me happy you are not useless you are my superman and i wouldn`t want anyone else... i love you dean and i cant wait to see where life will take us..."

Cas cleared his throat as Charlie and Sam handed off the rings which were immediately placed allowing Cas to continue,        

"and so by the power vested within me by the laws of heaven and earth i hereby finally pronounce you husband and wife, dean you may kiss your bride"  

Dean was familiar with that part he wrapped his arms around your waist and dipped you kissing you passionately earning claps awes and ooos from the crowd as the song finished,

"It goes on, and on, and on 'Cause we're all chained to the rhythm"

[supernaturallied]

October Prompts - Day 9 : Scary Story (Vincent and Elsa)

In his line of work, Vincent supposed it was customary to run into things such as urban legends. Ghost stories were often the biggest lead that guided him towards a potential target, ancient legends and myths passed down from generation to generation, often used as a tactic by parents to scare their little ones into eating their vegetables. By this point, many people had forgotten why the whispers even lingered, thinking of them as little more than the paranoid antics of their ancestors. But Van Helsing knew otherwise. He knew that no story came about without a reason, especially when so many people knew about it unanimously. Finding these people was easy. It was finding the source of their paranormal claims that often proved a challenge, and so often the very beings so often spoken of seemed to slip through his fingers. Mere legends for another day. Notes missed in an attempt to salvage what had been lost.

Elsa came around the order’s base of operations, now a frequent sight for many of Vin’s staff. They disregarded her presence, merely acknowledging her as one of them, an equal in their cause, and allowed her to make her way confidently to Vincent’s office. Whenever she could, the woman brought notes of her own that she’d managed to tug out of Harcourt’s old office in the hospital without being noticed. She’d bring them here and study them for hours with Vincent, trying to interpret them. It helped, as his own travels allowed him to understand the late man’s scrawlings in a way the woman could only ever hope to. Sometimes, additional field research was necessary, and in one such instance like now, Elsa could not hold back her tongue as she looked up at him.

“What if it’s just some story the locals made up?”

“Ms. Wolcott,” he chuckled, standing up straight and smoothing out his crisp clean shirt, “when you’ve been in this business as long as I have, you come to realize that every story has an origin. Even the ones you wish didn’t.”

Elsa smiled a bit at the somewhat vague reassurance and leaned back in her seat. “Are you telling me you’ve never gone on a hunt that’s just turned out to be a scary story?”

“I’m certain I have, and perhaps I’ve misconstrued it as the creature escaping me, but to my knowledge, all of my leads to this very day have proven... reliable.” He hummed, offering her a polite and confident smile.

Elsa couldn’t argue with that. But it did pique her curiosity. “Alright then. So, what’s the most interesting lead you’ve ever had?”

The question took Vincent a moment to answer. A hand rose to stroke his beard, eyes rolled up in thought and the light caught in his spectacles creating a mysterious glare. “Ah, forgive me for my silence— with so many to go through, it is hard to pick the most interesting one. Though I suppose one truly stands out to me.”

Elsa leaned forward, intent on listening to every word that spilled from the hunter’s mouth as though it were word from the Lord himself. Van Helsing couldn’t help but chuckle at the intensity of her intrigue. It was adorable how insatiable her appetite for knowledge was at times. He might have to ask her about it at some point.

“As you know, I’ve been doing this for a very long time. I’ve been to many places, seen many things. Slain them too. Within my order, I’m certain that everyone has at least five werewolf skin. Two coats, two trophies, and a rug for their fireplaces.” He smiled, but the warmth of it was tainted by something wicked. Something heartless, amused at the idea. Nevertheless, it certainly got his next point across well. “We were of the belief that there were no more werewolves in the world, born or turned. After our last expedition out to Russia where we were investigating a suspicious pack of animals that seemed to come around whenever some of the town folks went missing, we didn’t find any bodies. Not cold ones at least. The pack was thirty strong by the time we’d gotten there. Luckily, our silver traps worked wonders on them. They were taken care of in a fortnight. After that, we stopped hearing whispers about werewolves altogether from our field contacts. Many thought the deed was done and that finally, we had eradicated the world of one type of pest.”

He huffed confidently at the thought but Elsa knew this tale was far from over and scooted forward towards the edge of her seat further.

“Well, that was all before a few weeks ago. After several years of silence, someone from the order came to me saying we had been contacted. My first thought was that it was some poor innocent seeking help with a paranormal problem. And I suppose, in a way, I was not wrong. I would come to find out that it was a young man that had reached out to us claiming that he was a werewolf in need of help, for he had been inflicted with a terrible curse that caused his transformations and he wished for help in being rid of it.”

A gasp came from the woman serving as his audience. “What did you do?”

“Initially, I had the good habit in my mind to send someone to kill him. He was a turned werewolf, you see, and turneds are far more dangerous than born werewolves. Not having grown up with the beast spirit inside of them, they struggle to control it, if they can at all. But I paused and considered how diligently and bold he was to be contacting a group of monster hunters, whether he knew it or not, to help with his problem. That alone wouldn’t have swayed me, but unfortunately, he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse...” Turning in his heel, Van Helsing glanced back at his shelves behind him and reached up, taking something in his hand. When he turned back to face her, he held something unmistakably familiar in his palm. The research assistant’s eyes widened at the sight.

“The device?”

“Indeed— the young man had come from the same hospital as you. He mentioned that he had initially gone to Harcourt but our ‘old friend’ was of no help to him. Imagine that... I can’t seem to recall the details at this moment, or perhaps he didn’t specify it at all, but somehow, he’d managed to escape the incident with the device in hand. And in return for my services, he offered to give it to me if I promised to help him. And I, being a man of my word, even to the less than human, so willfully took it. After all, such an invaluable opportunity doesn’t come around every day. In exchange, I warned him to keep his nightly activities from becoming local news and informed him that he should be ready to act should I contact him. His little errands are partly the only reason he’s still breathing.”

“You are cruel, Van Helsing,” Elsa giggled, sitting back in her seat and crossing one leg over the other. “But does he actually carry out your errands?”

“Of course. He’s proven his desperation to be rid of this curse so much already, I almost feel pity for making him run around and fetch things like a dog.” His brows perked up, smirk growing smug as he took a seat in his office chair again. “For his sake, he better keep up the act and behave. Otherwise—“ the hunter’s gaze moved from the woman over to the wall across from him where a rifle rested on a shelf in its display case, several bullets neatly arrange around it in a decorative display.

“I may have a bullet with his name on it.”

[kqnsc5yt-blog]

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Why We Need To Talk About Death

Most days I find myself thinking about death.

It’s a secret, almost casual thought. When I’m on the bus, I idly imagine someone hitting me from behind. There are invisible attackers waiting around corners. I die in plane crashes and earthquakes and house fires. I die in a myriad of situations that I cannot control.

This fear of my own demise is a pretty obvious death anxiety; a common consequence of coping with the death of someone close to you. Bereavement causes us to confront our own mortality, and it’s a scary prospect.

And yet, I don’t have any problem with talking about death.

For me, the more unexpectedly positive side of dealing with death is that I find the subject a lot easier to talk openly about. In fact, it’s much more than that.

Talking about death is a release for me. It’s cathartic. Getting deep into a conversation about the serious stuff allows my torrent of mixed-up emotion to spill out, and it turns my grief into something shareable and communal.

Six months after my Mum’s death I found myself on an internet forum where people were discussing what books to read after the death of a loved one. Someone had commented saying their mum had died a week ago in a car crash. This girl (let’s call her Lauren) was a year older than me and was deep in the midst of trauma, shock, confusion, loneliness – you name it, she was feeling it. I hurriedly replied, and soon we were emailing regularly.

For the next year or so, Lauren and I traded death chat. Funerals, friends, sex, alcohol, drugs: no topics were off limits because we both innately understood that we had nobody else in our lives who’d faced what we were facing. Nobody else was going to ‘get it’ like we did.

During that same time, I’d been referred to on-campus counselling by my university. I remember sitting in a stiflingly hot room while an impassive therapist placed a box of tissues on the table between us and immediately started probing me for specific details about my grief. An hour later I left the session, tears streaming down my face on a Tuesday afternoon, and firmly decided I would never go back.

That disastrous encounter cemented my idea that therapy wasn’t something helpful for me – and yet speaking online to a girl I’d never met who lived in southern Texas was immediately supportive in a totally unexpected way.

Talking about death is a strange thing. For the recently bereaved, some people prefer professional help; others can only speak to family; still more cope best with support from strangers. For everyone else, death is a confusing, awkward and ultimately scary topic.

Many of us want to talk about death, but we don’t know how to actually do it.

So why is death such a taboo subject?

Back in the Victorian era, grief was a public activity. People had huge funerals, photos were taken with the deceased, and widows used to wear black for two years. It alerted those around them to the circumstances, and grieving people were treated more gently by friends and strangers alike as a result.

Nowadays, the way the English behave around death has completely changed. We’ve somehow made grief into a very private and personal experience, assuming that we need to ‘stay out of the way’ and ‘get on with it’ behind closed doors. What this actually does is cause a huge amount of isolation.

As a topic, we steadfastly ignore the concept of death so much that it seems we’re embarrassed by it. And when someone’s actually died, we have very little idea of how to behave around those people who are grieving.

Nobody ever told me what losing my parents would feel like. Nobody explained how shellshocked I would be; how confused and isolated and traumatised my life would suddenly look.

And nobody warned me that I might lose friends over it; that other people might find it hard to cope with my bereavement too.

When I went back to university a few weeks after my mum’s death, the reactions I encountered were extraordinary. One girl who lived in my shared student house simply didn’t speak to me for months and constantly avoided being in the same room as me – apparently because she ‘didn’t know what to say’. I felt like a leper.

A couple of years later, I told the guy I’d been casually dating for a few weeks about Mum’s death and he never spoke to me again. I felt like I’d done something wrong, even while I was still grieving for her loss.

People tend to forget that death is the most natural thing in the world.

Ten years on, I’m more understanding of these types of reactions. Death and grief are seriously scary topics, and if you’ve got an anxious personality then your thought processes can spiral – particularly if you haven’t directly experienced dealing with a death.

But ultimately this still doesn’t sit right with me. Because if there’s one thing we can be certain of, we are all going to die. Before that, we’ll almost certainly have to cope with the death of someone close to us. 

So why aren’t we preparing ourselves earlier for the emotional impact of this grief? Why are we pretending it won’t hurt until we discover, too late, how much it does?

This is why it’s actually really important to talk about death.

From an emotional standpoint, it’s really important to acknowledge that death is a thing.

I know it’s a reminder of our own mortality, but addressing the idea of death also takes away the shock value from future scenarios. If you haven’t talked about death before, you could well be shocked by the physical changes in someone who’s dying; the conversations you or they might suddenly want to have as the end draws near; the feelings which could overwhelm you during the process.

Then there’s the purely logistical side of discussing death.

Over 50% of British people haven’t drawn up a will. They haven’t told anyone about where they’d like to be buried or if they’d prefer cremation or what songs they’d like playing at the funeral. They haven’t told anyone their online passwords or what happens to to their diaries or revealed the existence of all that hereditary jewellery hidden in the attic.

I was singularly responsible for dealing with my dad’s death, and even though he’d been amazing at telling me his bank details and where his will was located, I still knew nothing about the necessary official processes. Google was an absolute lifesaver. Within a fortnight I was registering the death, buying multiple death certificates, closing bank accounts, booking a funeral slot, finding a church, choosing a coffin and paying a funeral director what felt like an exorbitant amount of money.

All of this is overwhelming and confusing regardless, but it’s also meant to be done for the very first time while you’re simultaneously dealing with the worst emotional phase of your life. Coping with death and grief when you’ve got no guidebook can make you think you’re going crazy – but it doesn’t have to be this way!

What are the real, tangible ways we can talk about death?

– Talk to your friends. I’m very lucky that none of my closest friends shy away from discussing death with me (although to be fair they’ve had ten years of me bringing up the topic!). Some of them have also lost parents or people close to them, but that doesn’t make them automatically keen to talk; however, they know it’s important to me and they want to help. Factor in a bottle of red wine and it’s that much easier to open up.

– Talk to your family. It might be a sensitive topic but it’s highly recommended to at least have a preliminary conversation with your immediate family about death – at least so you know what their thoughts and feelings are.

– Talk to a therapist. If you’re grieving and think therapy won’t help, I totally understand – but please do remember it’s always an option for the future (i.e. admitting I needed therapy undoubtedly changed my life). Even if you’re not grieving, exploring your thoughts about death with a therapist can be a really healthy thing to do.

– Talk to an organisation. Charities like Samaritans (116 123, open 24 hours), Mind (0300 123 3393 or text 86463) and Marie Curie (0800 090 2309) have dedicated phone lines for you to call and discuss whatever’s on your mind.

– Go to a grief workshop. If you’ve suffered a bereavement you can usually find support from your local council – either one-to-one grief support sessions or groups. It’s worth enquiring at local hospices and hospitals for similar services too.

– Go to a Death Cafe. This fantastic concept is very simple: drink tea, eat cake, and discuss death. I’ve been to one session so far, where I drank tea with strangers in a Buddhist centre in south London – and I really enjoyed chatting about the actual concept of death, instead of the event being framed like a support group or counselling session. There’s a network of Death Cafes all over the world, so it’s highly likely you have a local branch.

– Go to a loss meetup. I recently discovered ‘Let’s Talk About Loss’, a UK-based organisation which runs meet ups for 18-30 year olds who’ve been bereaved. It was a surreal experience to sit with a group of people my age who’ve all lost their parents, friends, partners, siblings and to bond over the feelings we share. ‘Let’s Talk About Loss’ currently run meetups in London, Nottingham and Bristol but plan to extend that to more locations in the future.

– Find other people who’ve been bereaved. When I speak to people who’ve been through the same kinds of loss as I have? You can’t shut us up. We’re eagerly and excitedly comparing experiences, mutually commiserating over the emotional minefield we’ve both gone through.

Realising other people know exactly what I mean makes me feel so much less alone.

Talking about death doesn’t have to be scary. I promise.

Sometimes I feel strangely lucky that I’ve had to confront death so early on in life, because I know I’m able to cope. I’ve lived through watching both my parents die and I’ve come out the other side – battered and bruised but ultimately OK.

Death is one of the biggest things which can happen to us, but talking about it doesn’t have to be all doom and gloom. When it really comes down to it, talking about death just means allowing yourself permission to be sad and vulnerable about the complex emotions we all feel surrounding death.

For me, the scariest thing about death is that it highlights how easy it is to find yourself alone and isolated in your own feelings. But it’s important to remember that talking about death doesn’t make it come any closer to us. It just allows us to feel less scared, and more prepared. 

I’m still learning how to be comfortable with the idea of my own death. But at least I’m very happy to discuss the topic in general. And that’s a good enough start.

Are you comfortable with talking about death? Would you like to see it become a less taboo subject? 

NB: I’m considering the idea of writing an ebook about how to deal with grief and death – I’d love to know if this is something you’d be interested in reading! 

The post Why We Need To Talk About Death appeared first on Flora The Explorer.

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Adopted baby ‘murdered’ after two weeks

Image copyright Wales News Service

A father murdered his baby daughter just two weeks after formally adopting her with his husband, a court heard.

Matthew Scully-Hicks, 31, is accused of “violently shaking” 18-month-old Elsie, causing her “catastrophic head injuries” following months of abuse.

Cardiff Crown Court heard she died at University Hospital of Wales on May 29, four days after the defendant called 999 saying she was “floppy and limp”.

Mr Scully-Hicks, from Delabole, Cornwall, denies murder.

Baby Elsie was placed in the care of Vale of Glamorgan Council just days after being born, the jury was told.

At the age of 10 months she was taken in by fitness instructor Matthew Scully-Hicks and his husband Craig in September 2015.

The couple relocated from Swindon, Wiltshire, to Cardiff six years ago and had been married for three years.

Image copyright Geograph/Lewis Clarke

Image caption Matthew Scully-Hicks is on trial for murder at Cardiff Crown Court

Matthew Scully-Hicks had given up full-time work to care for any children.

Eight months after their wedding the couple completed the adoption process. A fortnight later Elsie was dead.

“Within two weeks of Elsie’s formal adoption by the couple, we allege that the defendant had inflicted fatal injuries upon her,” prosecutor Paul Lewis QC said.

He told the jury that on 25 May 2016, the ambulance service received a 999 call from Matthew Scully-Hicks reporting that Elsie was unresponsive.

Mr Lewis told the court that paramedics attended the house and found Elsie was not breathing, with no signs of cardiac output.

“The injuries that caused her death were inflicted upon her by the defendant shortly before he called emergency services that day,” said Mr Lewis.

Hospital treatments

“His attack upon her that day was not the first time he had employed violence towards Elsie, nor was it the first time he had caused her serious injury.

“His actions on the late afternoon of 25 May were the tragic culmination of a course of violent conduct on his part towards a defenceless child – an infant that he should have loved and protected, but whom he instead assaulted, abused, and ultimately murdered.”

The court heard Elsie had suffered haemorrhages to her brain and behind her eyes, and doctors decided to switch her ventilator off.

Tests showed there were older bleeds to her brain and behind her eyes and a post-mortem examination revealed she had also suffered broken ribs, a fractured left femur and a fractured skull.

The court was told Matthew Scully-Hicks carried out the alleged attacks on Elsie while his husband worked full time as a company director.

Mr Lewis told the jury about a catalogue of injuries Elsie had suffered during her short life.

In November 2015, two months after she had been taken in by the couple, she had fractured her ankle while in the sole care of the defendant, who had given differing accounts of how she had suffered the injury.

A month later she sustained a bruise to her forehead which a health visitor advised needed treating. Matthew Scully-Hicks allegedly lied he had done so, the jury heard.

‘Going through hell’

In January, Elsie suffered another bruise on her head and in March she was taken to hospital by ambulance after Matthew Scully-Hicks said she had fallen down the stairs.

She was discharged from hospital after four hours after her injuries were considered “consistent with a fall downstairs”.

The jury were read a series of text messages the defendant allegedly sent to friends. One described the baby as a “psycho”.

One read: “I’m going through hell with Elsie. Mealtimes and bedtimes are like my worst nightmare at the minute.”

Another said: “She has just screamed non stop for 10 minutes. She had a full bottle and clean nappy. Literally not even half an hour and she is a psycho.”

The trial continues.

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Cardiff

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Panmela Castro: Brazil’s graffiti queen, delivering justice through the nozzle of a paint can

(CNN)“I was a victim, but that was a very long time ago.”

Panmela Castro casts her mind back to the day she was beaten.

Like her mother, like her aunts, like many of her friends, the Rio de Janeiro native had become a statistic within an epidemic of violence against women.

Castro remembers going to the police, but there was no law to back her up — at the time, domestic abuse was not a crime in Brazil. The incident was a private matter Castro was told, and no charges were filed.

She says psychological attacks had started shortly after she moved in with her partner. At the time she did not identify it as a form of abuse, but Castro claims the single violent incident was the final straw. She walked away, an act of defiance against Brazil’s cultural landscape, where countless women suffer in silence.

She had become a victim, but would not continue as one.

A trained artist educated at the University of Rio de Janeiro, Castro had been tagging walls using the nom de guerre “Anarkia Boladona”, but now she found herself painting more and more.

Castro recalls how her ex-partner would harass her when she left the house, but creating graffiti with fellow artists, who were overwhelmingly male, offered her a level of protection.

Unlike the calligraphy or macho symbols daubed throughout Rio, Castro’s work was feminine. Something of substance. Something empowering.

A relationship had ended but she’d found her voice.

Now Castro is helping a nation of women find theirs.

A global problem

Globally, 35% of women have experience physical and/or sexual violence in their life, according to the World Health Organization — and for 30% it was at the hands of their partner. In Brazil the problem was particularly acute, allowed to metastasize for generations, with no legal recourse for victims.

It took the case of Maria da Penha to shock policymakers into action. Da Penha’s husband had tried to kill her twice. In May 1983, he shot her in her sleep, leaving her paraplegic and hospitalized. A fortnight after his wife’s return home, he tried to electrocute her in the shower.

Tried and found guilty, he twice successfully appealed. Eventually in 2002 de Penha’s husband was convicted and sentenced to eight years in prison, but walked free after serving a fraction of his sentence.

A two decade-long legal suit filed by da Penha finally resulted in a landmark ruling, taking the Brazilian government to task for failing to prosecute perpetrators of domestic violence to the necessary degree. In August 2006, Federal Brazilian Law 11.340./06, known as the “Maria da Penha Law,” was brought into effect by Luiz Incio Lula da Silva’s government.

Mural commemorating the 8th anniversary of the Maria da Penha law, Rio de Janiero.

The law was not a panacea. It resulted in 331,000 prosecutions and 110,000 final judgments in its first five years, according to the National Council of Justice of Brazil, per UN Women. However, in a country where 41,532 women were murdered between 1997 and 2007, and 10 women were dying every day from domestic violence, systemic abuse was never going to stop overnight.

The new law needed help reaching the people most effected.

Panmela Castro was at hand.

Outlier

The artist turned professional in 2005, and after the summer of 2006 began collaborating with organization Com Causa (“With Cause”), campaigning for women’s rights and publicizing the new law.

“It was easy for me because I knew these streets,” Castro tells CNN.

As a female urban artist Castro was an outlier.

“In order to be accepted you have to pay a high price, because it’s very difficult for women to get into those sorts of groups,” she reflects. “(Men) don’t like the idea of sharing power and being equals with women.”

Despite male graffiti artistsoffering her a form of protection when she was finding her feet, Castro maintains that even today she suffers psychological abuse and sexual harassment from her male counterparts at times.

“One of the reasons I was accepted was because I was good at what I did — internationally renowned … They were forced to accept me.”

There’s a reason Castro has been dubbed “Brazil’s graffiti queen.”

Her murals, low on words but heavy on message, are things of beauty. Often featuring portraits of women, they’re feminine without sexualizing the female body. Sisterhood is frequently suggested in her figures’ intertwined hair, while mythical characters like the goddess Liberty look out across Rio. The biblical Eve, “that unreliable and treacherous woman,” as Castro drolly refers to her, is a mainstay.

Through Castro’s work, women are occupying public spaces in Brazil, reclaiming the streets.

Look close enough and in the corner of one Castro mural you can find an allusion to “vagina dentata” — a folk tale in which a woman’s vagina contains teeth.

The message is clear: this woman bites back.

Spreading the word

There is a limit to what paint alone can do, says the artist.

“My graffiti is talking about justice, violence, women’s advocacy,” Castro says, “but it’s not (going) to make a real change.” Her art has, however, given her a platform to launch what has become her main pursuit: Rede Nami.

Rede Nami was started by Castro in 2010 as a way to educate communities on domestic violence by running workshops for mixed groups of 14-19 year olds, and others for women of any age.

After spending an hour discussing women’s rights, and sometimes sharing experiences of abuse, the group uses the rest of the workshop to create a mural visualizing the issue — it is physical evidence that citizens are taking a stand.

Children painting a mural during one of Rede Nami’s workshops.

“You can’t really entice people to just talk about their cases,” Castro says. “The graffiti is what makes them want to share. If it was just conversation, people wouldn’t come.”

Over 5,000 people have participated in the workshops so far, some taking place outside Brazil, while the initiative has received support from Amnesty International, Vital Voices and the Brazil Foundation.

Rede Nami has also created a program called AfroGrafiteiras, currently educating 180 Afro-Brazilian women about black feminism, gender and their own rights — as well as training them as street artists.

“All these themes help to fight the macho movement,” she adds.

Celebrity Castro

The initiative has brought Castro celebrity in Brazil, and she’s received numerous global accolades. Listed as one of Newsweek’s 150 Women Who Shake the World and noted as a Young Global Leader by the World Economic Forum, Castro can be found hobnobbing with influencers including Diane Von Furstenberg, Oprah Winfrey and Jessica Alba, as well as Brazil’s most famous son, Pele.

She’s been commissioned across the Americas and in Europe by the likes of Nike, Hublot and Avon.

Recently one of her murals in New York featured prominently in coverage of the Women’s March on January 21, she says. A classic Castro design, it depicted two women joined by braided hair, with the message “Women’s Rights are Human Rights.”

Castro’s mural outside Urban Nation, due to open September 2017. (Image: Courtesy Urban Nation)

She describes a vast faade she has made for the upcoming Urban Nation gallery in Berlin (opening September 2017) as “one of my most special works.”

Performance art

In recent years, Castro has diversified into the field of performance art.

Carrying the flame of the Yugoslavia-born so-called “grandmother of performance art” Marina Abramovic and others, the new medium has allowed her to venture into transgressive territory in a way that her workshops cannot.

A post shared by My life for lovely stalkers (@panmelacastro) on Jul 10, 2016 at 6:24am PDT

For example, in a 2016 performance entitled “Por que?” (“Why?”), Castro — wearing an ostentatious Von Fustemberg dress — carved the title of the piece into her flesh. A similar bloody inscription materialized in “Gentileza Gera Gentileza” (“Kindness Generates Kindness”), when that maxim was etched into her back with a surgical scalpel.

Perhaps Castro’s most visceral act came in 2015. For the past four years she had been incorporating apples into her work, sometimes superimposing a vulva on the fruit, as an allusion to Eve.

Eve’s apple became a permanent fixture for Castro when she had one tattooed on her arm during a piece called “Ruptura,” performed as part of the “Eva” show at the Scenarium Gallery in Rio de Janeiro. The performance began with Castro applying lipstick, before being tattooed, having her head shaved by the audience, and changing into a sharp black suit. (Watch the whole performance here.)

Priscila Duarte, curator of “Eva” and consultant director of Rede Nami, described the performance’s intent: “Panmela breaks with the appearance of the princess girl, the good girl to marry and the exemplary daughter, to become another image that we can no longer define so much, but which I interpret as Renaissance.”

“When we talk about gender, we’re talking about freedom for people to deconstruct their status as women,” Castro explains. But gender, she argues, has become a forbidden word in Brazil’s classrooms. It means there has to be a clear distinction between her output as an artist, and her educational work for RedeNami.

“Most of the dialogue against women happens because people think that women have to be lower (than men). We think that women can be anything they want.”

Fortunately, the teenagers Castro educates, she says, are from a generation “open to learning and respecting women.”

“Before you’d have to fight for your rights, fight to be protected,” she says. “Today you fight to maintain those laws.”

Armed with a spray can and an indomitable persona, it’s hard to imagine Castro anywhere but the frontlines.

Read more: http://cnn.it/2mNrInF

from Panmela Castro: Brazil’s graffiti queen, delivering justice through the nozzle of a paint can

[trendingnewsb]

Adopted baby ‘murdered’ after two weeks

Image copyright Wales News Service

A father murdered his baby daughter just two weeks after formally adopting her with his husband, a court heard.

Matthew Scully-Hicks, 31, is accused of “violently shaking” 18-month-old Elsie, causing her “catastrophic head injuries” following months of abuse.

Cardiff Crown Court heard she died at University Hospital of Wales on May 29, four days after the defendant called 999 saying she was “floppy and limp”.

Mr Scully-Hicks, from Delabole, Cornwall, denies murder.

Baby Elsie was placed in the care of Vale of Glamorgan Council just days after being born, the jury was told.

At the age of 10 months she was taken in by fitness instructor Matthew Scully-Hicks and his husband Craig in September 2015.

The couple relocated from Swindon, Wiltshire, to Cardiff six years ago and had been married for three years.

Image copyright Geograph/Lewis Clarke

Image caption Matthew Scully-Hicks is on trial for murder at Cardiff Crown Court

Matthew Scully-Hicks had given up full-time work to care for any children.

Eight months after their wedding the couple completed the adoption process. A fortnight later Elsie was dead.

“Within two weeks of Elsie’s formal adoption by the couple, we allege that the defendant had inflicted fatal injuries upon her,” prosecutor Paul Lewis QC said.

He told the jury that on 25 May 2016, the ambulance service received a 999 call from Matthew Scully-Hicks reporting that Elsie was unresponsive.

Mr Lewis told the court that paramedics attended the house and found Elsie was not breathing, with no signs of cardiac output.

“The injuries that caused her death were inflicted upon her by the defendant shortly before he called emergency services that day,” said Mr Lewis.

Hospital treatments

“His attack upon her that day was not the first time he had employed violence towards Elsie, nor was it the first time he had caused her serious injury.

“His actions on the late afternoon of 25 May were the tragic culmination of a course of violent conduct on his part towards a defenceless child – an infant that he should have loved and protected, but whom he instead assaulted, abused, and ultimately murdered.”

The court heard Elsie had suffered haemorrhages to her brain and behind her eyes, and doctors decided to switch her ventilator off.

Tests showed there were older bleeds to her brain and behind her eyes and a post-mortem examination revealed she had also suffered broken ribs, a fractured left femur and a fractured skull.

The court was told Matthew Scully-Hicks carried out the alleged attacks on Elsie while his husband worked full time as a company director.

Mr Lewis told the jury about a catalogue of injuries Elsie had suffered during her short life.

In November 2015, two months after she had been taken in by the couple, she had fractured her ankle while in the sole care of the defendant, who had given differing accounts of how she had suffered the injury.

A month later she sustained a bruise to her forehead which a health visitor advised needed treating. Matthew Scully-Hicks allegedly lied he had done so, the jury heard.

‘Going through hell’

In January, Elsie suffered another bruise on her head and in March she was taken to hospital by ambulance after Matthew Scully-Hicks said she had fallen down the stairs.

She was discharged from hospital after four hours after her injuries were considered “consistent with a fall downstairs”.

The jury were read a series of text messages the defendant allegedly sent to friends. One described the baby as a “psycho”.

One read: “I’m going through hell with Elsie. Mealtimes and bedtimes are like my worst nightmare at the minute.”

Another said: “She has just screamed non stop for 10 minutes. She had a full bottle and clean nappy. Literally not even half an hour and she is a psycho.”

The trial continues.

Related Topics

Cardiff

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