#matchstick limbs

[clairedelune-13]

There are certain body parts you just know its them.

For Tennant, its the legs/hips. 🤣

[hwan-g]

LAVENDER GIRL 🔮 hwang hyunjin.

pair. successor! hyunjin x fem! reader | genre. friends with benefits, soulmates, multiple partners, angst, smut | warnings. profanity, alcohol consumption, smoking, anger issues, manipulation, pet names, dirty talk, unprotected intercourse, threesome, oral sex, underage drinking, flawed characters | word count. 6.9k | prequel to put me in a movie but can be read as standalone.

synopsis. before bang chan, there’d been hyunjin. deranged, tatted up, borderline alcoholic hwang hyunjin, and his obsession with you. your angel doll, always and forever.

You weren’t always together.

But even before, you think, there was this conjointness; a neediness of sorts, a darkness you found in each other and recognized it for what it was early on, plucked it from its roots and held it in your hands, smiling secretly, giddily, eyes locked, barely fifteen years of age.

It started with sneaking whiskey from the wide selection of his dad’s cupboard and into Hyunjin’s room. Smoking cigarettes in the dead of winter, windows open, huddled together, warmth in the closeness of your bodies. Thin strips of iridescent paper that melted on your tongues, glitter on both your cheeks at a party neither of you should be allowed anywhere near. And then, finally, the exploring of hands, legs tangled under fuzzy blankets in your bed during a sleepover, lines that curved and bent, cavernous places with adult names—all giggles for you. Nothing serious, nothing to fret about, even as your mother finds you cuddling the next morning, and threatens to call Hyunjin’s father.

There is that one thing that makes your friend go cold all over, makes him drop you from his lean arms at once, and gather his clothes silently, leaving your makeshift fort, no word, no goodbye. Every single time. The mention of his family. Rich, self-made millionaires with their private schools, and the habit of treating their son like a chess piece in their grand scheme for unlimited power. They take him from you just before the first year of high school starts, a school among mountains, isolated from everyone.

From you. His enabler. His matchstick.

“Tell me your deepest, darkest secret, lavender girl,” the night before he was sent off.

His hair is long, and black. His eyes eternally sad, his limbs growing taller, stealthier. Your partner in crime, your best, most valuable friend—gone. You hug him tighter. He won’t let go of you until he absolutely has to, until the first rays of sun rise in the sky, the train reaching the station, everyone looking for him, the successor, the investment, despite knowing where he’ll be. Where he’ll always return to.

“I’ll wait for you,” you say, but different words burn in your throat. Words you’ll never say, even years later.

And Hyunjin smiles, because he knows. Because he won’t say them, either. “You won’t.”

“I will,” you insist, burying your face deeper in his embrace. “I’ll never be separated from you, not really.”

He looks down at you, already forming into something else, already changing, preparing for the blow, the death. He truly will go, and it won’t seem to settle in you, it just can’t. Not when he’s staring at you like that, not when his lips are so close, the one line you haven’t crossed. An ongoing joke between the two of you, though there’s nothing funny about it. Nothing funny about the fire in his chest, the way it burns everything in him. Even then.

“And when I call, you’ll come,” he asks, but it’s a statement, and the light swimming in his eyes is overwhelming, it’s tearing at you.

The only boy that ever mattered.

“When you call, I’ll come,” you repeat, and his hands reach for your cheeks, like he’ll do it, like he’ll finally break the spell, lift the curse, and you lean into him, waiting, hoping, but then he just—

Pulls away, gets up. He never truly has the chance again.

“You wanna know mine?” he whispers in your ear in front of the car that will take him away until you recognize not one part of him. “You haunt me in ways I cannot haunt you.” A kiss on your forehead, a lingering hand on your waist.

He never writes. But he does, eventually, call.

The boy in the picture is not Hyunjin. Not at first.

He stands tall, so much taller than when he left you, and his gaze is closed off, serious. The medium length hair has been replaced with a choppy ash blonde cut, short in the front, longer in the back. An inked design is creeping up his neck from under his white button down, something you can’t decipher. But it’s the way he stands among the rest of the boys, the sheer weight of his name so evident now, where once it was nothing but a faraway nightmare. It loops through him and hangs over everyone, it’s so clear in their stance. It hurts to witness the distance they keep from him; afraid, intimidated. Envious.

His mother pulls the picture away from your view, as she clears her throat and changes the subject upon noticing your gloomy expression. “His graduation picture,” she said, but all you see is a death sentence waiting to be executed.

Your angel doll, nowhere to be found. And you, a changed girl, not quite the same without him. Wilder, untamed. Three boyfriends in, countless fuckups and an almost disownment. You wouldn’t need any of them if Hyunjin would just come back, you kept telling yourself. You were never sure why.

“Why ‘lavender girl’?” you’d wondered once, seemingly centuries ago.

The sharpness of him shocked you everytime, the bluntness of his truth, the easiness in which he carried himself. The fluidity of a dancer, the intensity of the dance.

“Because you’re devoted to me.”

You’d scoffed, pretended offense. “You sound sure of it.”

Those slits for eyes were clear, certain as they bore into yours. “Give me a reason not to be.”

You never did. He was right, of course. He’s been there since you were born, but the realization didn’t hit until the early years of adolescence, and once the burning starts, it won’t end until there’s nothing left for it. Fire is fire. In the same way, you will always be pulled towards him, as a wave, as a shore. A constant, a current—it’s all the same in what you are. Yet, it’d been three years and he hadn’t called once. You didn’t think you could forgive that. (Even after all that time, younger ‘you’ makes you laugh, shake your head in pure amusement. You couldn’t yet understand what it meant holding up a mirror and seeing yourself stare back. You didn’t have the ability to not feel like the only person in the room, and in the same way not notice your own shadow trailing behind you. It was Hyunjin, that was all those things. An extension of, a reflection.)

(It wouldn’t be until college that it’d finally click. And those would be Dionysian years; years that would stretch over your mid twenties and then finally into your first real relationships.)

The day is barely turning into night when the phone rings. A lapse in time difference, and your mother makes sure he knows that. You strip her of the receiver and press it into your ear, listening to his steady breathing over the line. It feels like you’re holding your own breath, bracing for impact, letting the outer change of him infect the inner workings of his heart.

Truth was, nothing had changed. Not when it concerns you.

“My lavender girl.”

“Angel doll,” you exhale, breaking into an inevitable toothy grin. “I’m mad at you!”

You can almost picture him smirking, those eyes twinkling. “I’m sure you are, darling.”

“When are you coming home?”

“Soon, you impatient girl. I heard you got into your first choice. Congratulations.”

You can’t help the proud swell of your chest. Hyunjin was, after all, an excellent student throughout the school years. An example you couldn’t help follow after.

“I heard you’re into tattoos now,” you retort cheekily.

“You can say that,” a ghost of a smile in his words.

And you really can’t stop what comes after. Because you’ve waited too long to say it, because it’s haunted your dreams for months, only to be confirmed through a fucking photograph. Your oldest friend, your only friend. You turn away from your mother, a sign for privacy, of secrets.

“You’ve been hurting, haven’t you?” Barely a whisper.

It’s in his silence. The way it blankets over everything.

“Tell me your deepest, darkest secret, angel doll. I worry about you,” like all those times before.

“My own words against me,” and he chuckles, and it’s miserable, and you can hear the sound of a lighter, of an inhale. “When I call, you’ll come.”

“Of course.” In a heartbeat. Your promise.

“This is the only way I can have you, (Y/N). Please worry about me. I miss you.”

He hangs up before he can hear your reply. It hovers in the middle of the call, through the cable, to wherever he is. You stand there until your mom calls for you, and even as you move it moves with you. Always the joke, always the thing left unsaid. You carry it like gold in your pocket, to be used later. 

There’s more ink than you expected.

It covers parts of his forearms, behind his ear, half of his neck, and you pull him in your room for an extensive search, unbutton his shirt as he stands still, quiet, and watches you undress him—it’s on his ribs, over his heart, you turn him around, shoulder blades, his nape. Your fingers go over the intricate lines, the absence of shadows; tree branches connect from the neck over his shoulder to his back, withering flowers hanging limply off them. On his arms, thorns dig into skin, wrapping around it like shackles, like handcuffs. But the one on his chest, that one makes it hard for you to breathe, makes you drop your hands, bite into your lip to keep from crying.

Because it’s so different, so delicate amidst the bleeding and chaos on the rest of his body. A cut of lavender positioned vertically on the left side of his chest, the only design in color, the greens and purples pastel enough to miss them. You notice, because it matters.

This is a declaration, loud and clear, and not just to you. (That will always be the hardest part.) This is for everyone that will ever see him like this, for everyone that will ask, but likely won’t get a straight answer. The question sets aflame your shaking eyes.

Hyunjin remains still, his full lips glossy with spit, jaw clenched, the only thing betraying him, what he’s feeling. To get him alone in your childhood room, the memories and the same wall colors as so many years ago—he never thought he’d be there again. With you. 

You.

His head falls on your shoulder, almost in a sigh. You hold him, half naked as he is, as you made him, and you listen to his heart, the beat of it, so similar to yours. How to handle a separation—there was no such thing. It all falls back in place, as it was. He’ll be with you from now on, a shadow returning to its owner.

“What have you done,” you mumble.

“Let me,” he mutters on your skin. “Let me pretend.”

“This won’t just wash off, angel doll,” and it’s sad, it is, “Your heart.”

It’s then that he breaks the illusion. Where his lips brush over yours, and his hands guide you to the familiar mattress. Only a mere lifting of your dress, a tug on the dainty piece of fabric. You hold your breath, and look at the door. Hyunjin cups your chin and forces your eyes on him. When he enters you, you question every silly rule you put between you; every fucking missed chance, every second spent together hauled up in closets, hiding from anyone that dared to break you apart.

“Your heart,” he tells you, and you’re one. One.

He fucks you with a hand over your mouth, a murder with no weapon, hunched over you like the back of a knife, harmless in its end, and you don’t fight it, not like the other times. There are no giggles now, no laughing—he’s taking something from you, something that belongs to him, has belonged to him, and he makes sure you know. Hyunjin won’t kiss your lips, he never does, but he kisses your eyelids, your hair, your neck. All the places he’s dreamt of while being away.

When he comes inside your cunt, it’s a belongingness as well. Close enough to slip a part of him in between your cracks, but never his. Always the distinct line of otherness, of trying to hold water.

“The haunted,” he cradles you as you finally let everything out.

After this, you’ll always be together, never apart. Never. Never never never—

(Until Bang Chan. Until Lee Felix.)

“The hunter,” you finish, smiling through your tears.

He smiles back, tasting every single one. Your old Hyunjin wrapped in the new, the layers beautiful in their unfolding. You’re the only person that will ever know the whole truth about him. 

“So, onto university now, is it, sweetheart?” He holds out his hand.

You intertwine your fingers in his, nodding.

“Never leave me.”

“Would not survive it a second time, angel.”

Still, no mention of the siren going off in your chests. The words cutting your throats open like a sword.

It’s there that the thing between you announces a game. A challenge, an open invitation to whomever was strong enough to try and get one or the other. An impossible task for Angel Doll and his Lavender Girl.

Everyone on campus thought you a couple already. It wasn’t until rumors started spreading about you ‘cheating’ on Hyunjin, and then him ‘cheating’ back, over and over and over, that people understood the nature of the relationship. Open, yes, but also—nonexistent. There had been no discussion of wavering feelings or breaking it off, simply because that was unimaginable. Whatever the case was, at night the two of you always slept in the same bed, naked after hours of diving into each other.

A concept hard to wrap around one’s mind. And yet your partners never seemed to care until it was too late. Until it had to become this whole entire situation that needed resolving, and more often than not—Hyunjin had to beat some poor boy’s ass for disrespecting not only you, but what you two had. Being called a slut just couldn’t seem to get past him. And he loved starting some shit.

You never mentioned his habits again, and everyone else seemed to treat it as a personality trait, a quirk that made him stand out, that made him the undeniable ‘king of beer pong.’ To you, it was a parasite that was eating him alive. Ever the overachiever, he never let the effects show, the withdrawals rock. Four years of it, and not one person ever saw it for what it was.

It was boyfriend number four that had it the worst.

“It’s pathetic,” Hyunjin would snarl in your face, half naked, a storm gathering in the corners of your dorm room. “He’s so serious about you!”

You would be proud. You would cry, and you’d get offended easily. Only because it mattered—what he thought about any part of your life mattered. You loved him the most. You loved him the best.

“And that’s a bad thing?” He’d wipe your tears away, and look at you with a broken expression, lavender stem over his heart. Always. “For once, someone actually wants to show me off, and it’s a bad thing?”

Pisces Sun eyes melted at your tone. He didn’t mean it like that. He never meant to hurt you, to make you feel less than. You were everything to him—and it was exactly that, that kept him green green green; jealousy was growing over the thorns on his arms, seeping through his skin, infecting his organs, his bloodstream—

He couldn’t have you for real. He never would. In the same way, he wanted no one else for you. His lavender girl belonged in a field, to be looked at, to be admired, yes, fuck—but never to be touched. Anything but that. What he’s trying to say… you have his heart. He can’t possibly ever lose you.

“What do you need their attention for?” He asks in a boy voice. Defeated. Childish in his adult body, with the long limbs and the long fingers and all the ways you make him feel. “You don’t need them, baby. You have me,” and when he pulls you to him, was there ever really a fight to begin with? “You have me.”

All of him. He lets you know, let’s you feel it, as he lays you down on the full bed you’ve shared since your first semester, the exception to the rule, because he’s a ‘Hwang’, and he gets whatever he wants, no matter the way, no matter what. It’s a strange thing to witness him abusing this newfound power, when he was once so against it, so different from it.

But he merely taught himself how to manipulate it, without letting it affect his character. An admirable thing for such a popular person, the students of the school his father funds would say. And he chose you, the girls would whisper. Why?

As he licks between your legs, those intense eyes looking up at your face, leftover glitter on his cheeks from the third Halloween party this week, you think you can answer now. You’re twin flames. A single soul split in half, mirroring each other. You cannot escape, as much as you can’t stay together. There will be a point where you’ll meet someone else. Where he will too. And it will be life changing, brain rewiring—it will be necessary. But the connection, it’ll never get lost. 

Not as long as you’re both alive.

“Tell me you’re mine,” as his fingers bury themselves in your wet cunt, as he watches your back arch for him. “God, I can’t hold enough of you, my pretty girl. I can’t have enough of you, sweetheart.”

“Let me…let me lose myself in you again.”

And he does. Every time his cock enters you, there’s a completeness you can’t find anywhere else, not even with your own blood family. He’s made of something entirely yours, a part of you in another, and you don’t have arms long enough to wrap all around, to swallow him into you, your angel doll, your heart.

Yet, rules are rules. He never owns your mouth, only your breath. Hyunjin moans as he bottoms out, as he starts fucking into you the way he only can, his grunts filling your lungs, paralyzing your brain. He wants to, there’s tears in his gingerbread eyes, he wants to, he fucking wants to, Jesus; he wishes and dreams and begs and pleads and prays for your lips, for one kiss, for the holiest touch—but he’s turned away every time. Lines that even he cannot cross.

But others can. Others have free access to you so easily, so inattentively, those greedy guys and their dirty hands all over his lavender girl, all over his girl, and it doesn’t feel so much as a game now, it’s a full fledged out war, and he’s carrying a double edged sword, he knows, because he, too, gives himself away to meaningless people and one night stands, so in a way he’s covered in sin, covered in slime, and does not deserve you, not one bit of you.

But that doesn’t matter either. Because it’s not about deserving. It’s about the cross he carries on his back, the pain in his chest, the thorns that dig, the branches that poke and tug, the wilting of his entire self without you. Those years away shaped a tough exterior out of what he previously was, out of what you’d made, and the big hole where you should be only grew bigger. Hyunjin placed you on top of his heart, because it’s the one thing that just has to keep fucking beating in order to come back to you every single time.

A war. With himself.

As if you heard him, your palm presses on the tattoo, eyes glazed, fucked out, and all thoughts turn into static noise. Nothing is real yet everything comes into focus with you. He curses the day when he’s going to have to share you. The asshole that took you out three fucking times certainly is not gonna be the one. He’ll make sure of it.

“You must let me find you,” he whispers in your hair, emptying himself inside of you, shuddering. “Every time. Do you hear me?”

“He’s staying,” you mumble stubbornly in his arms, but your sweat is his sweat, and there’s no room for a third person in this. Not yet.

“He won’t,” he soothes you. “He’s not the one for you, sweetheart.”

“You don’t know that.”

A ghost of a smile. His lips pressed against the side of your head.

“I’m sure of it. I know what you need, lavender girl. Air, sunlight. Water.”

Your fist comes into contact with his collarbone. Hyunjin laughs, a breathy thing. You laugh too.

“Just another flower in your stupid garden,” you joke, but it’s not funny.

He stills, expression solemn. His fingers pass over your eyes, closing them in the process, and you inhale sharply. He brings his face close to your lips once again, pretending, always pretending that he’s going to do it, but all he really does—

“The only flower. My most precious one. My heart tree.”

My body is nothing but an extension of yours. I painted it as I see you. Use it as you like. Kill me if you must. It was all for you, anyway.

In simple words— I love you.

Hyunjin was born for the arts.

It was a suppressed talent, but one he indulged in when he could nevertheless. He followed you to the university of your choice, humored himself into a major he’ll never actually have a real future in, and raised a big middle finger to the private school in England and his last name.

He liked painting, but dancing—it flowed through him, moved him, it was a possessive thing. He loved dancing, is what he’s trying to say, perhaps in a similar way to how he loved you—inevitably, all consumingly.

He adored it even more when you danced with him. When he danced for you. Your body on his, swinging to the rhythm of whatever song would be playing at the parties you frequented, reminiscent of the way he fucks you, of how you fit together. There was one song in particular that became a tradition for the two of you.

Maneater by Nelly Furtado. Sophomore year, Halloween Day. You helped him put on blue eyeshadow, and you had an outrageously orange colored dress on, cosplaying as a famous rockstar couple from the seventies. His hair was longer again, the faded blonde appearing almost dark silver under certain lighting. Hyunjin always looked ethereal, but that day? All the glitter and flare spoke of magic, witchcraft beyond your usual pointy hat and swish and flick of a wand.

Somehow, somewhere, Hwang Hyunjin had been conjured up. And you were the lucky one that got to witness him in all his glory and charm, both as before and after. Prior to the two of you walking through the doors of what would be another season of unhinged fraternity parties, he held you close, semi naked chest touching yours, silk shirt feeling cool against your cleavage, and he threw you a dashing smile, the happiest he’s ever looked.

The drunkest he’s ever been.

“Marry me.”

You blinked. Then giggled, attempting to push him away so you could enter the house. His arms wrapped tighter around you, smile widening, pearly white teeth showing. There’s no way he’s serious, but despite the light tone, his eyes are dead set on you, and you very much don’t feel like giggling anymore.

Boyfriend number four didn’t make it, but potential boyfriend number five was in there, waiting for you to show up. This was no time for declarations of marriage. Panic bubbled in your throat.

“You’re—you’re not serious,” you stutter, dumbfounded.

“He’s not the one either,” he says, and his full pink lips look so inviting, so soft the more you stare at them. “Baby, you’re so beautiful, but so fucking desperate for love. You’re my girl, aren’t you?”

You wonder what would happen if you broke the rule. What fate would await you knowing how he tasted. You’d probably say yes, completely drunk on him. You’d probably throw away your entire life and follow him anywhere.

No.

“Say you don’t belong with me.”

You push him away for real this time. He stumbles back, but his smile never drops. He expected this reaction, can read you like the back of his hand. And the proposal—an intangible thing. Angel Doll and Lavender Girl. The magic would fall apart like Cinderella’s pumpkin carriage. You simply cannot afford to lose him if it doesn’t go well, if one of the two fucks up unfathomably bad.

Having no title leaves room for mistakes. You can fight about it, then fuck, and it’s forgotten by the second orgasm. But a relationship? Marriage at that? You’d kill each other, you’d die.

No.

“You can’t,” he continues, and he’s shining so bright it’s hard for you to stay mad. To push away and stay away.

You feel like crying, you feel like doing something very stupid—like go in that house and fuck that poor boy’s brains out. Obviously. Pointedly. Hyunjin would get jealous, drink some more, work himself into a sour mood, then fuck off to bury himself in the first person he sees. That’s how it usually went when he cornered you like that.

He regretted it immensely. He ran away. As did you.

Then he searched you out, and brought you home. Showed you why. Called himself your victim. You think you’re as much a victim as he is.

“You’re drunk,” you say, nearing him. “Give me until graduation.”

He shook his head, tugging at the ends of his soft hair, chuckling maniacally, like a crazy man. He was as panicked as you were; you were not supposed to know about this—his wants, his truths. His love. You’d become so good at the dance; the twirling, the hand over hand over hand, that the spilling was incomprehensible, the consequences incalculable.

“You’ll have found him by then,” he explains, and finally meets your gaze, a sad smile quivering on his plump lips. “I‘ll become an afterthought, a background character.”

“You won’t, you can’t!” You take his face in your hands, smudging birthday cake glitter everywhere, and you see stars. Galaxies, nebula’s. Your angel doll is not a man suddenly, but instead an entire universe. And you’re able to hold something like that. It’s never going to make any sense. “You’re imprinted on me, Hyun. Wherever I go, you follow. I’ll let you, okay? Stop crying, I’m not lying, I promise, are you listening?”

But he’s lost in his thoughts and fears, and nightmares again. You must look silly standing right outside a costume party, fighting to cling onto each other for dear life.

“I will too,” he mutters, nose running, sparkly tears. “I’ll fucking—I’ll find someone else, but they won’t be you, and I won’t know how to be with them, and it’s all fucked, darling, isn’t it, it’s—

“Marry me before that happens, angel. I’ve no idea how to be without you. Please.” His eyes are wide.

You stare at him and he stares at you, and you’re both saying the same thing without saying it at all, and that’s an answer all on its own.

“That’s not us,” you remind him softly. “I’m not leaving you behind, angel doll. You’re coming with me. Till death.”

And he’s terrified. He’s scared, and he’s been drinking for two days straight, has smoked more cigarettes than he can count or remember, all for it to come down to the same old conclusion. Unable to be together, but inseparable. (It will sting less later, but for now it’s an open heart surgery wound the size of two of your fists.)

He hugs you until you can’t breathe, and then pulls you into the house, where he delivers you to your plaything for the month, and heads for the kitchen to find the one thing that can numb it all away. If he sees the way you hold onto that beast of a guy, Ivy League scholarship, football star in the making, he holds back. It’s futile anyway. He has no way of stopping it.

Instead, he goes on a little hunt of his own. He likes to call this revenge, but really it’s punishment.

For him.

He eases you into your first threesome during spring break.

The guy is familiar to you, you’ve seen him around, but can’t really think of a name, or a major. Maybe from a party? It doesn’t register until much later that he’s Hyunjin’s fucktoy from freshman year, and for some reason you can barely stand, it makes you sick to your stomach—

Because this kickstarts the beginning of the end. He’s showing you how it’s going to be from now on.

“She likes it rough,” he informs the black-haired boy standing between your legs. Then he leans into his neck, and whispers, “Like me.”

He doesn’t mention how you only learned to take it that way, because it was the way he taught you. And you loved it—the flesh-eating need to have someone disassemble you and put it all back together, to have someone’s cock (his cock, it’ll always be his first) (until Bang Chan) buried so deep in your pussy you feel him all the way in your stomach. The feeling is indescribable, every.single. time.

“You’re okay with this?” The cute guy asks you, but you’ve never taken your eyes off Hyunjin. He hasn’t either.

“Yes.”

“I’m Felix, beautiful,” he tells you, dropping to his knees and hooking his arms around the backs of your knees, sliding you close to his face. “I’ve heard all about you.”

He found them first. Your hand shoots out for your angel doll, and he grabs it without thinking. He’s there, as promised, guiding you through your first orgasm with someone that’ll end up being the love of his life. He’s shaking, and he’s caressing your hair like he’s going through unbearable agony. Perhaps he is, as you cry out and moan another man’s name for his ears to hear.

“Shove another finger in her, see how she cums for you.”

And you do. Again and again and again…

By the time Felix is done with you, Hyunjin is unzipping his jeans and getting on top of you, his mouth leaving butterfly kisses from your neck down to your breast, to your navel, on your swollen clit. You don’t dare open your eyes; you hold his hand tight, and fall into the feeling of his weight, of his hips, of his length pushing past your folds.

“Fuck,” he grunts, and it’s the sexiest sound you’ll ever hear. “You’re just for me, sweetheart. It’s always going to feel this fucking good with you.”

You don’t see it, but Felix gets behind Hyunjin and slips right into him. Your doll collapses against your collarbone, muttering, moaning, baby… fuck, let me die here, let me die between the two of you…

His thrusts find a rhythm, as your voices all blend together, strings of filthy words bringing you closer to your release. You’ve never watched Hyunjin get fucked before, he’s usually so dominant with you, but you think you prefer him this way more. Surrendered, half mad, leaking inside you, his beautiful face twisted with pleasure and pain—a painting of pure ecstasy.

Felix grabs your boy by the neck and twists his head so he can kiss him flat on the mouth. Something stirs inside you, but it’s not jealousy. They look so in tune, move so well together that it’s hard to hate them. It feels like the point over the horizon where the sun and the moon meet—there’s a certain flowing between them and it runs like water, parts like the Red Sea.

“I think your girl wants a kiss,” the black-haired boy pants as he catches you looking. He slows his thrusts, takes his time with the two of you.

“We don’t kiss,” you and Hyunjin reply at the same time, and then giggle, eyes bright.

It all soon turns into deep mutters and moaning again, and you come the moment he hits something inside you, reaching so incredibly deep he has you seeing black spots, has you shaking. You hold him close as he reaches his release, a couple minutes after you, and Felix winks at you, kisses your angel doll’s back and gets off so you can stretch.

The three of you lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, made up of nothing but breaths and sweat. You can smell the sex in the air, feel Hyunjin’s fingers play with the stickiness between your legs. You rub your thighs together, wanting his touch on you again. Always, perhaps.

“You’ve never kissed?” Felix asks, but he’s not being nosy. He seems genuinely interested in the fact.

“Never,” you reply, and Hyunjin intertwines your hands on the cotton sheets. “Are you planning on sticking around?”

A moment passes. Then, “Yes.”

Your mouth curves. “Then you’ll find out why.”

Hyunjin laughs, brings your hands up to his lips and kisses the back of yours. “This is my lavender girl, Lix. You’re gonna love her.”

Your little arrangement continues until well into your third year. Hyunjin had cut back on the alcohol but was smoking like a chimney in winter. Felix did a lot of good, brought a lot of light anywhere he stood, to everything he touched.

And you liked him quite a bit. He kept your favorite boy occupied and silenced the voices in his head, something no one except you could do. They were clearly in love, clearly enamored with each other. Nothing mattered outside your little circle, and it felt the same way for you, as well. Until Hyunjin came to your room crying one night in December, with a bloody nose and a broken heart, locking the door hurriedly, begging to let him inside you.

You closed your book, jumped out of your shared bed, and ran to him. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“He slept with someone else, he doesn’t understand, darling, he doesn’t get us…” he muttered on your cheek miserably, resting against you, arms clinging onto you.

You rubbed soothing circles on his back, let his tears calm down to a soft sniffling before you questioned him. You’d learned long ago to be gentle with him when he’d get like this; your angel doll did not handle life well, rejection even worse.

“Is it exclusive?” you ask softly. “What you two have… did he know?”

When he ignores the question, you know it isn’t. But Hyunjin is hurt, stubborn and possessive and he will never share, not unless he approves first. It doesn’t work for everyone, but it works for him and he’s never cared. With you it’s out of the question. The unfairness is lost to you, but you’re certain that it should feel wrong, that he should probably let you go, too.

“Why would he do that to me? I love him.”

You’re jealous then. Ever since you snuck booze in your room and painted purple eyeshadow on each other’s lids, you’ve never uttered the three words once, not even as a joke, as a whisper, as a mouthed forbidden curse—but Felix gets to have it just.like.that? Spilled out like a murder scene between you? Your killer is pressing kisses on your collarbone, tears mixed with saliva, and you feel him all over you, all the times you’ve let him imprint what he cannot say, his seed still inside you from the last time you fucked, his sweet voice calling you ‘pretty darling,’ ‘beautiful lavender girl,’ all of it, does it even matter now?

He can love another, but could never tell you, his open field, his summer breeze, love betrayed, recycled—

Your hands stop him, push on his chest, your own stomach turning. Your eyes can’t possibly meet his. Hyunjin breaks apart in front of you, but you don’t think you can save him from himself this time. Not tonight.

“If I don’t say this now, I will be killing my own heart, angel doll…” you whisper, and there’s a ball of something in your throat, it’s choking you, it’s crushing your skull. “Have you ever loved me—”

It’s within a split second that he smacks his hand on top of your mouth and presses his own on top of it. His arm is digging on your lower back, and you can feel his erection against your thigh, hard through his baggy jeans, always hard for you, and needy, so needy, so ready, and how can you be so stupid, so silly? He is not himself when he’s not with you. He only hopes you feel the same way.

He kisses you like that as if he were kissing your lips, and your wet cheeks touch his, your voice breaks trying to whisper his name, his own hushes you, brings you closer. The one thing you swore you’d never do.

“Are you leaving me? Is that what this is?” you ask, desperately trying to catch your breath, hear over the rushing of your blood.

Hyunjin laughs, fully removes his hand from your jaw, instead rubbing your cheeks, caressing your hair, pulling at the ends, looking at you with the gingerbread eyes, the honey eyes, the ones you can’t resist, don’t ever try to. 

“Silly girl,” he scolds you fondly, his mouth curving, the red lips sore, and he appears much like the moon to you now. “I apologize. What would ever become of me if I didn’t have you? If I never met you?”

When he truly smiles, through the tears, through the pain, you can’t help but to smile back. The game is back on, the walls rebuilt themselves, but it’s not quite pretending. Not anymore.

“You’d be miserable without me, angel doll,” you pout, giggling as he tickles your sides, sparkling as he throws you on the bed and has his way with you.

“I’d be miserable,” he confirms, kissing down your breast. “I’d be dead. But you understand why I have to love him, don’t you?”

Your eyes meet. “He’s the sun,” barely audible.

His hands fumble, the sound of a zipper, his cold hands lifting your dress. “He’ll look over my lavender field,” his pulsing cock pushing against your entrance, “my sweet girl.”

Hyunjin fucks you like he’s going to lose you, slow, hips grinding into you like he’s trying to leave a piece of himself inside you, where you can never find it, never remove it. He looks beautiful in all the ways he isn’t saying it, in all the ways he means it. Your arms wrap around him, and you fall, deeper, further, for all eternity.

As promised.

It’s in your senior year that you understand why you had to wait.

Bang Chan is older, he’s a film graduate, he’s Felix’s best friend from Australia. His accent is thick, his hair is curly, and his hands are surprisingly rough.

He takes you against the dormitory building at four in the morning, after drinks and a round of bowling. And it’s different, it’s intense—somehow you know exactly what to do, he moves just as you like it, you never bump, it’s overwhelming, it’s fucking amazing. He’s the best kisser you’ve ever had, his mouth tasted like mint and his cologne smelled of tobacco and vanilla, a mix you’ve never seen on anyone else, and somehow he’s just for you, this man with the irresistible smile and sculpted face.

You trace his eyebrows, kiss his jaw. He never shudders, like your angel doll, but instead—he grunts, he growls. You come on his dick three times on your first date, and he brings you over to his place every night after that, for a month straight. Hyunjin distances himself, lets you explore the new world, lets you get to know, but you always see him in your room when you tiptoe around a space you’ve called home for four years, like a thief.

He pretends to be asleep as you grab clothes; sees you choose which panties Chan would like best, what perfume would drive him crazy, if you should do velvet or silk—he gets jealous, but never angry. He chose this man for you, saw how he folds when you look at him, how he’d crumble into dust if you ever broke it off.

They made an agreement, the two. They’d share you as long as they were both allowed to love you. Hyunjin never said it, of course. But only a fool would miss it—

The way he burns and is reborn every time you blink, the stem over his heart, his only calling.

One rare day the Aussie is off working on his many projects, you take Hyunjin’s hand and together you sit under the big oak tree, in the middle of campus, you with your book, him with his sketchbooks and pencils.

“Tell me your deepest, darkest secret, lavender girl,” he mumbles against your exposed belly, and you giggle.

You can see the branches through his thin white tank top. Your heart. “I love him, angel doll,” you say, confidently.

His eyes are the moon again, his lips cherry blossom. His hair is getting longer. 

Like sunlight, Felix morphs behind him, waving, beaming down.

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @streetlight-s, @j-0ne25, @danyxthirstae01, @lix-ables, @skz317cb97, @koorminii, @choinsaw.

[faytelumos]

Into the Black With a Matchstick, pt 3

I'm keeping this as the taglist, but feel free to DM/comment/Ask if you want to be added/removed.

Please, if you haven't read the first parts in awhile, check out the recap I have linked for your convenience. :3

@c00kieknight, @jxm-1up, @midnight--architect, @robinparravel, @thepotatoofnopes, @those-damn-snippets; @thelazywitchphotographer, @tildeathiwillwrite

first previous recap

cw: bad math

---

Whatever the fuck the newcomer with Admiral Paxie was, it was not helping Adina's already overtaxed brain.

It had been bad enough seeing that Paxie was so huge they could barely even fit into the ship. It was bad enough that Adina was in charge of probably all that was left of the human race, that she had no way of figuring out if these aliens were truly friendly or just acting like it, bad enough that she was starving and dehydrated and high and had the worst God-damned headache she had ever had in her life.

And now she had to let some six foot tall cave-dwelling-mantis-snake-vampire walk around in the ship. It was like this thing was specifically made to be as creepy as possible, and when it got down on all eights—

She had dropped the ship's remote helm tablet, almost on her foot, and she was still shaking from the heart attack the sudden noise had caused her.

When they got to the bridge, which was thankfully open enough to allow Adina and John to put some space between themselves and the aliens, Paxie pulled the nightmare fuel aside. Adina subtly let out a sigh of relief and busied herself at the control panel.

Frankly, she didn't know what she was looking at. This was John's job. But the drugs in her brain were starting to prove themselves a bad idea as her body's discomfort reared its ugly head, and she couldn't stop thinking. Four times during the walk from the dock she had considered waking up a Marine to protect her and John from these monsters. And that wasn't the mind of a diplomat. That wasn't the thought of a leader she could trust.

Just get through this. Get through this meeting, and then food, water, and real sleep.

The smaller Xoixe stepped up to the LCD screen with most of the interactive display on it. John sidled up, too, probably to make sure Adina didn't hurt anything. Good.

"I heard this ship carries its life-forms cryogenically?" the smaller Xoixe asked. Adina looked up, and as soon as she did, John gently moved her hands and started clicking away at the panel's keyboard.

"Uh, yes," Adina replied. Looking up into the suit made it slightly easier than looking into four eyes and a big, sharp-toothed mouth. Maybe they wouldn't have looked so intimidating if her head wasn't throbbing. "Yes, our crew was specifically picked for the task of determining the viability of another planet for colonization. But the human lifespan isn't long enough to make the trip at our curr — with the technology we had." Adina put a hand to her face, pretending to wipe the sweat on her forehead, seeking the cold relief of her own touch. 26 million years…. "We were only supposed to be space-borne for 150 years…."

"If you don't mind my inquiry," the smaller Xoixe said as John kept typing. Adina looked up. The large alien had sat back on their haunches and was carrying their own tablet, made of a sleek plastic-looking material. "Is it possible for me to acquire standard medical parameters for your species? I'm a xenomedic, but since this is our first encounter, I have nothing to go on."

Adina stared for a moment. A xenomedic. So they'd brought a doctor aboard on their landing party. A group of three, and they'd saved a seat for a doctor. Adina didn't even know what the nightmare's job was, but when she glanced over, she realized there were no weapons on anyone. The nightmare perhaps could have used their claws, but looking again, their limbs didn't seem strong enough to hold Adina or John down if they started throwing punches. Both Xoixes had their claws entirely covered in their suits, and there was no attempt to make the suits sharp on the outside.

So maybe they really were friendly. Or maybe they did a really good job at acting like it. There weren't many ways to tell. Did this species even lie? How inherit was lying for intelligent species? Did Earth animals lie? Yes, Koko the Gorilla had told a lie. Had she learned that from humans?

The Xoixe was staring at her.

"Okay," Adina rasped. "Follow me."

---

"Lieutenant Harrison?" Paxie asked once Captain Ramirez and Ensign Kime were gone. Sergeant Klte shifted behind them, out of view of the little alien. Harrison turned away from the console after a lengthy delay.

These creatures looked more and more like prey the longer Paxie studied them. All except for their forward eyes. It was uncanny. Harrison's eyes were bright and round outside of their black, circular pupil, and it made it all too clear that they were looking directly at Paxie.

"Yes… Admiral?" Harrison said. Paxie shook their head slightly to focus their thoughts.

"Would it be acceptable for Sergeant Klte to take a look around your ship? We're curious as to how your vessel has lasted for so long in open space."

Harrison… laughed again. It was loud and sharp, and they opened their mouth and bared their teeth to do it.

"If you figure that out, I'd like to know, too," Harrison said. Paxie quirked their jaw.

"How do you mean?" Klte moved behind them, too.

"Our ship was meant for a 150 year journey," Harrison explained, still baring their blunt teeth. "Even that was ambitious for our level of engineering." They turned to the console and began hitting buttons. They were small buttons compared to the Xoixe's controls, and they clicked and snapped as they pressed and navigated. "We've made unmanned — that is, autonomous and without organic passengers — bodies before. To go into space. But even those tend to give out after a few decades. A-a group of ten years."

Paxie stepped closer and looked down to the readout. It wasn't intelligible; their suit was only equipped with an audio and radiation translator. Harrison gestured to something with their flat, soft digits.

"The requirements on the system for self maintenance, self regulation, and self repair on top of the requirements for life support and cryogenic maintenance are, to put it lightly, a-fucking-lot." Paxie blinked at the unexpected candor. Klte shifted, too. "Compare that against the life expectancy of our alloys in open radiation, extreme heat and cold shifts, and micro-meteorites, and this thing would have been lucky to land us safely if our trip got extended to 300 years." They looked up again. Paxie tilted their head, mind reeling.

Surely they were misinterpreting what Harrison had said.

Surely there was no way that a species would strike out into the open universe without both FTL drives and shielding dampeners.

"You don't have a significant issue with micro-meteorites…?" Paxie asked, and even as they said it, they were afraid of the answer. "…Do you?"

Harrison was bearing their teeth again.

"Oh, it's one of our biggest engineering challenges."

Paxie stared. They couldn't help it. They didn't know what to say. They weren't even breathing for a moment.

"You must have left in a hurry," they rasped. Harrison laughed again.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" they laughed, turning back to the console.

What did that even mean?!

Paxie was starting to feel light-headed. They wished they could take off their environment suit. Klte must have noticed their distress.

"Allow the Admiral and I a moment to converse," it hissed. Harrison flinched, then nodded, watching Klte. It gently pushed Paxie back towards the shuttle, turning off both of their translation protocols. "I'm concerned at this species' sense of self preservation," it said in the Xoixe language.

Paxie laughed, hissing the air sharply through their scaled lips. "Eme is concerned at how well they'd treat other kinds if they treat themselves so haphazardly."

"Exceptionally poorly."

Both of them laughed as they reached the pod. Paxie stepped inside where they could turn around back towards the ship.

"Take a breather, Admiral," Klte said. "I'll see what I can find out."

---

"Adina?" John called. Adina looked up; she was just coming back to the main control room now. The nightmare was still there, but it was down the hall, examining wiring bundles and the hull. How large was its forebrain? Was there a chance it could be tampering? "Adina."

Adina blinked and looked to John. He waved her over. She left the Xoixe's, Kime's, side to see him. He pointed to the numbers on the LCD screen.

"Can you double check me?" he whispered. She highly doubted it. She was a biologist; she knew how to clear her browser cookies and turn her phone off and on again. Anything technical on the ship was John's job now.

She looked, anyway. He was pointing at the ping count from Earth's homing beacon. It was around 800. She sagged to see that. The ping was supposed to communicate with The Solstice quarterly. So it must have stopped working after 200 years.

He pointed to the Most Recent Ping section.

19,406,771 years, 18 days, 16 hours, 2 minutes ago

Wait… what?

It should have been right around 26 million years ago.

"What?" she uttered, leaning in.

"That's wrong, right?"

"It should be…."

What could have done that? The ping system went off every three months. If it had run for… what, 5 million years? Then there should have been 20 million pings.

Why would Mission Control reduce the ping rate?

They wouldn't. Especially not after The Solstice failed to report a landing. Had something happened on Earth?

But, no, just like this ship couldn't last 26 million years, that pinger couldn't last 5 million. So what was happening?

"Wh…" Adina uttered, blinking. What was going on? What was causing this? Were both times just wrong? Was there a way to check? "Wha-what's the mission runtime?"

John stared at her for a moment before turning and hurriedly clicking away at the keyboard. She watched, and then she felt the nightmare get closer to watch, too. She stiffened her shoulders, but tried not to be too nervous-looking.

Hopefully, they couldn't tell. But she had just given Kime normal human biometric parameters….

"Holy shit, what," John whispered. Adina leaned forward.

Mission Elapsed Time:

60 years, 57 days, 1 hour, 43 minutes

"What?"

"One of these is wrong," John whispered. Adina looked up for Paxie and saw the nightmare watching her from the dark corridor. She flinched and gasped, slapping a hand over her heart, then turned to Kime.

"What are our coordinates?" she asked. "Do you have a star map we can see?"

Adina tried to calm down as Kime typed away on her tablet. One of these time ranges was wrong. But if it was the 26 million years (she desperately hoped 26 million years was wrong) then why had they gotten 200 years worth of pings? Maybe Mission Control was desperately trying to reestablish a connection? But 800 pings? That was a bit much.

Kime offered the tablet. Adina took it, and as soon as she did, the display somehow gave her an even worse headache. She blinked hard and moved the tablet away.

"Woah," she grunted, squeezing her eyes shut. John took it from her and grunted like he was straining to lift something.

"Shit," he swore, squinting at the tablet.

"Oh, no," Kime said, "you only have two eyes."

John huffed and offered the tablet back, then rubbed his eyes. Adina had her hands on her temples, trying not to squeeze her head too hard. The dizziness was back with reinforcements.

"How are we gonna do this?" she grunted.

"Do you have universal file translators?" John groaned. "Like the language? The audio?"

"We might, in a sense," Kime said slowly. "Let me make a call."

Adina nodded delicately so as not to jar her brain too hard. That seemed like a strangely cryptic response, but she couldn't think too hard right now.

As soon as they figured all of this out, she was going to sleep like the dead.

---

next

[bloodblanks]

pumpkin head [ticci toby x reader] — prologue.

Life wasn’t always easy. But when it got hard, Y/N had a solution: take a hollow plastic pumpkin and put it over her head. No, seriously. It helped. It’s a valid coping mechanism, goddammit. But then Toby Rogers, a homeschooled outcast who might be even more of a freak than she is develops a morbid interest—or what normal people call a crush—on her. And she’s also getting stalked by a mysterious entity called the Operator. All of a sudden, Y/N’s plastic pumpkin isn’t enough to shield her away from the world and keep her safe anymore. No, she wasn’t going to take it off, but somehow, Toby was still interested in her even with it on.

co-written with @spookyravioli, please check her out! ♡

author's note: this fanfiction will contain mildly dark content, including abuse, alcoholism, mental health issues, unhealthy relationship dynamics, and similar themes.

please read at your own discretion.

“If I can’t have you, no one can.”

Time seemed to stop. At first, it was in slow motion, the way his fingers, caked in coagulating crimson, took hold of the box of matches, the way he slid the case open, the way he reached inside, taking out a singular matchstick, the once pale and thin wood now also tainted red. It was still in slow motion, time appearing to stretch out endlessly as he brought the match to the rough brick-coloured sides of the box, swiping it across and striking a newborn flame, birthed from the friction.

But then he raised his hand out, fingers loosening their grip on the frail matchstick, and it was right then and there that time came to a startling halt.

The scene before her played out like a video that had just been put on pause. And she, too, was paralyzed, staring in horror at the sight before her, unable to move a muscle. In this frozen space of time, it was just the two of them—her, standing still, eyes wide in terror, and him, eyes downcast, the slightest hint of tears still visible, running along his waterline.

The match fell.

Dropped from his fingers and hitting the floor, the room was set ablaze in a matter of seconds, fire bursting from the kerosene that he had drenched the room with, fire licking at the carpet, eating up the furniture, devouring the walls.

Everything was suddenly illuminated with an amber glow, the colour of the flames reflecting perfectly in his eyes as he finally raised them, staring straight into her.

It was like they had just met all over again, the sweet amber hue of his irises captivating her own; she found fatal attraction in them like a moth would a flame. And burn she did indeed, as all the sweetness left his eyes, the hue replaced by the fire that burst out before her, the fire that sent her body harshly colliding against the hard tiled floor, fully engulfing her unprotected form like vines entangling themselves around her limbs, dragging her down into a world of blazing, scorching pain.

She didn’t even have time to scream; instead, violent coughs erupted from her throat as she curled up into herself, back hunched over and knees brought up to her chest, miserably trying to prop herself up on her elbows.

The air was stolen from her lungs, replaced with the thick, heavy coat of smoke that was slowly descending upon her, clogging up her airway and causing her eyes to sting in irritation. Her esophagus felt as if acid had been poured down her vocal cords, searing and burning through her flesh.

She made another effort to try to get up, weakly pushing herself up on all fours. Still, she barely crawled a few steps away before the agony of the flames devouring her skin and the pulsating pain of the smoke sending sharp icepicks inside her brain became all too much to bear for her, and she’d collapse back down.

She came to the conclusion, then, that this was it. This was the end for her.

She was going to die.

She was going to die, in the kitchen of the boy she thought she loved, the boy she thought she could trust, the boy she thought truly understood her in a world where she had been isolated for so long, up until the very second they met.

And then he had become the boy who she had become mesmerized with the very moment their eyes met, the boy who she had opened up to and seen as her very first friend, the boy who she allowed herself to be vulnerable with, trusting him with both her body and heart, believing that he wouldn’t break it.

Because if there was one person in the world that she could rely on to be there for her even if no one else was, it would be him.

But now here she was, alone, with no one by her side, not even him. Here she was, alone.

Dying.

She had given him all of herself, entrusted everything to be in his hands. Entrusted herself to be in his hands. And he had held it, treating it with care, treating it as something so delicate, so fragile—only to allow it to shatter.

As he loosened his hold on the tiny little matchstick, as his fingers splayed out, letting it fall to the ground, he had let her go as well.

Now there she was, on the ground, every inch of her ignited with sheer torment, surrounded by the flames of what she would think to be Hell if she didn’t know better, if she wasn’t so painfully alive still.

If she wasn’t so painfully alive, the events replaying over and over in her mind like a broken cassette tape. The thought of his betrayal, hot and fresh and deep, wounding her where it had hurt most on repeat. The sound of his voice, hurt and betrayed and resentful, his last words to her playing on a loop. The vision of his amber eyes, puffy and bloodshot and still harbouring the slightest hint of tears, narrowed at her in an ever-present glare, etched in her mind.

It was all that she could think of, hear, and see.

She wondered then, how did things come to this? What could she have done differently to prevent this from happening? What had she done wrong for this to happen? Where did she make a mistake?

Not that it mattered anymore, because dark spots were clouding her vision, and she could both feel and see the smoke thickening, smothering her and causing her eyelids to feel heavier with each passing second.

As her eyelids fluttered like the desperate wings of a moth trying to fan out its own flames, she could feel her body’s desperate plea for her to just close her eyes, allow the fire to consume her, consume her just like he had, with the tender touch of his fingertips and the passionate movement of his lips.

He had taken everything from her, the fire finishing up the one last thing—her life.

As her fatigued eyes opened for the final time, through the spots in her vision, the haziness of her tears, and the dancing of the flames, was the silhouette of the tall man.

The horror of the realization dawned upon her, and at that moment, she too was burning, seething in pure blazing rage.

But what hurt the most, feeling like a spear of torment piercing straight through her heart, was that before her eyelids fell to a close, finally submerging her in the reprieve of unconsciousness—

She met his eyes one last time.

His bittersweet, amber eyes.

next chapter ->

[goreprofonde]

[Prayer: I see a lamb being slaughtered, hung

over a shop of electric blue lights. Blood on

its limbs, head thrown in the street.

            All I know of grace is a different hue.

A cobblestone with stains of blood. The wind

carries a ghost. Godhead. An exponential tangle

of leftover bones the teeth cannot chew.

            A restless matchstick over the eye of

a falconer. A flock of moths by the lamplight

of an empty porch where no one lurks.

             Phonemes of similar symmetries in the

silence. Listen: the myths we lodge in our midriffsare an inheritance of bloodline choruses.

            Bones calcify into lines, vanish into flesh.

Land will keep you until it kills you with

an ignition mercy of an entity it replaces.]

- Sneha Subramanian Kanta, How to Refuse Capitulation.

[my-writings-and-musings]

I'm FINALLY getting over a very nasty respiratory infection (still hacking after two weeks but no longer contagious yay) so let's celebrate with my first Earthspark snippet! This one follows GHOSTAgent!Reader being lost out in the field and needing a rescue from Megs, who owns my entire heart along with every other bot on this show. If you have any Earthspark asks please drop them in my inbox and I'll hop on them if time allows, I'll be posting some prompts soon!!

You couldn't feel your fingers or toes, but you could feel the earth beneath you rumbling from the approach of something big. Snow drifted between the cluster of branches overhead each time they hit, dusting your curled and shivering form with enough biting cold to wake you right back up. Had you the strength, you'd have reached for the weapon secured in the corner of your tiny shelter, but there was barely enough energy in you to lift your head. 

Hope of rescue was nonexistent in your mind when the tremors registered as Cybertronian footprints. No doubt this was the same Con that had shot down your transport and chased you into these snowy woods, coming to finish the job… Hugging your thin blanket about your shoulders, you hoped bitterly that they'd at least be quick about it. The cold left you with little patience for bragging.

Instinctive fear made you shrink back when the massive bot closed in, their servos pushing aside the thick tangle of frozen trees as if they were matchsticks. A fresh falling of snow blurred everything save for the glow of two intense red optics closing in.

Fear evaporated when you blinked through the icy dust long enough to recognize the hulking form bending down to get on your level.

"Megatron?" you croaked, voice breaking from more than exhaustion as you beheld his silver armor in the moonlight. You had been certain you would never see any of your friends again, so for your closest to come to your rescue was almost overwhelming. Judging by the relief in his optics, the usually stoic bot felt the same way.

"Thank the Primes…" he sighed, scooping you up into his sizable palms. Feeling the faintest hint of warmth through his touch, you went limp as he pulled you to his front, where the heat of his spark radiated most strongly. Life returned to your still shivering limbs as Megatron secured you comfortably in his arms, taking a moment to look you over for injuries whilst he basked in the simple fact that you were alive. 

"Are you hurt?" he asked softly, looking even more at ease when you shook your head. Beyond being a little banged up, the cold had been your greatest threat, and while you were still shivering his chassis was doing a great job warming you up. Still, the big bot knew humans required aid from so much time in the cold, and his gaze turned upwards as he rose to his pedes. "You still need medical attention. Let me get in touch with our ride."

Though you knew it was strongly advisable to stay awake, it was hard to deny how tempted you were to drift off cradled in Megatron's hands. The dim hum of his spark was like a tender massage at your side, and it was hard to feel at all on edge in the arms of one the strongest beings on Earth. Feeling his voice rumbling through his chest kept you from dozing off.

"Can't get a signal in this weather..." he snarled after removing his digit from his audial. Thinking quickly, he sheltered you from the still falling snow as he pushed through the forest. "Hold on, I'm getting you somewhere warm. We can wait out the storm so long as I can shelter us."

The abandoned shell of a building gave you both the necessary cover, even if the stone offered little protection from the cold. Thankfully you were warming up enough to be almost comfortable, even if the hours of exposure had left you more exhausted than words could tell.

"You can rest while I keep watch." he assured you as he sat with his back to a wall, keeping you in his field of vision as he ensured you were warm and covered. You swore a gentle digit stroked the side of your head as he spoke. 

"All will be well, little one."

[cryptidsofwakemoor]

Chapter 8 - CHANGE

Matchstick goes to confront the Silver Fang, and...

everything changes.

~*~

Mystic

It’s a good thing the inclement weather had made drone appearances less likely, or his frustrated tromping through the snow might have gotten him caught right then and there. The sudden stress had caused his footsteps to dissolve the snow around his ankles even faster, leaving a trail of melted prints in their wake.

He reaches the second burrow, and yep, the beast is still in there. Curled up like a big pinecone, it lifts its head at the sound of his approach, blinking blearily in the sharp winter light. They look dozy and quizzical at his return.

Spooky

He doesn't slow in his approach until he's standing right at the entrance. He wasn't sure it would be good to go further in, and they could see each other well enough from here.

Looking upset, he holds the tattered shirt up so the silver beast can see it. In fact he seems so distraught that he tries to force words out of his mouth for the second time in months.

"Kh... D did... You...?" It sounded awful, especially since he was trying to raise his voice. It came out as more of a growl than a rasp, but still barely any actual voice, and it was audibly strained.

Mystic

The beast, seeing the shirt, goes still. It looks at the shirt, then at him. Their expression was the closest approximation to ‘biting their lip’ that a muzzle could make.

At his stuttered question- or, half-question- the silver beast slowly looks away, staring at the wall as though trying to do some sort of mental calculation. It side-eyes him. The claws on its front limbs fidget, creating a low clacking sound. Despite the behavior of someone caught misbehaving, there’s still confusion through the nervousness.

Then, very slowly, it lifts the joints of its shoulders up and down, frowning.

What was that supposed to mean? It wasn’t sure? How could you not be sure if you killed someone?? Or- it didn’t know what he meant, because he didn’t specify what they did?

Spooky

He looked at the silver beast and stood there with steam puffing out his mouth for a few more seconds. His voice did not want to keep going, but he swallowed and tried to continue.

"Eh... Eat?" He managed, sounding somewhere between a vaguely human voice and two rocks scraping together. His expression was more like a grimace now from the attempt to force words out, one of his eyes squinched almost shut and the corner of his mouth drawn back to the point where there was actually a rare glimpse of fang.

Mystic

…

The creature stares at him. Gears click into place. Realization dawns.

As if a silent bubble had popped in the atmosphere, their cheeks puff out with barely contained air, which burst out into rhythmic, high-pitched wheezing sounds.

W-

Were they laughing at him?

The silver thing leans forward over its own tail, struggling to breathe as the edges of their mouth curve up in a full-toothed smile of glee and utter relief. They lift a paw to wipe tears from the edge of their golden eye. Gasping breaths, still trying not to laugh, they look up at him and shake their pointed head back and forth.

No? They didn’t?

Spooky

He dropped his hands to his sides at that reaction, tilting his head in bafflement. If the silver beast didn't eat that person then what happened? Why wasn't the fish person there, but their truck was still there?

Still, being laughed at when he was upset didn't make him feel any better, and he frowned in response.

"Ffii-" he started, trying to ask if they got into a fight or something, but his voice gave out and devolved into smokey coughs.

Mystic

The scratchy cough, followed by smoke, allows the beast to finally get its breath back. They inhale and exhale deeply, calming down from their mirth. Dirt shuffles underneath them as they uncoil from the cinnamon bun position. The beast starts climbing its way out of the hole, returning to the entrance where he was standing.

Brow ridges furrowed, they inspect him. They appear to be concerned by the puff of smoke.

Kneeling down, they lift their paws and scoop some snow off the ground. Rolling a small ball out of the powder, they nudge it toward him with their snout.

Spooky

He managed to stop coughing enough to pick up the snowball, taking a bite. It hissed loudly in his mouth as it rapidly melted, and he popped the rest of the snow in after it. The drink seemed to help a little bit, he'd been feeling especially dried out for some reason since it got colder out.

Still- there it was, the silver beast being nice again. His glowing eyes glanced from the beast's face to the shirt, then back, his own brow furrowed in a rather conflicted expression. As silly as the conclusion he'd jumped to was, he was still worried...

Mystic

The beast exhales a huff, nodding once. They appear satisfied that he drank something, though they don't quite understand the steam, watching it drift upwards curiously.

Their attention returns to him, golden eyes inspecting him. Reading him.

They turn their head left and right, as though looking for something. Checking to make sure it was clear. Of what, he didn't know. People? Maybe.

The beast hauls its weight back up into standing position, turning around to sweep its tail over the ground. The whoosh of snow clears out all their footprints- save for the ones he melted- and makes a blank canvas of white. Shaking the tail off, they spin to sit back down, and start scratching in the snow with a claw or two. They struggle for a moment. Their digits aren't as dexterous as they'd prefer, and he can see them attempting to flex their padded claws in ways they simply didn't want to.

A series of lines are scratched into the ground, forming a coherent message.

KEEP SECRET?

Spooky

He craned his neck, trying to see what the silver beast was doing with their claws. Digging? Wait, no- drawing something? Then when they stopped, his eyes widened when he saw them. Words!

He was still a little rusty with them, though he had improved somewhat since leaving the lab- going near the town at least allowed him more things that he could read, usually colorful words on buildings or up on sticks near the paths that the trucks took. Sometimes there were words on the trucks too, though usually it was a jumble that he had no chance of comprehending... While he didn't make a noise, he quietly mouthed out the sounds the letters made as he pieced the words together. 'KEEP... SE- ... SEE-CRET'.

That little mark at the end, too, told him it was a question. The beast wanted to know if he would keep a secret?

He looked back up at them and nodded. It wasn't like he even really had anyone else to tell it to, even if he wanted to.

Mystic

The beast puffs a breath out its snout, and leans forward to wipe the snow clean again with a paw. It starts scratching a second time.

ME

They pull back and gesture to themselves with the other paw.

More scratching. This time, a shape. It looked like a stick person of some kind, albeit a rough rendition due to the difficulty the beast was having.

A second shape, next to it. This one was spiky, and hunched over with a tail.

They drew an arrow between the two, going from the stick person to the spiky thing.

The beast then taps at the word again with the same paw.

Spooky

It was... confusing. Not necessarily the message the beast was trying to get across- the visual aid definitely helped him figure out what they were saying well enough, but he wasn't entirely sure he'd... understood it right?

Looking even more confused than before, he held up the shirt like he was trying to figure out how the silver beast would be able to fit into it.

How could they be the same person?? He knew Aria had been able to turn people into monsters, at least from the limited amount of things he saw about other experiments... And, well... he wasn't entirely sure if he was always like this, himself...

But to be able to change back? ...And forth? Regularly?

Mystic

The beast gazes upon the shirt with a forlorn rumble, their frilled ears pinning back to their skull. They rotate their body slightly, so the kid can get a better view of their spine-covered back. The plates move slightly to stand on end, rather than rest flat against their back. Wrapped around one of the plates, now that he can see it up close, is a tattered fragment of the same blue fabric. It was torn and stretched, barely hanging on.

The beast stretches up to scratch at it, grunting in mild annoyance when they can’t reach. They give up, and go back to scratching a new message.

CANT CONTROL SLEEP GO BACK

…

USUALLY

Spooky

Oh, shit...

He kneels down to try and write something too, but his body heat and the slow carefulness of his scrawl just kind of melts the snow before he can really form words in it. He huffs out a breath and starts trying to look around him for a stick or something he could use instead, though in the meantime, he looks back up at her and manages a very raspy "Why?"

Mystic

At that, the beast sits back, pondering. This was a lot more complicated to explain than scratched half-sentences would convey. They reach forward and sweep it clean again, before continuing this communication through art.

MISTAKE

They draw another stick person, and next to it, some sort of spiny creature much like the one they used to depict themselves. And yet, there was something different about that shape.

They draw the odd spiny one lunging, with cartoonishly large triangles for teeth, latching onto the person's arm.

BITTEN

The stick person, lying on the ground.

Spikes jutting from the back of the stick person.

CHANGE

Spooky

He ponders this quietly, not really having any prior knowledge of lycanthropy to go on... The concept of changing due to a bite was a new one to him. So were there more silver beasts out there somewhere that were biting people?

Still... He couldn't imagine how painful it would be to have metal plates erupt from your skin. It sucked enough to have metal things poked into it, but those were a LOT of spikes. He winced at the thought.

Finally locating a stick, he carefully scrawled out

HOW OFTIN?

Mystic

The beast taps at their muzzle with one claw, thinking.

RANDOM

Oh. Well that explained why the beast hadn't shown up for a while- she simply hadn't changed in that time.

IF STRESSED CHANGE

They drew what could best be approximated as a scared face, followed by pointing at the previous drawing of presumably them changing shape.

HAPPENS WHENEVER DAY WEEK MONTHS CANT STOP IT

The beast shrugs again.

Spooky

Oh...

While on one hand it seemed like it would be nice to be able to change into a person and go into town and do people things, the fact that it happened at random was a scary one. What if they changed back in the town? It would be harder for something that big to hide, too...

He started to write S... O... R...

...Did it have one r or two? Shit. Wait... Uh... Two! It had two, right?

SORRE

....huh. Still didn't seem right...

Mystic

Another quiet snort of amusement to his right. The beast is smiling again, with their muzzled face that's clearly not built to smile, and is doing its best.

They bump his nearest shoulder with the top of their head, nudging him.

Guess that was their acknowledgment- or rejection- of his apology. He didn't have a hand in their situation, and they both knew it.

...the beast watches him for a moment, before wiping the snow smooth again and writing once more.

YOU COLD HUNGRY ALONE?

Spooky

He flushed, a strange orange hue glowing on his cheeks. He wasn't expecting them to get right to the meat of his situation, but it did remind him that if this was the fish lady, they had been the one leaving food out for him for, uh... well, a LOT of days. More than he could count. AND gave him these soft things to help him stay warm.

He pulled the cloth rectangle up a little more and huddled in it, not really sure how much he could, or even should, say.

But, they had proven pretty trustworthy. At least, the most out of anyone else he'd run into.

He shrugged a little, and wrote out

RUNING HIDING

then, after a small pause

THANKS FOR HELP

Mystic

It's not a lot of information, but it's enough for the beast. They nod in response, looking down at his message.

THANKS FOR NOT SCREAM OR GET COPS

They stretch their back, causing the metallic plates to realign with a clatter. Shaking snow off their head, the beast writes one last message.

SLEEP NOW TRY CHANGE TOO COLD

With a creaky heave of their metal-plated body, the beast shakes themselves off again. More white powder snow showers off of their body. Flakes had begun to flit down from the sky, which meant the snow was going to get even thicker. She squints up at the thick clouds, puffs a sigh from her nose, and turns in defeat to slink into the burrow. It wasn't much better than being out in the open, but it was at least an overhang.

Shudders run through her body as she coils up at the back of the den for the second time that day, attempting to get warm and comfortable in a hole in the ground on a winter day.

Spooky

'Cops'? What were those?

He didn't get a chance to ask though, because it seemed like the cold was getting to them. He stood and watched as the silver beast turned around and sleepily trundled back into their den.

Tossing the stick aside, he started to head back to his own den... but hesitated, glancing back at the beast.

They seemed pretty cold still, like a big shivering pinecone. He hesitated, not sure if he was welcome to do so, but he knew he was pretty warm... so he climbed down into the den with them. He took his cloth rectangle, and while he wasn't able to really drape it over their back, he did his best to try and cover what he could of the claws and snoot with the warm cloth.

Mystic

The beast had quietly ignored the sound of him sliding down into the burrow after them, but the moment they draped the blanket up and over their head, their ears perked up. It looked like a pair of antenna comically poking up from underneath, and the blanket rippled as the creature shifted about underneath in confusion. They managed to slide one paw out from underneath the fabric, and pat it around the den floor.

Once it makes contact with his side, the clawed digits proceed to wrap around his torso, engulfing him in the grip. The beast pulls him closer in a tug that was far stronger than it looked, and yet was careful and didn't cause any pain. He is tugged right up to the side of the beast's front, where he had placed the blanket, which is then nosed off of their face to fall back over him.

He can feel as the long plated tail shifts around the body of the beast, this time cupping around the both of them. The thick physical barrier prevents cold wind from reaching them.

The beast is giving him a gentle look, rumbling quietly. Without the writing on the ground, it's no longer possible to directly translate, but it could be interpreted as some form of thanks, and perhaps a reassurance. They'd be safe from the dangers of the outside for today- at the very least, for now.

Spooky

While he was startled at being pulled in closer, it soon became clear why, once he was situated next to them and the tail curled in. He had to wriggle a little to where he was seated more comfortably- and to get the blanket off of his face after they flopped it back onto him- but he soon settled, finding this arrangement surprisingly comfy. The beast did have a lot of fur under those plates, which was soft enough that it felt like more blanket.

And while he wasn't feeling particularly sleepy, he didn't mind just staying here like this. Heck, he was warmer than the blanket was, and this felt nicer than laying on the ground by himself.

It was strange, but for once, as he felt the slow, gentle rise and fall of the breathing wall of fur he was resting up against... it was nice not to feel well and truly alone anymore.

Mystic

Satisfied, the beast closes its eyes again, and nestles back down to rest.

Wind passes by the opening of the burrow, creating a low whistle combined with the rustle of the last autumn leaves. Cozy atmosphere inside prevented the weather's chill from reaching too far into the den. It also helped that the lost teen was pretty much a living space heater.

...

After some time of slow breathing, he can feel the beast next to him start to shift.

The tail, which had served as a large blockade around the both of them, began to slide across the dirt like a snake. It was ever so gradually getting smaller. The pinecone pelt of silver plates also starts to retract, each individual hunk of metal falling down into a neat orderly pattern of scales that bloom with teal color as they shrank. The claws and thick digging paws lose their weight.

Just like she claimed, she was changing back in her sleep.

Spooky

He sat up, not wanting to fall back on her as she reverted back to fish-person form. It was kind of fascinating to watch, though realizing she might be cold and didn't seem to have any clothes left save for the scraps that had been caught in her plates, he took the blanket and draped it over her shrinking form once she was small enough for it to cover.

Not wanting to wake her, though, in case it would make her change back again or something, he moved to sit back against the dirt wall instead, blinking out towards the bright light filtering in from the entrance now that the tail was no longer blocking it out.

Mystic

The blanket proved to be necessary, as the shivering started back up once the coat of fur diminished. All the fluff was replaced by more, tinier scales of varying teal shades, that did absolutely nothing to block out the winter cold.

Perhaps the most drastic change was the profile of the head, which remained visible outside of the blanket. Pointed snout and animal muzzle draw back into a humanoid jaw line and facial features, with several of the silver plates on the head turning back into plant-mimicry 'hair'. The ears, though, remain mostly the same, shrinking just a little to lose some of the pointiness.

By the time the changes stopped, she was-

-well damn she was smaller than him, actually. Now that he wasn't running in terror or getting ambushed from a pond, she was tiny in profile. The blanket covered most of her, but curled up underneath it, she took up less real estate than he remembered doing. He couldn't tell her actual height on the ground like this, but still. Small.

...what now?

Spooky

A part of him wondered if he should stick around, but... It kinda didn't feel right to just leave. He hadn't expected her to be this small and... He knew nothing about whatever her species was, but he knew humans didn't handle cold as well as he did, so if she's anything like that and he left, he would have to leave his blanket behind.

She'd probably handled going back on her own just fine before, but... Fuck. Maybe he should just stay and make sure she at least makes it home safe. He decided to wait until she woke up, so he sat there... and got up and walked around a few times. And tucked the blanket around her a little better so she'd be more comfy and bundled up, trying his best to be gentle. And paced around a bit more. And peeked out of the entrance briefly to make sure the coast was clear. He looked at the sky, to make sure that was clear too. Then finally, returned to the back wall of the burrow when the cold bothered him too much.

Mystic

…he ends up waiting a while longer before a response is finally forthcoming.

The fish lady grunts, sitting up. She rubs at her face, letting out a shaky sigh. Her bones crack as she stretches, settling back into their proper places. They had to change to accommodate the different body build, and it felt awful and satisfying at the same time to fix them.

She turns her head to look around, and spots the kid fidgeting next to her on the ground.

”Oh- you stayed,” she mumbles. ”Kinda figured you’d leave, I guess. That’s sweet of you.”

Sliding her legs into a sitting position, she glances down at the blanket.

”…Might need to wash this, it’s got dirt all over. Your pillow, too, if you have it.”

With a huff, she gets up, wrapping the blanket like a shawl around herself as she stands next to him, expectant.

“Come on, let’s go get warm. You’re hungry, right? And I’m done being cold in a hole in the ground. I bet you are, too.”

Spooky

He blinked. Wash? Wasn't quite sure what that meant, but he was, with utmost certainty, hungry.

He did have his pillow with him too, though currently it was behind him, flopped against the dirt wall while he had been moving around and trying to keep watch. Getting to his feet, he went over to pick it up, hugging it against his chest and resting his chin on it as he looked down at her. Yeah, by the looks of it that pillow had definitely seen better days.

He gave her a small nod, ready to follow her back.

Mystic

Nodding, she turns on her heel and starts walking up the slope of the burrow. Her feet sink into the earth, leaving webbed footprints like a duck. They exit back out into the snow, their breath visible in the cold air. It’s not as obvious or impressive as the steam that puffs out of his mouth, but that just goes to show it was far too cold for either of them to stay outside.

“Changing in the winter is the worst,” she grumbles, thinking out loud to fill the silence. “Especially outside. I can’t fit through my own front door without damaging it, so I have to stall for time in a den until it goes away. Sucks. But at least I’m not wild and rabid- I was worried I’d lose myself eventually. Haven’t had anything like that yet, so I’m hopeful. I probably would have been caught a long time ago, if I did.”

They reach the edge of the road, and she crosses without hesitation, reaching the snow-covered lawn and examining the moved box and empty plate. She gives a woeful smirk.

“Guess I wasn’t as good at hiding it as I thought,” she shrugs. “I was in a hurry, I thought I heard a mail truck or something coming down the road.”

Kneeling down, the fish lady starts picking up the tatters of cloth that had been left behind, tucking them into her arms. Standing back up, she begins climbing the porch, fumbling around under a plant pot for something.

“Come on- I’ll turn the heater on, so it won’t be freezing.”

Spooky

He listened to her talk as they headed back. It sounded pretty scary to change, and he wasn't sure what 'rabid' was, but he nodded. He could definitely understand the fear of getting caught.

He was more hesitant to cross the road than she was, but after a brief pause he hurried after her to catch up. Once they were in the yard, he went over to the steps where the empty disc was and sat there as the fish lady gathered the remaining cloth scraps off the ground, glancing at her in confusion as he overheard her talking.

Male truck?

Before he could attempt to further ponder the genders of vehicles, however, she moved past him on the porch and retrieved... Something from under the plant pot, that she used to open the door.

He had been prepared to sit out there and wait for food, but when it became clear she was inviting him in, he looked back at her with wide eyes.

While before he probably would've been more reluctant, the cold was definitely getting to him by this point... He stood shivering on the path by the stairs, clutching his pillow close to himself and looking at the house with its darkened windows as he took a few moments to consider. He didn’t have a good track record with being inside buildings, after all… But finally, he made his way up the steps to the door, peeking inside before giving her another glance, as if to ask if she was really sure she wanted him to come in.

She didn't seem to have any objections, though, so… Cautiously, he stepped over the threshold and went inside.

~*~

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New reader? You can start here!

[tinycoded360]

JoJo's Big Adventure Chapter 2

Doctor McCoy, meanwhile, took a sip of his drink, lost in his thoughts. He glanced down, his brow furrowing as he noticed something strange – a three-inch girl, desperately trying to avoid being trampled by the oblivious patrons. Intrigued, he set down his glass and stood up, his towering figure casting a shadow over the minuscule girl. Shocked by the sight, he blinked several times, wondering if it was a trick of the dim lighting or perhaps one too many drinks.

Joanna's heart raced as she saw the giant hand reaching for her. Panic set in, and she tried to run away, but her legs simply couldn't carry her fast enough. She was caught between her father's finger and thumb, and before she knew it, she was lifted toward his face. Mccoy's eyes widened in shock, but he didn't recognize Joanna as his daughter in her shrunken state.

"Gotcha," he said softly, as he stared at her dangling between his thumb and finger.

Joanna's racing heart was briefly calmed by relief at being saved from the chaos below. But this relief was soon overshadowed by a new fear. She was now eye-to-eye with her giant father, who didn't seem to recognize her. As she opened her mouth to speak, her voice came out as a shaky whisper, drowned out by the noise of the bar.

"Unbelievable," Doctor McCoy murmured, examining the tiny girl in his hand with wonder. He had no idea who she was (although she looks strangely familiar, but he couldn’t grasp why in his current intoxicated state) or where she had come from – but he knew that he couldn't just leave her there, defenseless in this world of giants.

"Extraordinary," he murmured, holding her gently despite his initial shock.

Joanna wanted so desperately to tell him everything - about the alien, the ray gun, and her perilous journey just to find him. But as she opened her mouth to speak, she found herself too scared to make a sound. Instead, she simply stared up at him with pleading eyes, praying that somehow, he would understand.

"Can you speak?" Doctor McCoy asked softly, his eyes filled with concern. Joanna hesitated before nodding her head, still unable to force her vocal cords to cooperate. As Dr. McCoy held Joanna in his hand, he couldn't help but marvel at her minuscule size. Even the lines of worry etched into her tiny face were barely discernible. He brought her closer to his face, squinting as if trying to comprehend this anomaly that had found its way into his life.

"Who are you?" he slurred, a hint of alcohol lingering in his breath. Joanna's eyes widened with fear as she squeaked out a response. "Dad, it's me, Joanna!" But her voice was no louder than a whisper, lost within the din of the bar. Dr. McCoy continued to examine the tiny girl, his fingers dwarfing her delicate limbs. Her arms were barely thicker than a matchstick, and her hand was smaller than the tip of his pinky. He gently poked at her arm, fascinated by her fragile appearance.

"Must be the damn alcohol," Dr. McCoy muttered, squinting at the tiny girl in his hand as if trying to decipher whether she was real or just a figment of his imagination. "Or an alien trick." He eyed her suspiciously, his brow furrowed with confusion.

Joanna, meanwhile, was growing increasingly fearful. She could tell by the glaze in her father's eyes that he was drunk, and with each gentle poke from his massive fingers, her heart raced faster and faster. It was bad enough that he didn't recognize her; now she worried about what might happen if she remained in his grasp while he was inebriated.

"Please, Dad, it's me!" Joanna cried out again, but her voice remained barely audible, lost amid the cacophony of the bar. Cold sweat broke out on her tiny forehead, and her heart hammered in her chest. She knew she was completely at the mercy of her colossal father, who towered above her like a skyscraper.

"Please, Dad, please," she whispered, tears streaming down her face as she reached out towards him with her tiny, trembling arms. But her words remained unheard, drowned out by the sound of laughter and clinking glasses around them.

"Aw, poor thing," Dr. McCoy said, noticing her tears. He felt a pang of guilt and brought her closer to his chest, cradling her in one massive hand. Joanna could smell the overpowering scent of alcohol on his breath, only adding to her anxiety. Was he too drunk to help her? To even recognize her?

Gently, Dr. McCoy stroked her head and back with the tip of his finger, cooing softly at her in an attempt to calm her down. "Shh, don't cry now, little one. I won't hurt ya."  he cooed softly, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder.

Joanna clung to the fabric of her father's shirt, feeling its rough texture against her tiny fingers. With each stroke of his finger, she tried to fight back her tears and focus on the comforting sensation of being held by her father, even if he didn't recognize her. But the unsettling scent of alcohol lingered in the air, a constant reminder of the precarious position she was in.

As Doctor McCoy held the tiny girl close, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something familiar about her. He just couldn't put his finger on what it was - not yet anyway.

Joanna's heart pounded as she clung tightly to the fabric of her father's shirt, her tiny fingers gripping onto the threads for dear life. She could feel his warm breath wash over her, and each time he spoke, the vibrations sent shivers down her spine. As her tears slowly subsided and her breathing steadied, she cautiously glanced upwards at the colossal face of her father, who regarded her with a mixture of bewilderment and curiosity.

"Alright, little one," Dr. McCoy grumbled, still staring down at her. "I need to sort this out later, but for now, you're coming with me." He maneuvered his hand over his chest pocket, and Joanna felt her stomach lurch as she was unceremoniously dropped inside. The sudden darkness enveloping her only served to heighten her anxiety, and she struggled to find purchase and balance against the lining of the pocket. The sounds of the busy starbase were muffled, but the overwhelming scent of alcohol still lingered, a potent reminder of her giant father's intoxicated state. She tried to steady herself against the swaying fabric, but every step her father took sent tremors through her tiny body, making it nearly impossible to find balance.

As Doctor McCoy went about his evening, he remained acutely aware of the delicate life nestled within his pocket. He took care to move more slowly and deliberately than usual, ensuring that his precious cargo wasn't jostled too harshly. Every now and again, he would slip a finger into the pocket, stroking Joanna's back with the gentlest of touches. The sensation startled her each time, causing her to flinch and cling tighter to the fabric surrounding her. Though his intention was to offer comfort, he couldn't help but find her reaction amusing.

"Easy there, little one," he whispered, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Joanna couldn't help but flinch at the unexpected touch, her heart skipping a beat as she felt the weight of the giant finger against her back. And though she knew her father was only trying to console her; she couldn't shake the overwhelming terror that accompanied each brush of his massive hand. It was a constant reminder of just how precarious her situation had become. But with each gentle stroke of his finger, she found herself slowly succumbing to the comfort it provided.

[gaymoustache]

i'm really looking forward to reading what you're working on sounds very interesting... can't wait ! of course it would be very nice to read the draft you have!!!

Thank you! Sorry I meant to post this earlier but time slipped away from me. Here is a snippet from the draft, which is inspired by Joni Mitchell’s album “The Hissing of Summer Lawns,” and various other influences, especially Harry’s lyricism on his past two albums. Hope you like it.

Centerpiece

Everytime Louis was in bed with him, he would brush away the crust from the corners of his eyes and kiss the soft scruff above his lips and say, “You’re alright?” And Harry would mumble, “Yes,” and he would kiss his lips and say, “I love you, H,” and Harry would smile a real smile and say, “I love you too… more…” and fall asleep before they exchanged any other words.

And he would wake up in that state again— a dream. Laying back on the bed, he feels light as a feather, as if he is part of the cotton gingham sheets, a ghost kicking his legs up and letting the fabric puff up and fall gently back onto his naked body. Flesh and bones feel lighter this way. When he sits up he’s a plant growing, propagating itself, limbs stretching out from his body like vines and leaves. It’s daylight afterall, a blue London morning, and Harry feels nothing in his chest of dread like he sometimes does when he’s awake.

In this flowery state of mind, he drifts down the stairs to the kitchen, where Louis would be cooking horrendous pancakes and pretending like he was doing something right. Harry, in fuzzy pale pink slippers shaped like bunny rabbits, which match the hot pink carpet of his stairs. His hair brushes the tops of his shoulders like how it used to feel years go, back when he finished growing it out, when he still felt like a kid.

He could never fully decipher how it could all feel so real. The soft touch of his feet pressing into the hardwood floors, the carpet on the stairs, brushing his fingers through his long hair, holding his body in his hands like it hasn’t changed since 22. Smelling the butter and eggs from the butchered breakfast, touching and feeling Louis’s warmth and hearing his morning voice.

“G’morning,” he says, sliding a final misshapen pancake onto a ready-made stack of them, and like a movie the motion seemed practiced.

“Hi,” Harry greets, smiling when Louis wraps his arms around his waist and kisses his cheek.

“Don’t you look lovely this morning,” Louis rasps, nose tickling his neck. That's something Harry’s brain recognizes from real life— this feeling of domesticity. It’s familiar. It’s never gone away. “How'd you sleep, hm?” Kissing his collarbone, making the hair on his arms stand up.

“Alright.” Harry doesn’t say, I’m sleeping right now, though he’s aware of it, just dimly aware of it.

“Y’magazine came in the mail.” Louis lets Harry go, arm slipping off from around his middle to gesture at the end of the countertop, where an issue of House and Garden lay wrapped up in its plastic still.

Am I a wife again? Harry wonders briefly, but answers his own thoughts by looking down at his body, which looks almost the same as it always does. Less muscly, maybe. His arms, tattooed and big around the biceps when he bends them, but delicate around the wrists and hands. And every time he looks down at his legs they look how they always do: thin, long, tan like matchsticks. A gap between them, knees often knocked together on impulse. His shoulders are still broad from the back when he takes the chance to look in a mirror in the next room, to see himself fully in this new, complete form. Himself, but not really himself. An idealized version of it, like how his body sometimes feels when he’s done meditating for an hour.

Some part of him helplessly hoped that it would be a recurring dream, waking up in this world as a woman like the first time he started having them. Feeling it as a real, genuine thing, not just some daydreams he conjured when he was too confused to articulate what he really wanted.

Despite not being a female as he half-expected he would be when he drifted off to sleep, he still feels different in this body than the one that rests, unshowered in his and Louis’s bed. He feels clean, lighter, without a weight on his shoulders that he’s been trying to shrug off since the tour ended. What he really liked about feeling a new body was his face. He touched it obsessively, feeling the softness of his cheeks. In real life, he hasn’t had the energy to shave in days. Here, he has only the softness of the skin of a peach, that soft skin above his lip— brownish-blonde hair he didn't mind seeing and feeling. Other times in this dream state, he’d be completely smooth, with not even the ghost of it there. His cheeks seemed fuller, jaw softer, the consequences of finally eating real food, made from home. Maybe that would happen in real life, he thought, when he woke up again.

After eating the pancakes Harry’s body drifts back over to the magazine, gliding in his slippers over the kitchen floor. The cover—a photograph of open French windows that lead to a glowing patio— sticks in his mind like its pages were gluey. He lays it out flat on the table as Louis washes the dishes behind him. Fingers brushing over the glossy paper, flicking until he finds a spread of a flowery garden. A saturated meadow, green Technicolor fields, and a set of white wicker chairs and tables sitting right in the center of it all. And a girl who looks just like him, with hair just as long, drinking from a tea cup of china. Watching the kids play in the yard.

When he finishes loading the dishwasher, Louis settles warm hands on Harry’s waist. Kissing his neck, whispering words into his ear about making love, having children. Things they wanted. Things they could do on this time off, until one of them inevitably had to leave again.

Harry leans back into the warm touch, into his bed, burrowing himself in the dream as long as he could if only to bask in the feeling of himself living a life he’d wanted for too long.

[unfriendlyamazon]

beauty and the beast (role swap | ever after)

i was hoping to have more of this done and edited for @joukaiweek but i’m happy to share part 1 for today’s prompt!

Title: Beauty and the Beast Rating: T Characters: Jounouchi Katsuya, Kaiba Seto, Kawai Shizuka Word Count: 3990 Warnings: Discussion of Illness, Allusions to Gozaburo Summary:

...

Jou shivered as the sky above him darkened. It was only in glimpses above the the canopy of trees, whose thin limbs twisted up into shaking branches. A winter wind rolled against his back, and his foot slipped on the path beneath him. He gasped but caught himself, hugging his bag tight to his chest. The forest floor was thick with knotted roots and large rocks that had rolled down from the mountains. Every tree rustled in the wind, and he occasionally caught the glimpse of yellow eyed creatures that skittered away. There was no proper path through the forest. He’d started on the winding dirt road that led from his home in the city to the small countryside house his sister resided in. The bag he carried held more than just a few coins and a change of clothes. Nestled within was her medicine. He’d hoped to cut three days off his journey by traveling straight through the trees, and he’d quickly learned why no one did that. Too far to turn back, Jou forged on.

As usual, he was in a mess of his own making. If he’d stayed on the path, if he hadn’t listened to the old man with the map, if he had heeded the gossip from the other travelers who avoided the forest and never traveled at night. His sister stayed in the country with their mother for her health, to strengthen her weakening lungs and eyes. But without her doctor, things had only gotten worse. So he clutched the small bottle of blue pills that were supposed to help her and started the journey alone. It’d cost him so much money to get them, money he didn’t know if he could pay back, but if it was for Shizuka, he would do it. No matter the cost.

He wasn’t so noble that he didn’t regret the first patter of rain that made its way through the treetops. A freezing droplet hit his face, and Jou swore out loud. The ground was already so hard to walk, and now the rocks would be slick, and the darkness would be all the deeper. He needed shelter, and quickly. As cold rain scattered around him, he pushed through the trees and the brush. There had to be something. A boulder he could sit beneath, or a hollowed out trunk.

And then, in the distance, a light.

Jou thought he’d dreamed it at first. But it swayed between the trees, a distant point waving back and forth. It was warm, and golden, and he didn’t think twice as he shoved on. His foot slipped again, and he clung to tree trunks, branches, and was nearly crawling towards the single sign of safety. Rain soaked through his shirt, and he was shivering as his hands felt the brick wall that stopped him. He squinted through the rain. Dark gray stone was covered in large vines that twisted over iron spikes nailed into the top. His hand traveled down it like a guiding path, leading him to a lantern that swung in the wind. Its yellow flame could barely stay lit against the wind. His teeth chattered, and his palm brushed against a plaque. His fingertips traced the characters there, and he mouthed the name: KAIBA.

The gate groaned as Jou pushed against it. Through the gloom, he could see what had once been a garden. Tree roots pushed up dark soil, and what had been a pond was murky and green. Vines climbed over the wooden walls of a tall structure. Doors were cracked, the silk of the shoji fluttering in the wind, and wooden beams sticking out. No one had lived here in a long time. An empty shelter was still shelter, and Jou didn’t hesitate to race across the front path and dive into the engawa. He forced his way through the sliding door and stepped into the dark room.

His breath puffed white, and his fingers shook as he removed his matchsticks. Another lantern sat near the door, this one with oil in it. The heat was an instant blessing. The wood floors were cracked, with large tendrils of spiked leaves bursting up from beneath. Zaisu chairs had been tossed aside, the pillows torn, and there’d been a low table fixed with a teapot and clay cups, each now filled with muddy water. Rain leaked in from the roof above, but on his hands and knees Jou found an irori. Ash filled the stone recess, but a few unburnt sticks remained. Hands shaking, he managed to light the hearth. Low red light pulsed from the floor, but it was enough to warm his hands and wring out his clothes. For the first time since he began his journey, Jou sat back and relaxed.

The rain shuddered outside in silver sheets, and thunder cracked across the forest. Once night set in, the forest was only inky blackness. Jou hugged his legs to his chest, too scared to explore the manor more for any blankets or mats. His eyes closed, longer with each slow blink, until he curled onto the floor in front of the hearth. The rain began to slow, leaving the hollow pattering against the wood structure, and the crackling of the fireplace.

Something clattered on the floor, and his eyes opened wide.

It was still night, still black outside. Jou breathed in and out as he listened. Some other creature might’ve found shelter here, or he’d stumbled onto something’s lair. There was the silken sound of something moving across the wood, and a gentle clack like something hard hitting the wood. The hearth had started to die, the final pieces of kindling barely holding onto the fire. Slowly, Jou lifted his head and slid his hand into his pack. He removed the knife he carried and held it at his side.

Shadows flickered against the walls, dim and hard to make out. He jumped as something moved again, and one of the clay cups rolled across the floor. He saw something slither into the shadows. A snake then. Probably searching for heat. He waited, staring into the darkness, goosebumps rolling up his spine and raising the hair on his arms. There was something there. Its shape swam among the shadows, but he could see something in the archway. The fireflight caught a brief glimmer, and he felt eyes.

Jou swallowed thick. Struggling to find his voice, he spoke aloud: “Is this your home?”

The shadows wove visions, and he couldn’t tell what was in front of him and what was his imagination. He thought he saw fingers move, or claws.

“I’ll only stay the night,” he said. “You won’t see me past morning.”

The floor creaked and grown, and the same soft sound slid across the wood. A heavy sound jolted him, but then the air was still. Whatever had been there was gone. Animal, or something else, Jou wasn’t sure. He stayed staring at the doorway until dawn.

Jou dozed through the first inklings of pink light. The air was still cold, but the breeze carried on it a sweet smell that stirred him. He woke again and saw the hearth renewed, fresh logs tossed into the irori for a larger fire. Over it, someone had hung a pot on the hook, and a sweet smelling rice filled it. The table had been set with a bowl and a fresh pot of tea. He accepted the hospitality and ate until his belly was full. In the daytime, he could better see the state of the manor. Parts of its walkways had completely fallen apart, leaving open trails of destruction that cut off parts of the house from the other. The garden had grown in, and the pond had overflowed on the east side of the house. Green water surrounded the engawa. Flecks of gold and white told him the koi had lived on, long after anyone had stopped caring for them.

Jou did his best to keep his promise. He checked his bag and crossed it over his chest. Out in the overgrown garden, he could see statues left behind. The soft round shapes of Jizō and komainu, along side more complex figures wearing flowing fabric. Vines and moss grew over them all, and they sunk into the ground. Jou paused as he came to a wall of flowers. Pink buds curled in their bed of leaves, but a few white roses had started to open to greet the morning. He marveled at them. Roses were uncommon here, and Shizuka’s own garden cultivated camellias and peonies. His eyes traveled across the vines, until he saw a white rose fully bloomed, its petals large and beautiful. They waved like ocean waves and smelled so sweet. Jou reached into the garden and snapped the stem. Taking one more breath, he nestled it into his bag.

All at once he heard a roar.

Jou shouted, it startled him so badly. Birds flew up from the distant room of the manor, where a thunderous sound staggered him back. Jou turned and ran to the gate where he’d entered last night, where the vines grew thick around the iron, and as he grasped it he shouted again. Thorns studded the greenery, slashing his palms. He tried to find a place to grab that didn’t hurt him, but the garden had turned malicious. Heavy wind sounded behind him. Whatever was coming was coming quickly. With nowhere else to go, Jou turned back to the house, running past where the irori had cooled down to embers, and the pot of rice had been tossed aside. He forced open a sliding door that led to another open walkway that passed over green water. The lilies trembled and the wood frame shuddered. Heavy claws scraped the awning overhead, a dark shadow passing over the water. Jou launched himself at the door at the end of it and slid to a stop as he came to an open hall. Doors on each side, some with tattered wood blocking their path, and a tall white staircase that curved up. Carved onto its rail were dragons, their mouths open with their teeth extended, and their tails twisted up behind them. Every wall was covered in painted silk, depicting blood red blossoms against white snow. Daylight peeked in from broken beams, but the cavernous hall was a mix of shadow and light. Charms overhead clattered as something landed on the floor above him. No way but forward. Jou stopped, and he braced himself. Whatever creature was here, he had no choice but to face it.

“How,” a deep and heavy voice rang, “dare you!”

A gust of wind knocked Jou onto his back. A shadow passed overhead, and he looked up, just as the creature descended on him. Jou shouted, tossing up his arms, but he only felt the heavy weight of its scaled body, and the heat of its maw. Barking, rasping, teeth filled words rained down on him.

“I have shown you hospitality,” the creature said. “I showed you kindness. And how do you repay me?”

A single hooked claw pulled at his pack. Jou yelled, but the fabric tore, sending its contents onto the floor. The knife bounced away, along with his last few coins. The white rose floated out and landed on his chest. He didn’t care. The small bottle of blue pills was the last to fall, hitting the wood floor. A hundred demons could’ve been on Jou, but he turned away from the beast, grasping desperately before it could get away. A large clawed paw slammed down on his hand, and he cried out in pain. But the tip of the claw had stopped the bottle. The creature eyed it curiously with wide, ice blue eyes.

“What is this?” it growled.

“It’s for my sister,” Jou said. “It’s medicine.”

The creature pause, letting out a low growling breath. After a moment, it said, “For her you took the rose.”

“I didn’t think you would care,” Jou said.

“Don’t presume what I do and do not care for.” The beast’s heavy breath blew out. Its weight left Jou, and its claw scraped the bottle back into his grasp. “You have insulted me. After I’ve shown such kindness.”

Jou gripped the bottle in his palm, relief blooming in his chest. With his prize safe, he turned to the creature. “I picked a rose. It’s not exactly a capital crime.”

“Don’t get smart with me!” The beast was back on him, teeth snapping an inch from his face. Jou didn’t flinch. “You took what wasn’t offered! I should devour you now.”

Jou squeezed his fist tight. “You can do whatever you want with me, after I get this to my sister. She’ll only get sicker without it.”

Another pause. He could feel the ice blue eyes on him, staring him down like a snake does a mouse. Its body drew back, and for the first time he got a proper look at the beast. Like the dragons on the staircase, its face was long with a snake-like neck. White scales glistened beneath tufts of blue fur that dragged down its curved spine. Shags of hair covered an almost wolf-like body, scales flattening the underbelly. Long front arms had it sit on all fours with clawed fingers curling into the wood, and the back legs were bent like a dog’s. A long white tail curled around the creature. Two feathered wings folded against its spine, and a set of antlers lifted off its head, curving back. It was a creature unlike any Jou had seen before, large and imposing. With the white stairs behind it, it looked king of this castle.

“You’re right,” the creature said, a deep voice rumbling from within its snake neck. “It is not a capital crime. I won’t kill you.”

“Kind of you,” Jou muttered.

“But you’ve stolen my property,” it said, nodding to the rose. “An act of brazen theft. I will allow you the chance to work it off.”

Jou grimaced. “I’d rather you just eat me.”

The creature smiled, its wide jaw stretching back. It made him shiver.

“Come with me,” it said.

Standing back on its bent legs, the creature moved to one of the entryways. It glanced back at Jou, who came to his feet. He pocketed the bottle, and then, just to be brassy, he took the rose.

A stone walkway led to another part of the garden. Here, the pond poured out into a more proper lake. Stone arches rose out of it, the structure that was once there long crumbled. Some glass still remained in the windows, and statues rose up from the water like drowning animals reaching for their last salvation. A large stone window looked out into the lake. It was a perfect circle folding into itself. Silver characters were etched around the circle, and the creature touched them with its claw. The lake through the window wavered, like being viewed through a looking glass.

“I’ll give you three days,” the beast said, bowing its long head. “That will give you time enough to give your gifts to your sister. If you don’t return here by dusk on the third day, I will come after you, and I’ll devour you feet first, and you can wave goodbye to your sister as you die. Does that sound fair?”

“Three days isn’t enough time to travel there and back,” Jou said.

The creature nodded to the window. “This will take you where you want to go. It will be here when you’re ready to come back. You will return here, and pay your debt to me, and I will magnanimously let you live.”

Jou’s shoulders stiffened. “You’re that in need of a maid?”

That grin again. It was a ghoulish thing. “Or a pet. Whatever catches my fancy. Three days. You understand, yes?”

He breathed out. “Yeah. I understand.”

“Good. I’ll hold you to it.”

Jou hesitated, but he reached out a hand and touched the warbling window. It felt like passing through mist. He looked again at the beast.

“Three days,” it said, showing its teeth. “And not a second longer.”

And then Jou stepped through the looking glass.

He half expected to land in the water, and the creature would laugh at its sick joke. But he felt the world shift below him, and suddenly he was standing outside the gate to the village where his sister lived. Jou looked back and saw two trees folded together in the same shape of the window. No castle, no lake, no vines, no roses. He opened his palm, where the white rose had rested. The edges were curled and beaten from how he’d held it, but it was no less real than it had been a few minutes ago.

He could run. He could give Shizuka her medicine and take to the hills. He could cross the ocean or climb to the top of a mountain, where no one would ever find him.

And then the creature might come after Shizuka, or track him anyway. No, he’d made a promise. Jou would fulfill it. It was what he had to do.

...

Shizuka hugged Jou tight when he came to the door. They sat together until their mother came in. She cooked miso, and they didn’t say a word to each other as Shizuka filled the silence with every little thing that had happened since the last time they’d been together. At night he laid on a mat in a cold back room. For a moment, he wished for the hearth of the manor, and he shook it out of his head.

Jou spent his time with his sister. They did chores together, talked, and he hugged her tight when he told her he had to go again. As the sun sunk low on the horizon of the third day, she found him outside, carrying two cups of warm tea. They sipped it quietly as stars dotted the sky.

“You don’t have to go,” she said. “I know how mom is but–”

“It’s not her,” Jou said. “I have to go back. I’ve got debts to pay.”

She looked down into her teacup. Tucked behind her left ear was the white rose, still in bloom.

“I’m always worried you won’t come back,” she said.

“I will,” he promised. “You know I will.”

She smiled at him, though it was sad, and rested her head on his shoulder. They finished their tea, and he kissed her cheek, and then as the last rays of light touched the treetops, he said goodbye.

Jou crossed through the curved trees and stepped through. The same falling sensations brought him to the other side, the water behind him. Dark made long shadows fall from the trees like reaching limbs. The water gurgled, and small fireflies flittered by like moving stars. The night was cold and silent. He let out a breath as he saw the manor in front of him, and overhead he heard the slither of scales. He turned around and jumped at the sight of the creature curled around the stone window. It slid forward to meet him.

“You returned,” the beast said. “Good. I don’t have to eat you.”

It bared its teeth in a grin. Jou did the same back.

“I’m at your service,” he said. “Whatever the price of a rose.”

“More than you think.” The beast moved close to him, heated breath against his face. Blue eyes watched him for a moment, and then it stalked back towards the manor. “It’s already getting late.”

Jou glanced back towards the stone and the lake. Night set in faster here. He raced behind the beast.

Lanterns now lit the halls of the manor, some hanging loosely from hooks, others just left on the floor. Cold pressed in from the open roof, but the light helped stave it off. There were more sections of the manor, rising up along the rocks as though climbing the mountain. More painted silk decorated the walls. One mural showed blue herons in flight across the water. Another showed the mountain painted in black and surrounded by cherry blossoms. The staircase curved up, but the creature curled up at its base, daring him to move past.

“I’m not unkind,” the beast said, tapping its clawed hand against the stone steps. “You’ll have a room, and food. I won’t have my new servant die.”

“Jounouchi,” he said. The creature blinked at him. “Jounouchi is my name. I’m not your servant.”

“We’ll see,” it said.

Jou’s lip twisted, and he shook his head. “And what should I call you?”

The creature lifted its long head and leaned in close to stare at him. He didn’t back down from the glare. Lifting back onto its hind legs, it stood proud and regal, wings stretched out.

“I am prince of this castle,” it said. “This is my domain. All here are beneath me.”

“King Kaiba,” Jou said with a mock bow.

The creature’s feathers bristled. “How do you know that name?”

“It’s the name on the gate,” he said. “Unless you ate them too.”

Its teeth bore back in a grimace. “I did not. No, I’m inheritor of this estate. The last Kaiba bore me up. I am his final curse.”

“Then,” Jou said, “this is your home. This was your family.”

“In the strictest sense.”

The beast’s stance had gone from regal to tense. The wings folded back, the tail curled tight. Jou looked closer at the creature’s face. The eyes, blue eyes, seemed so cold, but now he could see something almost human. It–he must’ve sensed his searching gaze. The beast turned his head away.

“I’m tired of this conversation,” he said. “You can rest tonight. With sunrise, your work begins.”

“What about–”

“And don’t bother me.”

Before Jou could add anything else, the beast raised its wings and pushed off to the floor above. His tail disappeared into the tattered wooden planks, and he could only hear his creaking weight against the beams. Jou took a step onto the stairs, looking up, but he couldn’t see anything in the dark. Kaiba had made things clear. He was sequestered down here, while the beast could go where it pleased.

Jou opened the doors he could. There was a bed made up for him, simple but not uncomfortable. The kitchen was huge, with a fire started that didn’t quite reach the edges of the room. There were fresh bags of rice and simple vegetables, enough to make a meal out of. Jou’s stomach was in knots, and they only grew tighter as he took inventory of what he had. His host had prepared for him to stay a long time.

There was a room to bathe, though the water came from the pond around them, and Jou wasn’t ready to trust. A half-shuttered door was impossible to open, but he could peek a tea room through it. A long corridor came to a shoin where the shelves had been knocked aside. Scrolls and statues littered the floor, long ruined by weather. In most rooms, the doors and walls were torn apart by the nature around them. Tree limbs burst in and grew to the ceiling. Water grew higher where floorboards had sunken in, and wood beams fell against doors, making them impossible to force open. Jou’s exploration earned him little. He returned the hearth and rested his head beside it. Overhead, he could hear the movement of the house in the wind. Was it the beast that crawled around? Was he watching him now? How quickly would he tire of his new toy and, when he did, would Jou be allowed to leave?

Jou closed his eyes and thought of Shizuka. He’d promised her he’d return. No beast would stand between him and fulfilling that promise. He was absolutely sure of that.

[fissions-chips]

cat and mouse

(tiny jon AU- tw for violence and injury)

   “Oh?~”

   Jon paled as the shadow fell over him, stumbling back against the desk as a sinister grin and pink-tinted glass suddenly filled his vision- mismatched eyes widened as the figure leaned down to his level, Valentine’s head tilting in lupine fashion as he whispered. 

   “Oh… oh my god. Look at you.”

   His voice, even hushed, echoed in Jon’s ears, and the little man staggered back, heart pounding in his chest. Suddenly, something pressed to his back, and he found his retreat blocked by one huge hand, thumb and forefinger seizing him by the middle and lifting him into the air. 

   “What a predicament you’ve found yourself in, Jon-“ Valentine purred, voice tinged with baffled amusement, watching as Jon flailed about between his fingers- idly, he curled the rest around the tiny man, Jon letting out a frightened sound that reminded him of the squeak of a mouse. “You’re so cute.”

   Almost absentmindedly, he pressed the nail of his thumb against Jon’s neck, a frantic, rabbit-fast pulse hammering beneath it. Jon yelped, the other man’s grip suddenly shifting around him, tightening. A low chuckle filled the air as Valentine lifted Jon closer to his face, eyes glittering with something sinister as he watched the other begin to struggle. 

   “So… delicate. I could just-“ 

   Jon gasped, the air suddenly squeezed from his lungs by ring-clad fingers- sharp, splintering pain raced down his body, his ribs crumpling in his chest and his limbs threatening to snap like matchsticks. “Val-“ he tried to choke out, the sound trickling off into a strangled whine as the nail’s edge pressed to his throat broke skin. “S… Stop-“ 

   Another hand joined the first, circling Jon’s shoulders and skull and squeezing- the little man’s voice, pitifully small, broke off into a tiny, choked gasp. Valentine’s odd eyes were wide and unblinking, staring down at his hands and the figure trapped between them. Break him, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind. Break every bone in his stupid little body and feel him die.

   He could feel the crush of ribs and he could feel the bruising of flesh and he could feel the way Jon’s struggles started to fade, thin chest heaving a little less each time beneath his fingers. In his mind, he could picture Jon’s eyes rolling back beneath their lids and his head falling to the side- he had dreamed of it countless times, he had seen it happen before. Bright teeth gold and gleaming as the other gasped for air, dark blue irises breaking up like water poured into paint. 

   I’m going to kill him.

   Overwhelmed by the violent impulse coursing through him, Valentine only watched as his hands shook with effort. Jon’s body twitched between them, falling limp- his heart still hammered, but it was faint, and reality suddenly came crashing back to him. 

   “I’m… getting ahead of myself.” He muttered, something a little like hysteria in his voice- and then, he let go.

   Jon dropped like a stone, hitting the desk with a quiet thud. For several moments, he didn’t move- crouching down once more, Valentine’s brow lifted, and he reached out a hand to seize the tiny figure once more. 

   “You’d better not be dead-“ he called out. “Because if you are… I’m about to make sure of it.” 

   Just as his fingers brushed Jon’s shoulder, there was a thin, strangled sound. The little man shifted, and began to cough, his whole body shaking with the force of it. Weakly, he tried to rise up onto his arms, limbs trembling, and sank back onto his stomach. It took him several tries. When he finally made it to his feet, he staggered back, still half-stunned from the drop. 

   “Careful.” 

   Valentine’s hand blocked him from the edge once more, and Jon flinched as he brushed the other man’s fingers, falling down against the desk with a yelp. As soon as his back met the wood, Jon shrieked, pain spiraling down his body like an electric current. “G-get away from me!” He hissed, eyes wide with terror. “Don’t touch me!” 

   His whole body was shaking. Valentine leaned closer, eyes glittering with cruel amusement as Jon scrambled to get further from him. A dark, ugly bruise was beginning to form beneath where his thumb had pressed to Jon’s throat- Valentine could imagine that the rest of his body would look similar before too long. “Don’t be silly,” he muttered, plucking Jon up once more by his middle. The little man shrieked, but all it took was a slight bit of pressure and Jon fell still, trembling. “You don’t want me to do that again, do you?”

   Jon didn’t look at him- instead, he stared straight ahead, shivering. After a moment, he shook his head slightly, and Valentine grinned. 

   “Good.”

   Scooping Jon up into his hand, Valentine began looking around the room, eyes narrowed. Where to put you… He could hardly leave Jon out-and-about while he was at work, and as tempting as the idea was to carry him in his pocket, he didn’t want him to somehow get loose in the commotion. Not when he still had so many wicked little torments to inflict upon his pocket-sized enemy. 

   This is going to be so much fun.

   — — — — —

   “Well, it could be worse.” 

   Jon bristled, but didn’t answer- instead, he drew his knees up to his chest, glaring at the other man through the glass of the jewelry box. 

   “It was a gift, I think?” Valentine had explained, reaching up to pluck it down from his closet shelf with one hand, Jon grasped firmly in the other. “I can’t really recall who I got it from- that happens a lot, I’ll admit.” 

   Jon knew who had given it to him. He knew. And yet, he said nothing- angering the other man would only end with his death, and he was too tired to speak.

   With that, Jon had been unceremoniously dumped inside, the latch clicked shut behind him. It was an old-fashioned thing, all brass hinges and edges, but the glass that made up its panels was crystal clear- despite being trapped, Jon found that he felt horribly exposed. Pressing further back into the corner, he tried his best to ignore the way Valentine was peering into the box to watch him, like some curious animal, and kept his head down. 

   His whole body ached with the memory of the massive hand that had curled around him, nearly snapping him in two. Jon wouldn’t have been surprised if something, his ribs or his shoulder or his hip, had cracked under the pressure- he didn’t want to move enough to find out. 

   What little even footing had existed between him and Valentine was now stripped away entirely. Before, he could fight back, sneer or snap or chase the other away with threats of vengeance. He had given as good as he got- or at least he had liked to think so. Now, he knew that if he tried to speak, the other man would only laugh at how small his voice sounded, and he didn’t want to tempt him into snatching him up again. The glimpse Jon had gotten of Valentine’s face, before the other man had decided to try to crack his skull open, had been… horrifying, on a scale Jon didn’t know how to describe. There wasn’t a word he could come up with for the kind of violence he had seen behind the other man’s eyes. 

   He knew that violence was going to kill him. He just didn’t know when. In his current state, however, Jon knew it was going to hurt.

   “Tomorrow, I’m taking you to research and development,” Valentine hummed, dropping the box none-too-gently onto his bedside table. Jon was sent tumbling across the glass, slamming into the bottom with a hiss- slowly, he picked himself upright, relieved that now, at least, there was the appearance of a solid surface beneath him. “That’s where this happened, right? I’ve got to figure out more about that Koboi crap I picked up, it’s… bizarre. Sci-fi bullshit. You’re lucky you didn’t find the fucking lasers.”

   At least the other didn’t acknowledge his attempted theft- it would have been nothing but a point of hypocrisy. Jon knew ‘Koboi’ wasn’t a name that fit under Phonetix’s umbrella, though he himself couldn’t place it either, try as he might. Taking note of Jon’s suspicious glare, Valentine laughed, pulling a cigarette from his case and lighting it. 

   “Oh, not to fix you- not for all the money in the world, my friend. You’re going to play ‘lab rat’ for the day with one of my scientists- the one who handles less-than-legal developments.” 

   Jon paled. 

   “I hope,” Valentine continued, “That you’re the kind of rat they stick needles in all day.” Taking a drag, he said nothing for a moment.

Jon sank back against the far wall of the box, shivering, staring down at his own shaking hands. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

   Valentine watched from the corner of his eye. After a few moments more, he stretched, before bending down to check that the latch on the box was secure. “Anyways…” He drawled, before tapping on the glass sharply- Jon startled as the sound echoed around him, his ears ringing. 

   “I’m going to work now. I don’t think I need to make any sort of threat- your current position gets the point across, right?” 

   Blinking back at him, Jon sat bewildered as he waited for the echoing to fade- then, sudden anger flooded him. Anger at the other man, anger at his predicament, and anger at the stupid box he was trapped in. Curling his lip in a sneer, Jon flipped the other man off, unsurprised when Valentine only snickered. 

   “There it is- precious spite. The only thing you have left, at the moment.” Standing, Valentine dusted himself off, snuffing out his cigarette on a nearby ashtray. “Try not to let it lead you to do something stupid, okay?”

   Turning, he moved to exit the room, shutting the light off behind him- as his fingers brushed the doorframe, however, he paused, tilting his head behind him to give Jon a warning look. 

   “Or next time, I’m going to break something- permanently. See you tonight, Jon.” 

   With that, he closed the door behind him, and Jon was left alone.

[lycanthology]

you guys will thirst over women that a stiff breeze could blow away forever. matchstick limbs. all of them. wheres the variety wheres the tummy the saggy tits. if i see one more flat stomach im going to start calling peoples mothers

[edbanger7]

Yeah I wanna look like a REAL NORMAL gay man with a PATCHY BEARD and a BEER BELLY I don't wanna be some skinny blonde twink with long eyelashes and tiny tits and with big loose curls and broken glasses aand a waist you can just grab and shake like a soda can and useless matchstick limbs that big faceless guys see and want to take their razor blades and

[pettyelves]

11. someone they have romantic feelings toward (Dealer's choice -- or all of them coward)

💛 With him she sleeps among the stars pressed up against her cheek. And when dawn breaks, all it touches is gold. She has never been loved so kindly. Never been wanted so completely. She needs those hands tangled up in her hair, those arms to shelter her. He's the home that's with her wherever she goes. "Of course it's him," Eilithe says with a chuckle. "Dense sometimes, grouchy others. Stubb--- oh, sorry Resolute always." Her eyes lull shut and her face finds serenity that has not been afforded to her in years. "Whatever time I have left, I want to spend it with him and our family. Bathed in gold." ❤️ He does not need her. It's difficult to bring himself to need anything. But she reminds him so much of still-nights spent in Winterspring, he doesn't tell her those were the hardest days of his life. There, he loved the snow, and watched it settle outside of the window of his confinement. Each flake shivered down off great limbs, and there was peace. There was quiet. "Well, it's like this, buddy," he begins with a chuckle. "I don't think about anyone else. I rarely come to Stormwind for my blood family, it's for her." He sighs and it is almost dreamy. "Think it just amounts to that: it's her." "Sir, this is a Wendy's," the cashier said. 💜 It's lust, it's got to be lust. Twisted-up in knots, lightning rod synapses, a dead butterfly taking flight. It's automatic, written in the code of everything that calls itself people. But they are a hunter. They are only their want and their hunger. But why, but why, but why does she insist that she loves them? "It's weird. I'm not saying it isn't," she confesses. "But they aren't like anyone I've ever known. Sometimes it is sad because they don't know anything about people. And so it scares the hell out of them whenever they find a new emotion. And those times I feel bad, because they wouldn't even be thinking about it if not.." "It's just that even the sad things have made them. The way they stare dully at their work. The way they mock my voice when I say something stupid... the way they take care of me after I'm hurt," she mumbles the last. 🖤 The ground shakes with every stroke of a pen. Never enough words, he'll never have enough words. 'I love you, I love you, I love you.' He writes it in every language he knows. He writes it over pages and onto walls and onto his skin, it's carved there and he hopes that it scars. He does not want to forget it, he wants to burn up in that fire. My god, let him be that last matchstick.

[bad-rper]

Mimiti memey (should the whimsy find you....)

All was still. All was silent.

All was gone. Full-not.

He became Her: embodiment of the Moon. Just as cold and distant he would rise and fall. From her wake to her final grave, a silent pale immanence whose hollow glair bore through the sight of any passing. Any of those who still clung to that side of the veil.

Only snow-still flesh and ice-still stones could find respite. Respite carved out of the world itself, hidden in a lightless length cast over them. Always enough to shadow in the core of the silhouette, in the cradling arms, in the empty womb.

"Never once were you truly alive." Thought-strangled words the shadow that stretched over and held them. "Fleeting breaths and shaken eyes, from that world to this one. All was stolen time, wasn't it? Your bones always with hers. Cannot rue your death you've never died."

"But I still rue this work you've left."

The only warmth was beneath the earth. His soil half burying him, settled in somber silence and twisting limbs. The matchstick had dwindled to less than an ember. The light on the end of those limp sticks from his mouth burned brighter than he could. Nor could the other ask him to. Every meeting of those celestial bodies only withered the suns by another thousand years. 'What a mess you've made of yourself.' The words never left his lips, no matter how much either wished to hear them. This rest had been a struggle to achieve, sacred to be left undisturbed.

Remember what you said that night? -- Didn't want to be left behind again.

That is why the knife had to be thin. Had to be soundless. Had to be warm.

"I won't damn you to suffer alone."

An iron tip to an unkempt throat. Lids shuddered to open. To close as lips met. A gurgle suppressed behind them. Sweetness burbled back into his mouth.

Damn you together.

[helenapsent]

Hi! I saw one of your post abt Thrax! I also absolutly find him to be mesmerizing as well! I was wondering if you had any osmosis jones OCs? If ”yes” what are they like? Their roles? Their personalities? And so on! The oj fandom seems so small compare to the other fandoms out there, so its great to see some people knowing abt osmosis jones !

Hiya~

That's good to hear! As for the OC… I've been thinking about it and I have a couple of images. Alas, I don't have pictures of them, but I can describe them.

These two individuals are viruses of two diseases (I was basing this on the ones I had as a child and teenager):

1) Galago. She is a bacterial angina virus. Her appearance somewhat resembles that of a white sea jellyfish except for some of the limbs (legs, arms, and body). She is tall, thin (almost like a matchstick), has three pairs of eyes, and her face expresses complete unruffledness (in other words, she looks like a person who doesn't care about anything at all). Galago usually wears a long-brimmed hat, a white cape with a high collar, and an austere red dress with gold beads. She can be recognized by the white patina that trails behind her. She doesn't kill leukocytes (she prefers not to mess with them), but if someone catches her eye, Galago will immediately grab the cell and infect it with her breath, causing it to turn into a puddle state and be unable to recover. The Galago's path lies through her mouth, which is also the target of her infection. It covers the tongue with a plaque, then infects the tonsils, inflames the pharynx, and then heads for the throat: it sees fit to destroy it.

Temperament: As I said before, this person doesn't care about anything. She doesn't stand out in any way, you won't see a display of her emotions. She always keeps her self-control toned down. She is cold-blooded, mysterious and cautious. And yet there are times when she can be unhappy: when medication interferes with her mission.

Oh, yes, I'll add one more thing: she is mute and speaks only in sign language. It is impossible to get any sound out of her. At most you will hear a hiss or a wheeze.

2) Nevos. Is a pneumonia virus. Usually appears in case of an air/respiratory-transmitted infection. She has a large branch bundle with an infectious substance on its head. Her eyes are black with yellow pupils, and her mouth is in an unclear shape, either sewn up or slimy. Her skin has an unpleasant yellowish hue. It can resemble a common cage in some way, and it can change its body shape, but it cannot change its appearance like them. Nevos wears a baggy, dark, neon-colored jacket, a dirty-colored top, and a leather skirt. She has ring-shaped earrings sticking out of her ears. She also, like Thrax, has a habit of wearing black glasses. However, unlike him, she prefers not to take them off. Her mission: to infect the lungs. Once she passes into the lungs without any problems, she takes on a certain "tree-like shape". It settles in the trachea, and then stretches its limbs throughout the bronchial ducts, infecting the alveoli. Sometimes with this case, she asks Galago to help her with the distraction, and she does manage this task. But when it comes to "figuring things out" (who took advantage of who, or not) they often start to quarrel on this basis, due to which Galago can either leave the body (this is the bad case) or continue to follow Nevos (this is the good case). As for ordinary white blood cells, Nevos is quite capable of maintaining communication with them. She does not neglect their existence, and at some point she can persuade one of the cells to help her, but if that one eventually figures out the "evil" plans, Nevos will easily devour the cell. Basically, she is known for often devouring ordinary cells in order to sprawl over the bronchi at the expense of their properties.

Temperament: She is quite sociable. Because she is usually in a positive mood, no one can tell if she is a virus or not. However, what can give her away is her sarcasm, because behind her phrase: "lol I'm not deadly" there are disgusting actions (eating cells and infecting alveoli). She's like a ticking time bomb - delaying infection until she's full of cells and suddenly decides to retreat to some safe or desired area. Sometimes she can be overly emotional, which can often hurt her and mess up her relationship with any of the cells, and yet she tries not to let this happen. Also, like Galago, she gets angry about medication interfering with her activities.

Well, I guess that's all I can tell you about them :D perhaps in the future I will depict them, but for now I have only a verbal description 👌