#my intense hatred for that series runs deep in my veins

[butchkaramazov]

on ep4 of hannibal and at this point it's just cis white men with a god complex. i'm so fucking tired

[coloursfalllikesnow]

Here is a Bane I used recently in one of my chronicles that perhaps others might be interested in using - it’s free to use for your chrons.

Coalmouth An ancient spirit that has been changed by the modern day, Coalmouth was created for use in a chronicle in the Appalachian mountains, but is suitable for any location that coal mining is or was common.

Rage 10, Gnosis 8, Willpower 6, Essence 60 Charms: Airt Sense, Materialize (which grants 12 health levels), Realm Sense, Re-form, Blast, Warp Reality*

(*Functions as the Nexus Crawler Warp reality charm in W20 Core, though Coalmouth is limited to affecting the surrounding landscape, such as raising or lowering temperatures or changing patches of earth to pitch, and so on.)

Materialized Stats: Attributes: Strength 5, Dexterity 6, Stamina 5, Perception 4, Intelligence 1, Wits 2 Abilities: Alertness 4, Athletics 4, Brawl 5, Intimidation 4, Primal-Urge 4, Stealth 3

Bans: Coalmouth cannot abide the singing of the domestic canary, and it causes it great pain to be in the vicinity. As well, Coalmouth is weakened by direct sunlight; its Essence is treated as half if led into the sun.

Image: Coalmouth resembles a long, pitch-black serpent as big around as a small car, though several dozen pairs of pointed legs extend down its body like a centipede. Its head is blunt and has three slit-shaped eyes arranged an equal distance apart on the top that glow orange in dim light. Its mouth is a jagged maw of sharp teeth, and when open appears to lead into the depths of a furnace. Its roars are layered over many other noises to an unsettling effect - fire crackling, and the screams of dying miners. It gives off small amounts of smoke and ash when it moves, and radiates heat.

Background: Coalmouth has been known by a number of names by many different people, though the current one is an approximation of the Garou tongue name given to it (represented by the glyphs for "fire", "earth/stone", "poison/disease", and "tooth") in the mid-late 1900s. In days long past, Coalmouth was a remnant of a great and terrible brood of ancient plant-spirits, sealed deep under the earth by parties unknown in the time before the Garou remember. It managed to eventually slip its binds and threaten to escape into the material once again, though the local Pure Tribes sealed it once more under the earth, in a small but twisting series of caverns. And that was that... At least until the coal boom in the Appalachian region, when the rich seams of coal were discovered and dug deep into by the coal companies.

The greed of the coal companies and the suffering of the miners as they toiled all around the coal veins it was sealed into fed Coalmouth better than it could have ever dreamed. The small but slippery spirit grew stronger and stronger, eventually cracking its bindings enough to start roaming around the mine in the Umbra. Following the closure of the mine when the coal boom died down, the bane contented itself will collecting the remains of former mine workers when it could, and attacking any unfortunate kinfolk who would wander near. While its binds were cracked and weak, it was still tethered to the mine, and couldn't roam too far, unfortunately for the beast, and so bides its time.

The weakening of the binds and the lack of upkeep by any Banetenders is likely due to a long-running conflict between two local septs, the feud causing both sides to neglect duties they should otherwise be keeping tabs on. Coalmouth is unaware of these interpersonal conflicts, but benefits from them greatly anyway. The spirit is too powerful to be completely destroyed without great effort, but perhaps if relations could be mended, the bane could be sealed completely once more, or even destroyed by a joint effort.

Storytelling Notes: Coalmouth has an intense hatred of the Changing Breeds but especially their kinfolk, and will attack any it becomes aware of, preferring them to normal humans or other spirits, though it will still attack Garou and Fera if presented with them. The spirit is old and crafty in a primordial, instinctual way, and when not in the presence of any of its Bans will prefer to slither through disused passages of its mine or tunnels of its own making to avoid attackers. It is well aware of the effect sunlight has on it, and will refuse to exit the mine during the day to avoid it, unless bidden to by a greater force.

[midday0nightmares]

28 - prove it.

Previous chapter pry on the weak (m).

m.list.

warnings: this series contains themes of yandere\mafia, blood, violence, mental health, drugs, non-con.

author note: this is pure fiction and it is not intended to romanticize any of the situations mentioned bellow.

Panicked footsteps echos over  the empty hallway walls, moving closer to you.

“sera..” 

It’s jaemin, his voice is unmistakable.

He crouches down in front of you, you don’t at him, “you ok? What happened?” His voices comes out shaky, maybe it’s guilt. 

Your vision blurs with angry tears, his question infuriating you.

you snap when his hands touch you.. “where the hell were you?” the loaded words cut through your throat, he flinch back when you look at him..

His jacket in his hand, the once neat white button down is now torn open missing a button or two, half of it hanging outside of his trousers. His slicked back hair is now a mess, lipstick stains on the side of his neck, he reeks with a feminine perfume mixed with alcohol.. he stutters unable to speak, adding to your rage.

You stand to your feet, refusing his help, your arms warping around yourself “just open the door..” you mutter insults under your breath while wiping your tears strained checks, he press in the code and let you walk in first keeping his head down..

Once your both inside and the door is closed he calls you, 

“Sera wait” he grab your arm, his hold on you is anything but firm.

“No! You left me.. you were with some other girl while I was ..” the word died in your chest leaving a bitter taste in the back of your throat, a new wave of anger washing over it.

you look down at yourself.. you cry harder, you felt sorry for yourself. he steps closer to you and dares to attempt to hug you, you push him as hard as you can, “you son of a bitch..” You throw one your shoes at him and miss due to your unclear vision..

“ooh my god you’er being crazy now!” He tries to duck down when you throw the other pair at him and you mange to hit him in the stomach, he grunts in pain.

 You launch at him, punching, slapping, scratching whatever you hands can reach of him “was she worth it? Was she better?”,

“stop!” His loud voice would have scared you before, but not anymore. he mange to restrain your hands and shake you but you still keep going if not with your hands then with your mouth, you shout every curse word you know.. 

His eyebrow knot at your meltdown ”stop!’ he shakes you “Who did this? Who was it?” his hands squeezing hard around your wrists almost snapping them, you wince in pain “you’er hurting me! Asshole” you try to kick his leg to free your arms bur he stays unaffected, “tell me who was it?” growls, his face is turning red, veins bulging around his neck.

“oh so now you care? Fuck you!” you retort back. still feeling betrayed, you lean closer into with all the hurt and the anger you seethe “Go back to her” .. 

Sudden silence falls upon you, you tow stand in each other’s face in the a the dark living room that was only lighted by the dimmed city lights, too stubborn to backdown the tension rises as angry pantings coming out of both of you while the muffled music of the soaring party plays in the background.

His hold on your arms loosens as they fall to your sides. a wise person would move away but you don’t, you still stare into his eyes with all the hatred and disgust you feel for him right now, he doesn’t look away as well, his hot breathes fan over your face.. 

He steps even closer, his lips almost grazing yours, his hands come to sit on his hips in a challenging stance, obviously ticked off, he shifts his weight to one foot before he speaks, “stop being a crazy jealous whore and tell me who did it?”.

a cynical smile tugs on your lips, “ a crazy jealous whore?” You repeat after him, arms crossing in front of you, not showing any signs of backing down. 

You would have missed the way his eyes squinted if you weren’t that close to him, his eyes scan your face before he speaks again “Unless you wanted it.. “ you were not expecting him to step this low, the accusationary tone catching you off guard.

You can’t tell if he was being serious or he’s saying it to despise you.. non the less, it still cuts deep, deeper than any physical harm you are suffering from, thus rendering you speechless.

He continue, “Walking around like a slut in that skimpy outfit, what were expecting huh?” his voice rising with each word, his confidence was being fulled by your hurt that was showing your face. 

He take one last jab at you, “you probably enjoyed it too” he scuffs and turns around, you stand frozen in your place.

As soon as you regained your ability to breath you fire back with a broken voice, “is that all you got? Quite the a man you are.. a crowd” your heart shatters and you can’t help the pathetic sob from erupting out of you, it seems to have an effect on him as he stops in his place couple of steps away from you. 

“ I loved you but you’er not worth it” you don’t mean it but you force it out of you, as loud and clear as you can,” go back to your sluts that’s where you belong”.

He turns to look at you, a shiver runs down your spine,

“you loved me?” The sarcasm is evident in his voice, although he’s calmer now he’s scaring you.

He comes closer to you, you wipe your tears to clear your vision and sniffle, embracing yourself for what’s about to come, his arm reach to your face, you tried to move away but he was faster, his hand clawing your jaw, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your checks, yanking you closer to him, “you loved me?” He repeats your words to himself. 

your hands desperately wrap around his arm trying ease his hold on your face. “lair” he whispers, the subtle hurt in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed, your heart beats so loud to the point where he could hear it too.

“you are all talk baby” he exhales out a deep breath he was holding.

you swallow the tight knot in your throat and mange a small “no..”, fresh hot tears filling your eyes as you drown in his sad brown orbs.. “I do.. I love you”.

“Prove it” he challenges you.. prove it? How would you prove love to someone? Someone who’s far beyond broken?

You hesitate to speak, baffled by his request, he sense it and in disappointment he withdraw his hand, ignoring your attempts to hold his hand, he looks away. you panic feeling like he was slipping out of your grip. 

“Jaemin .. please”, 

but he turns away shaking his head “get yourself clean up sera, i’ll be back” he walks out the door slamming it shut ending the intense shouting match, somehow you felt at loss, he walked out the door taking a piece of your hat with him.

Dreadful fear sets in, the world starts to crumble around you.

When he comes back less than a hour later, he calls for you but no response. He walks towards his room looking for you but a whimper catches his attention, he gasp when he sees you on the kitchen floor with a knife in your hand, he runs to you taking the sharp object out of your hand, you don’t fight him, since you were done with it.

He shudders when he sees the blood leaking out the self inflicted wounds, his names carved on your left thigh.

“What have you done?” He shout at you but this time it has no anger behind it, the knife drops to the floor as he jumps and brings the kitchen towels roll, he starts ripping them and pressing them your wound to stop the blood loss.

“why did you do it?” He asks again, his voice’s breaking, you keep your head down your body swaying back in forth in silent grief.

He asked you to prove it..

He checks your wounds, he sigh wit relief and thank the gods when he sees them superficial. 

You didn’t notice before but he’s crying, he wipes his nose with his sleeve and pulls you to his chest, he wraps his arms around you tightly holding you like he was trying to glue you back together.

 “don’t ever do that to yourself ever again” 

 “I’m sorry” you pat his back trying to reassure him.

He pulls you away just enough to look at you, he cradles your head in his hands, “no no baby, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean any of it. I was being a jerk to you Im sorry, forgive me” his thumbs wiping your tears away, he kisses your face multiple times while whispering love confessions to you, “I love you, I love you”.

He brings you back into the safety of his chest, you lean your head onto his shoulder nuzzling his neck, finding solace in his arms.

“whoever did this to you will pay, I promise you” 

[lorenfangor]

this is in the vein of my post from earlier, but -

the thing about Animorphs and disabiity is that the Yeerks are both heavily coded to be disabled and intensely, fiercely ableist toward themselves and everyone else. both of those things are textual. Aftran talks at length about how it’s unfair that she has to be blind in her natural state and she and the other Yeerks ignore or kill disabled people rather than infest them.

this thread of internalized ableism runs deep through every book, and it shifts the whole focus of the conflict.

the Yeerks are not true parasites. at no point in their life cycle do they need to take a host. perhaps they evolved the infestation traits to avoid predation or to achieve a symbiosis with the Gedd, but they do not have to take hosts. they take hosts because they enjoy the process of taking hosts (I’ve discussed host addiction before) and they feel like they’re only deserving of joy and happiness when they have the capacity to see or taste or speak or whatever. the Empire’s propaganda relies upon the self-hatred of its citizens, and Yeerks who refuse to take hosts are in fact forming an ideological threat to the regime. The YPM genuinely can’t do much except exist as an opposition force since they refuse to take hosts, but that opposition force is imo enough - they’re proving they can live happily without senses, without a host body. They’re proud of who they are as they are, much like disabled people on Earth are. they don’t have eyes, but they don’t feel they need eyes to be happy.

it’s not shocking that Taylor is the most dedicated voluntary Controller we meet, when canonically her villain origin story is being subjected to intense and frighteningly horrific ableism from her former friends and her former peer group - she’s ripe for exploitation, because she buys into the core ideology of the Yeerk Empire, which is “you are not good enough as you are and you must meet specific standards to deserve to live”. she already believes that, which makes her the perfect soldier. in fact, I daresay she probably hates herself enough to suppress her own existence and her own mind - why not just let the Yeerk use your body and be you, since the Yeerk values your physical form more than you do?

I’m on this train of thought because there’s an argument I’ve seen that basically states the whole series is fundamentally ableist because the Yeerks are coded as disabled, but are also villainous, and many of them achieve peace by going nothlit in bodies that aren’t their own (which supposedly sends a message that their bodies as they are aren’t good enough).

I can’t in good conscience do anything but wholeheartedly disagree - yes, the Yeerks are disabled, yes, the Yeerks are villains, but that’s the whole point.

disabled people aren’t possessed of magical get-out-of-atrocities-free cards that render us incapable of being terrible, and what’s more, the Yeerks’ disabled-coded status is a major reason why they’re villains in the first place. their terrible nature is the direct result of self-inflicted internalized bigotry, which is very common in marginalized spaces. on top of that, the solutions of the Yeerks returning to the homeworld and their natural state and psychologically deprogramming from harmful propaganda or bigoted mindsets or the Yeerks addressing lasting issues by voluntarily changing their bodies echoes the conflicting access needs and different perspectives across the disabled community when confronted with internalized ableism.

I don’t think this makes them more justified, more understandable, or more sympathetic. that got bolded because I feel very strongly, lol. in fact I dislike them more now - I’m disabled, and the Yeerks being disabled doesn’t make them want to kill me any less. they’re not my people when they think I should be dead for not having a functioning body or brain. but I think it’s interesting that a series criticized for its messy and problematic handling of disability actually has a lot to say regarding societal assumptions about how disabled people should be, and how harmful those are.

[slutsofren]

Paint Me Red

Summary:  Being a struggling artist in a city filled of aspiring artists has always been rough, you were privileged enough to have a semblance of steady income thanks to the promotional work your manager, Poe Dameron, does for you. For the past however many weeks, you've become consumed with the works of an anonymous poet, one who has captivated their own cult following. Their works have inspired countless paintings of yours and in turn, you catch the eye of one Kylo Ren.

Tags: Kylo Ren reader insert / modern au / painter reader / poet Kylo / eventual romance / maybe smut idk / Kylo has Trauma but you dont have to “fix him”

Read on AO3 here!

Chapter 1: Gallery (below the cut)

You kept looking at the painting. No matter how many times you re-painted, reinterpreted this poem, your hands just couldn’t find a consistent translation between the words and your paint. You dropped the brush and leaned back in the chair, hanging your head as far back as you could and let out a loud groan.

“Why does this have to be so complicated ,” you exclaimed to nobody in particular. It’s been a month since you cooped yourself in this studio, a whole month! It felt like you’ve accomplished nothing but waste canvas and paint this entire time. All along the floor laid waste to the discarded abstract portraits you had produced and hated. Nearly a fraction had been left unfinished due to it just not working out.

You mumbled and grumbled while you stood and relocated to the workspace of the studio, where a computer and books had been thrown about. The computer woke, nearly blinding your eyes. What time is it anyways, you wondered. The sun had set some time ago, you knew just as much when you could barely see your work and were forced to lose focus to turn on a light. That distraction had really set you back.

A quick glance to your watch informed you that no, the sun didn’t just set a while back- it set well over six hours ago. The time had been creeping to two in the morning already, no wonder your eyes were straining so hard. When your computer unlocked and you opened your music app to play some background audio, you grabbed the leatherbound book that was inspiring your work.

Nobody knew who the author was, only that they released two-hundred and fifty black leather bound books with gold foiling titled “Mine” every couple of years. You were close friends to some editors down in San Diego, the same publisher that worked with this anonymous author and they were always kind enough to secure you a copy.

They wrote like it was the last thing they’d ever write, as if pain circulated through their veins. They wrote of being lost, being hurt, feeling such intense anger with no human outlet, and of being ignored and tossed away.

Sometimes they wrote like they’d be dead before the poem had ended.

Much of this resonated with you. Ever since you moved to Los Angeles, this magnificent city of wanna-be actors and musicians, seeing lights that inspired yet mocked the pedestrians down below, you’ve felt like you were dead yourself. When you moved here, all you ever wanted to be was a painter. It didn’t always matter what you painted, you loved a variety of styles and eras, as long as commissions paid the bills and your personal pieces sold at galleries, you were satisfied.

But sometimes being satisfied wasn’t enough.

You took the black book and opened to the poem you had been hyper-fixating on for the last couple of months since it was released. You interpreted it in as many ways as you could style your hair on any given day. This one spoke to you the moment you read it, it broke your heart, mended it, then threw it away all at once. To you, this particular poem breathed new life into your soul.

You read each line over and over, admired how this poet seemed to write effortlessly, as if it’s just how they speak. Gosh, what you would do just to meet and have a conversation, to understand the mysterious writer’s genius.

And so you kept painting, never seeing each unfinished canvas as a failure but rather an entirely different interpretation. You couldn’t let this get you down, you just had to keep working- keep picking up the paint and let loose.

As the days blended together, your manager, Poe Dameron waltzed into your workspace without a care in the world. You turned down the music that you had playing in the background while you worked.

He picked up one of your unfinished works, “I got you a gallery space, set for two weeks from now in Pasadena. Sponsored by the Norton Simon Museum.” The way these words rolled off his tongue was so nonchalant, you didn’t believe it.

You let out a choke, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, you got a space, now give me something to tide them over with- oh, that looks nice can I take that one,” he grabs another unfinished painting. “Anyways, don’t worry about promoting it, they are all over it. They’re just calling it Artist Spotlight but they’re going to need a theme name.”

Your eyes drifted over your amazing manager, he worked just as tirelessly as you did with each and every one of his clients. It was no wonder he was married already, with a charming smile like his and the luscious hair to match made him a total darling.

“Let’s call it, Paint Me Red .”

“You got it, girl,” he walked over to you and gave a chaste kiss on your cheek and left with his silent goodbye. Although you were nothing more than his client, you loved him very much. He always gave you a rough time when you needed it but was always a person you could rely on to tell you the truth when you needed it.

To sum it up, Poe Damereon was a guy you paid to berate you like a protective older brother and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Those two weeks passed and you worked even more tirelessly. The artist in you was seldom satisfied by your creations but your manager reaffirmed even your “trash” paintings were more beautiful than the best modern oil paintings for which you found yourself taking the most comfort in.

It was difficult to remove yourself from this mindset but as your gallery expanded with each rise of a new day, you became prouder of not just what you painted but of yourself. This was going to be a showcase that you were to be proud of.

Your night came which brought nerves like no other. Los Angeles had a rough art community to grow and develop but this was the place for you. You arrived at the gallery, dressed as professional yet as fierce as you could in a shimmery silver gown that bared your shoulders in a skinny strap that had a plunging neckline. You wanted to wow your crowd with your paintings and yourself.

You poured your heart out over this collection- you wanted, more than ever, to receive a warm reception and maybe a little bit of praise in the meantime. It didn’t make you vain, it made you human.

The director of the art studio welcomed you with a glass of champagne and let you wander the space before it opened to the public. Your heart swelled with emotion as you glanced over all these white walls that supported your artwork. Abstracts, sharp lines on some, a couple that resembled portraits of a human-like void. Anything and everything of what could be taken of that single poem.

Over some small amount of time, guests began to fill the building, allowing others to finally view what you’ve worked tirelessly over these past however many weeks, well, months really. As the newness of this exhibit of yours wore off, you began to get antsy, started to bite on the inside of your cheek.

You felt eyes on you as you hid your face behind the fourth glass of champagne you managed to snag. The more nervous you felt, the hotter the room got. This is beginning to be way too much- oh stars, you can’t breathe- it feels like you’re dying, like you’re-

“Are these yours,” a dark voice asked behind you. You stood up straight and turned slowly, trying to get your mind away from whatever was happening to you.

“I- yes they are.”

This tall, handsome stranger looked at the painting that was next to you, something that mildly resembled Everts’ Studies in Desperation series. It was one of your darker interpretations, something filled with a little more hatred and angst than the rest.

“They’re very nice, what inspired you?”

Your mouth opened agaped and quickly shut, you didn’t want to look like a fish now. You opened up your bag and pulled out your trusty copy of Mine and showed the stranger. “This poet, their selections have always called to me but, Red, Mine would repeat in my head nearly nonstop until I picked up a brush and painted what it spoke to me.”

He grabbed the book from your hand and flipped through it slowly, sometimes reading the short notes you had written on some of the pages, like “I love this one,” or even, “I’ve felt like this before”. As he took his time going through the leatherbound poetry, you took this moment just to admire just how handsome the man before you is.

He stood tall and confident, long black hair that looked soft enough that you had to refrain from running your fingers through; his face was littered with constellation-like moles that truly gave his presence some warmth and beauty despite the deep angry red scar that cut threw them like a blade. The large crooked nose stood just as prominent as his ears but, by the stars, he made it work. All of these features suit his being so well, almost as if he was your own personal Adonis, you wanted to paint his beauty.

His long lashes finally looked up from your bookmarked page of Red, Mine where you had written very simply, “This one,” and a heart. He closed the black book with a small thud, almost entirely muted by the sounds of your audience mingling.

“You really liked that one,” he questioned as he handed the object back to you. You took it from him and gestured around you.

“All of these paintings represent how this one poem has made me feel. Loss, hope, anger, hurt, fear,” you paused while you looked at the man before you and held his gaze, “But most of all, this particular poem has made me feel accepted. Like I’m not alone. Almost like, it’s my turn to be strong, it’s silly-”

“No, by all means, no, it’s not silly,” he interrupted you. His eyes had grown wide and you realized he put his hand out to almost hold your shoulder but quickly retreated to put his hands in the pockets of his suit’s pants. His jaw flexed for a brief moment and he looked to his feet. “I have their collection too. It’s a good read from time to time.”

Your lips turned up in a small grin, “Yeah, they are. I’m glad to have met another Anonymous Poet enthusiast.”

He looked up at you and cleared his throat, “What’s something you’d say to them if you ever could?”

“Hmm,” you wondered, “That I love their work, I’d love to sit down and talk, wonder what they think- what their thought process is. Maybe thank them for helping me cope and tell them that I don’t think I’d be alive without their words. Heck, I’d even work up the courage and ask if they like my interpretations of their poetry. I’m not sure, what would you say?”

He looked at you almost like you had shot him, “I think I’d simply say that I’m sorry they went through whatever they did to get them where they are. That they’re stronger now.”

Before you had a chance to respond, Poe came and placed his hand on your arm and called your name, “Hey, girl. Time for your speech and then people can start buying your art.”

You looked back at your strange new friend and he gave you a small encouraging smile, “It was nice meeting you.”

As Poe began to drag you away you piped up, “I didn’t catch your name!”

“Kylo- Kylo Ren.”

You gave him a small wave before you turned your back on him and approached the stage. Poe did the honors of introducing you, calling your vision “illuminating and awe-inspiring”. Finally it was your turn.

You approached the glass podium with only a mild case of anxiety shaking within your bones. The lights, however warmly hued they were to temper against the constant rotation of art still seemed like a spotlight on you. You cleared your throat.

“Hi- hello,” you introduced yourself, mentioning you're the creator, “Thank you all very much for being here and supporting me tonight. This entire exhibit is decorated with a wide variety of my illustrations in both dedication of and inspired by the Anonymous Poet, creator of Red, Mine the poem. It is only fitting that I should read the very words that seemed to have possessed my mind these past couple months, you think?”

The audience gave a chuckle. You looked up and around, feeling hints of anxiety nipping at the silhouette of your being. Across the room, leaning against the small bar table, you spotted Mr. Ren and when he noticed you staring, he raised his glass of champagne. Urging you to continue.

It was almost as if his steady gaze and warm features guided your confidence to hold steadfast and ready, your courage multiplied and tingles at the tips of your body, sparking new found strength.This small gesture kept those dark hounds at bay in your mind.

You cleared your throat and began, “Red, Mine

This is how the story goes

It has never changed, never been altered

It didn’t make much difference

The twin suns are rising in the west now,

The world changed from when you knew me last

This is how the story goes

This life of mine would be snuffed in green lights

Then you were there to guide me

Truth is, you could never be thanked

I would never be forgiven

This is how the story goes

I snuffed the little lights that had mocked me

Tore down the buildings that confined me

I ran

I never stopped running

This is how the story goes

I found solace in red

This green and blue would have ended my life

The both of you tried and failed

I will live on bathed in black and red

This is how the story goes

This fire red consumed me

I consumed red

Now it’s your turn to run.”

At the beat of the last syllable, you could hear a warm applause, a gracious signal of congratulations. Your smile kissed the corners of your lips and your heart swelled with warmth. This was exactly where you were meant to be in life and you couldn’t be prouder of yourself.

Your speech wrapped up with the ceremonious thank yous and appreciation to all who came as well as the Norton Simon Museum for sponsoring the showcase. Not to mention the big fat check you got on their behalf.

Poe lent you a hand as you descended the platform, “Alright, now go mingle and sell some art!”

You gave him a warm kiss on the cheek and another wave of thanks. One hand took yet another glass of champagne as the other held your clutch tightly. Your heels clinked against the tile of the gallery as you floated in and out of conversation, selling your artwork and trying to network and make new professional relationships.

It was rather obvious that leaving early would be considered rude but your feet hurt as much as your eyes. All you wanted was your warm bed and soft music to lull you to sleep. You spotted Poe across the room speaking with a pale gentleman, donned in a navy blue suit and matching tie, his orange hair was just as slicked back as his authoritative presence. You watched as they shook hands and the stranger departed, leaving the building entirely without a glance back.

Poe caught your eye and his jaw dropped, just nearly bolting into a fast pace walk, attempting to keep whatever semblance of professionalism as he could without knocking any of the patrons over as he bee-lined straight to you.

“You will not believe what I’m about to tell you,” his brown eyes lit up.

You gave him a hesitant look, clearly it was good news but usually Poe Dameron was in a good mood usually meant him ending in some kind of trouble. “Then don’t tell me?”

Your manager gave you a deadpanned look and pulled out his clipboard, “Every single piece was sold before you even walked off the stage.” He handed you the order sheet and sure enough, each and every painting was bought by the same person, leaving only AP as the buyer’s name.

“AP?”

“Initials for a little someone called the Anonymous Poet,” with those words you instantly felt faint. There was no way, no goddamn way.

“Was that him? Poe, was that really him,” your voice faltered. Your hand rose to cover your open mouth, eyes wide.

He did nothing but shrug and give you a sly smile, admiring your shocked expression, “The man I talked to was not, rest assured, but clearly your muse admires you and your work.” Poe gave you a small squeeze on your shoulder, feeling your oncoming emotional whirlwind. “If you faint on me now, you won’t hear the best part,” he teased.

“What is it, tell me,” you rushed the words out as fast as you could, the heat licking at your skin as your anticipation mixed with anxiety.

Poe reached into his pocket and retrieved a sleek black business card and flashed it at you. “Expect an email within the next few days, your muse wants to talk with you.”

You felt Poe’s warm hands grasping your shoulders as you fell. After all, Poe did say to wait until after he gave you good news.

[brief-candle]

ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ ᴠᴏᴡ - Kyoujurou Rengoku

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS THE SECOND PART TO A TWO-SHOT, THE FIRST PART BEING BLACK VOW. DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER. THANK YOU.

one more!! then i’ll be gone into the abyss for 53786432 years i promise :))

time for angst round 2, featuring kyoujurou’s pov!! wowee!!!!!!!!

series: kimetsu no yaiba/ demon slayer

notes: kyoujurou pov, major character death, angst, not much yandere, angst, originally male reader that's female for the majority of this chapter, muzan being a dick.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

It was as if everything had changed overnight.

The house I'd lived in for so long suddenly seemed so desolate. It seemed so lonely, despite how for many years I hadn't thought of it like that in the slightest. Hallways seemed to stretch on forever, barren even with the numerous pieces of art present. Rather than drawing the eye, I couldn't bring myself to look at them. They were hideous, as if completely different paintings to the ones I had bought myself.

There was something missing, wasn't there?

This feeling of something no longer being present haunted me like my very shadow, taller in dim candlelight. Tonight it seemed that I wouldn't sleep, wouldn't rest until I found what was lost. Though when I wondered what was lost, tried to grasp it as firmly as I could, it was as if the meaning of its very existence was to evade me.

It was frustrating, to say the least.

So, in some halfhearted effort to clear my mind, I entered the library. It was very rare that I found myself here, favouring physical activities over losing myself in a book. But there was something so alluring about the idea of escaping for at least a couple of hours which seemed so appealing to me. Most likely, it was the wedding that would take place in such a short time that was putting me in such a state. I supposed that it was hard not to feel so gloomy, with my lack of fondness for the woman that I would be marrying. There was only person that I'd confess this to, though.

Who was it, again?

The more I thought, the larger the dilemma that I'd faced just moments before. I could swear that I could see their face, only for it to become more blurred and faint with each ounce of effort that I put into remembering them. A warm feeling began to run through my veins as I recalled them, however faint, before it was quickly shoved out.

What was I thinking about then?

The feeling that just flew through me- what caused it? The more I thought, the further from reach it was. An intense sensation of frustration seized my heart, along with the bitter taste of sadness. Surely, if it was so important, then I wouldn't have forgotten it in the first place. However my heart told a different story, beating to a rhythm of sorrowful loss. Whatever it had been, I had played some part in this huge mess.

No book in the vast labyrinth of a library could hold my mind from its turmoil that night, and so I went back to bed unfulfilled.

There, I dreamt of a figure with no face, who spoke words with no voice. It faced away from me from the majority of the dream, with no features to identify it whatsoever.

"Do you not enjoy the Lady's presence?" It had asked with complete absence of sound. Even still, I understood perfectly, a sense of familiarity in the scene painted out before my eyes.

I remember being sat there, taken aback by the sudden question for a moment. Then I'd laughed- or tried to, at least- at it, at the whole situation. This person had known me so well, yet the me sat before them now knew so little. The laugh tore at my throat as it left, wracking my chest with uneven, sob-like movements.

"Why do you ask?" I had returned, yet now I held no interest for that answer. I knew the truth, and so did they. The question I'd wanted to ask was left unsaid, as my mouth refused to utter those words.

There was silence then, for a couple of seconds, and I knew the answer before it was said. What I knew more than that was that it was a weak excuse to cover up what they really wanted to say. And that was what I desired to know more.

"A hunch." Was what they finally settled on, and if I could have said it with them then I would have. But I could only watch on as everything began to blur, as the background began to mix and intertwine into one large mass. The person had disappeared by this point, and that unquenchable sadness returned once more. It was like a constant downpour, determined to extinguish the very flames that my soul thrived on and leave only the ashes behind.

Finally, the colours disappeared with the bright light of the morning sun. For a moment, a spark of optimism provided light through the murky rain, a beacon of hope to any passing travellers who would stumble upon it. However all flames soon die, and this spark was put out sooner than the rest; the figure who had flung open the curtains to my room was unfamiliar. Though somewhere, I knew it was physically impossible for it to be that person (though the reason to that, too, evaded me). Yet that didn't stop the disappointment that followed after my dreams had left.

"Today's the big day!" They had chirped happily, yet with the politeness that the usual maid would possess.

"Yes," I acknowledged with just as much as distant friendliness as usual, a broad smile stretching my lips. And I felt every muscle ache as they were pulled taut. It was more difficult than I thought to act as if excited, seeing as today would be the day that I was bound to someone that I couldn't be more disinterested in. But, alas, they grinned back, completely unaware of the fact that the smile I so often held had become so fake.

It was almost immediately after waking that I had to dress, the finely tailored suit hand-sewn to the exact measurements feeling more and more like a cage with every passing second. Even such a feeling did not drag that smile from my face, though, as if it was glued there and could never be removed.

Every preparation seemed to pass so quickly- too quickly!- as time rushed past. Where minutes had dragged into days the night before, hours became seconds today. A feeling of dread bubbled up in my gut, threatening to boil over and spill onto beautiful bouquets of flowers, onto floors cleaned so diligently that every inch of them shined, onto this damned suit which would lead to nothing but confinement to a woman I did not love for the rest of my life.

I couldn't take my eyes off those flowers, so beautiful in colour, as I waited for my carriage. Servants had long given their best wishes and had scurried off to prepare everything else to be immaculate for my return. But it wouldn't just be my return.

Finally, the smile was allowed to slip from my face. Before, I had worn it so genuinely and freely, without a care in the world. Because I was happy. However there was no happiness to be felt in the current situation, apart from in the colour of those flowers. They were truly charming in some way, and I couldn't take my eyes off them. It was a familiar colour, one I recalled looking upon with such fondness. But I wasn't quite sure why.

Her eyes match the flowers.

That was my first thought when I'd looked up, seeing a woman stood away from the path, leering from the forest. Her hair, like spun silk, skin that looked so soft in the gentle late morning sun. But most of all, it was her eyes that appealed the most. With all of the lovely colour found in the blooming roses, tinted with a hint of sadness.

No- it was the other way around.

A beautiful sorrow was the main thing to be found in her eyes, followed by the colourful hue. They matched her expression in all of its forlorn elegance, with eyebrows furrowed and lips upturned in a pained smile. It was in those eyes that I saw it, realised it within an instant that took my rushing towards her, those flowers left behind on the cobbled track: she was the key to what I'd lost.

When we embraced it was like the rekindling of the fire I'd lost in the past days, weeks, months, who knew how long? Who cared? As I left behind the home I'd known for my whole life, I knew that I didn't. Not if I could find the happiness that had been stolen from me without me even knowing.

Rather than the lavish lifestyle promised to me if I'd married the girl I'd been promised that day, me and the stranger soon made a humble life in a small cottage, detached from the rest of the world. We survived on what we grew, and ran through each day as if we were the only people in the world. And to me, we were. Although my memories from before that day have yet to return, my joy had come back in heaps and bounds. Almost every minute of the day was spent together, and I couldn't be more content.

At least, that's what I'd like to think.

However with the cheerfulness brought by this woman, there was a deep sense of self-hatred stirring in my heart. It was as if I was betraying someone by enjoying these days spent with her. Deep down, it was as if I knew it was meant to be someone else. Someone similar in many ways, but massively different. It was confusing, almost terrifying how there seemed to be no solution to end this misery. But I avoided this feeling like the plague, busying myself during the day and relaxing with her during the night. I filled that empty feeling with actions, anything to avoid thinking. Because thinking too much would only hurt me again and again, in the end.

She, too, seemed to be suffering, despite how happy she seemed when engrossed in something. Whenever conversation had long ran dry and there was no more work to be done for the day, that sadness that made her eyes its home only intensified. Just one look could tell you that guilt ran like blood through her veins, and that she had done something heinous in her past. Perhaps many things. Though that should have bothered me more than it actually did, as instead of approaching the subject, I merely focussed on bringing and keeping our happiness present.

"You know," I had said once, a cheeky grin written all over my features. Her expression was one of endless amusement as she stared back at me. It was close to mine, was her face, and her hands cupped mine, which held her face.

"You could pass for a guy." And though I had laughed, half-joking in the matter, the laugh she gave was half-hearted, tainted with a hint of bitterness. For a moment, I'd worried that I had offended her, with that dreadfully pretty look in her eyes once more. However it disappeared upon her noticing that I saw, and she merely grinned a full grin back,

"Do I take that as a compliment?" She had asked, though didn't look offended in the slightest even if it wasn't.

"Of course!" I had replied immediately, adding on: "though you'd be a very beautiful boy."

"I don't think boys would find that very complimentary, you know."

"Well, handsome, then!" Enthusiasm seeped into my voice just as it had always done in the past, not feeling unnatural in the slightest, "is that better?"

Her hands, slightly cold to the touch, squeezed mine as she had snickered softly, leaning in closer, "I guess."

They were cold, even now, as she lingered behind me. I could feel her gaze looming over my shoulder to glare at the man who'd invaded our little corner of the world.

"Can I help you?" Though I was indeed smiling, finding it much easier with my lover (for some reason, it slightly stung inside to phrase it like that) behind me, there was a tiny spark of rage that threatened to fester and grow if this man did not leave. If he threatened our peace here, then even I was hesitant to find out what I would do.

"The person behind you." His voice was cold, like being snowed in during a blizzard without any wood to start a fire.

There was no need to look behind me to find out who he was referring to, so I didn't look over my shoulder lest she begin to panic, "what of them?"

"Give them to me." Their responses were immediate, a hint of a bite to each word that he hadn't bothered to hide. They were clearly dangerous, but their presence did not scare me as much as the questions of what would happen to her if she were to go with him.

"Why?" I had asked instead, without much internal debate. To hand them over would be to welcome back in that bottomless despair, without any light to help me out. This woman was my saving grace from such a fate, someone who had aided me in so many ways up until (and including) this day. To hand her over, too, would be to hand over the familiarity I had lost, a sensation that could only be found in her presence.

She tried to speak, voice trembling and unsure. Before she could sound a word I turned to look at her in those eyes which I adored so much. It was obvious that she was worried, terrified, and was trying to protect me over herself. But what sort of partner would I be to let her do that for me, while she would undoubtedly suffer instead? In those eyes, I could tell without a second glance that she had suffered enough for me as it was, and so I refused to let her suffer further.

"There's no need to be worried," I squeezed her hand gently, it seemed to cool down my blood that had begun to boil, "I'll keep you safe."

This didn't seem to persuade her; she was a rather tough customer when it came to things like this. However she was cut off once more when she tried to speak, this time by the man who'd invaded this little home of ours and intended to destroy our peace.

"You don't need to know that.-" like hell I don't! "-All you need to know is that I'll take them either way. Except if you resist then you'll wind up dead."

It was soon after he had finished speaking that I reluctantly let her hand go. Because if he were to attack and she was so close, then there was a chance that she could be caught in the crossfire as well. That was a situation that I'd immensely like to avoid.

"I refuse." Was my answer, and I hoped that the confidence that I had built up did not falter in this moment. Failure was not an option here in order to keep her safe.

But I wasn't even given a chance to hear what he said next, before his claws that seemed to sprout from nowhere had dug into and slashed my skin into ribbons. It was painful- oh god it was painful! There was so much blood, and so much pain that my nerves felt like they were shutting down. I crumpled inwards onto myself, onto the floor. The pain was immense, though her screams were even more painful than I could ever have imagined. Her tears more painful than it all as she began to wail.  She didn't stop, even as she dropped besides me to immediately attempt to stop the bleeding.

Her hands shook as she applied pressure, but couldn't seem to apply enough to allow the wound to clot. One of them rose to wipe at her eyes furiously, which turned red around the edges. But not as red as her hands, which were coated in a deep and dark red that could only be my own. It was such a shame, for such a colour didn't belong on hands like hers. Those hands which had partaken in the impossible task of helping to heal my soul, which were now stained in the blood wrought from my own foolishness. From my own inadequacy to protect her, like a partner should.

I tried to smile at her, to assure her that it would all be fine, to apologise to her for the mess that I'd dragged us both into. The tears only seemed to quicken in speed and increase in volume when she saw, and quickly broke eye contact to put more effort into trying to help the slash clot. Each push onto it was like a new layer of agony, piling on top of each other until it was impossible to see the bottom of it all. It hurt more than the wound itself, perhaps. But maybe that was the price to live. And I wanted to live, now more than ever, so that I could continue to live out my life into the era of old age with the person I cared for so dearly. Even if every time I looked at them, a feeling of guilt stabbed me in the gut. Even if I could never know the source behind the mass of melancholy that she seemed to live off.

Suddenly she stopped, and wept into the hands that had been caked in thick layers of crimson. Sadness seemed to suit her in a way, but I think that's because she wore it so often. It was like a second skin for her. However I think that happiness would suit her much better. I doubted that such a thing could be found in her if she was to be taken by that man, who looked on with cold, sadistic amusement. Such a man is not worthy of her company, which is the type that could bring sunshine to any rainy day. And so I steeled my resolve, pressing my own hands onto the wound. They were heavy, like tonnes of lead, and could muster very little strength through them, but if I could help her at least a little bit, then I would try my very hardest.

Until my last breath, I would try my very best for her.

That was what I'd resolved to do, until I heard it beside me. A cracking, splintering of bone and tearing of flesh. Jagged movements, painful to watch, could be observed from the corner of my eye. I wasn't sure what brought me to glance over, but I was even less sure of what made me continue to watch. I suppose it was like watching a tragedy before you, with the pain that she must have been feeling through such a change in internal structure. From a very brief look elsewhere, it appeared that the man was not expecting this either, and that was what concerned me even more.

Finally, the reformed figure met my eyes. Those same eyes as the woman, yet the familiarity I'd seen in them was a hundred times more potent, the sadness in them triple as intense.

How could I have forgotten?

How could I have forgotten?

How could I dare to have forgotten him, the demon that had lived by my side for what felt like an eternity? And it was an eternity that I swore that I'd look back on with fondness, after I had driven him away. It was an act of cruelty that I had bestowed upon him, to reject him with such force and force my gaze to harden into stone as I cast it upon him. But it was one that I had thought necessary at the time. After all, I would only bring more cruelty to him if I were to accept his feelings, as the world is a cruel place to those who don't fit the mould. Humans would seek to kill him without remorse due to what he was. That was something I could not bear to see, especially as those closest to me hunted those like him without a second thought. Hell- I'd done the very same for an enormous part of my life. But to see him die? I couldn't bear the thought.

But today, it seems like I would have to, with his new form that had only just been built-up being broken down once more. And I could feel it- the gash was beginning to clot and close in time that human mortality would not allow. It was relieving, yet agonising. For me, the physical pain was ceasing, but his pain must be immense.

There were a thousand questions that I wanted to ask, and a thousand more to follow-up. However by the rate at which he was deteriorating before my very eyes, I knew that he wouldn't be able to ask even one. He was going to die, just as our time together had been restored. Right here, right beside me.

It was too much to even think about, so how could I live through it?

The tears that I'd been holding back had blurred my vision for too long, and so they broke free and rolled down my face. They were hot, boiling against my skin as they went down their path. Just as I held him for the first time, I held him again, forehead pressed against his. It was cold, as always, and I was so grateful for every second that I could feel him and his cool touch.

If this was the closest that I'd get to heaven, then please let me feel it a bit longer.

Time is continuing to run out, and his end is visibly near. Please, I beg of you, the you that kneels in my arms with a look so vacant- I know that what I feel will never be able to reach you, not before you disintegrate like you would in the light of the morning sun in which we met for the second time. But I beg that this vow reaches you: that I will continue to love you for the rest of the life that you've given me. I will dedicate it to you, and live on as if you were walking the path that I will walk upon too.

Perhaps after that, we can meet again.

[scarletphantom1704]

Attack (Scarlet Vision)

So this was a scene I’d written before I watched IW based on trailer footage. It got lost in my mess of WIPs, and even though the fic it’s apart of is trash, I felt this part was worth posting. Hopefully it’ll help us all cope with the events of one Endgame.  I hope you enjoy! (x)

Wanda’s powers burn with rage as she dodges another attack from the extra-terrestrial woman. Her eyes, which she had learned to tame and mask, burns scarlet with an unimaginable intensity. Fury boils under Wanda’s skin as the two connect eyes briefly. She then blocks a strong punch and sends an energy blast forwards into Proxima Midnight’s chest.

She grunts and stumbles back, nearly losing her footing. Wanda sends another blast but Proxima blocks it with her spear causing it to ricochet back to the young fighter. Wanda quickly blocks her rebounding energy but leaves her legs vulnerable. Proxima uses this chance to attack, leaving a deep gash in the redhead’s leg.

Wanda gasps in pain and her knees buckle, leaving her collapsed on the ground with Thanos’ child hovering above her. The spear is pointed at her face and Wanda looks up to meet the blood-red, piercing gaze of her combatant.

“You never give up, do you? Arrogance has consequences, deadly ones.” Wanda doesn’t listen to the woman, instead she aims a sharp kick at her legs and then shoots another pulsating energy blast at the villain. This projects her backwards into a nearby brick wall, causing Proxima to gasp out in pain.

Wanda takes this quick moment to inspect her injured leg quickly, her flesh torn with jagged sides from the spear and blood spilling slowly from it. The wound wasn’t fatal but that didn’t stop it from hurting immensely.

Wanda growls with clenched teeth, muttering profanities while looking up, expecting to see the alien still crumpled on the ground from the impact but instead she had disappeared. Quickly, with the help of her powers, she rips a strip of fabric from her jacket’s sleeve to wrap around her leg. She winces as she dresses the wound with her makeshift bandage. A scream then echoes out into the dead of the night and Wanda’s heart starts to quicken as she recognizes it: Vision.

A chill runs up Wanda’s spine as his scream echoes in her ears briefly. A million thoughts flood her mind; many of them portray the worst possible situations. A brutal wave of guilt rushes over her. If it wasn’t for her asking him to stay, he wouldn’t be in this situation. She pushes the guilt away, saving it for a time when she and Vision weren’t in danger.

“Leave him alone!” She yells, ignoring the sharp pain in her leg and standing up. Just as she did at the airport battle a few years ago, she propels herself up into the air and vaults onto the roof of a nearby building. Her leg aches as she puts pressure on it. What she sees causes the blood in her veins to boil and her heart to fill with a wild sense of hatred.  

Vision is trapped under the foot of Corvus Glaive, Proxima’s husband and a fellow child of Thanos. His glaive digs into the Mind Stone and Proxima aims her spear at Vision’s temple as if threatening him to move.

Any sense of logic slips from Wanda’s grasp and she propels herself over to save the synthezoid. “Vizh!” She exclaims, aiming an intense energy blast forward. Using her telekinetic powers, she splits it into two while it soars, aiming it at their chests. They are launched away from Vision, with a force strong enough to kill the average human being. They land in a heap next to one another, stirring slightly. Wanda rushes forward and gently helps Vision backwards, leaning him against a railing.

“Are you okay, Vizh?” He shakes his head, removing his hands from his side to reveal a deep gash, shimmering a bright yellow color. Wanda gasps, her eyes transitioning from their scarlet color to a soft green. Her heart aches at the sight of him in pain and she quickly assesses his current state.

His breaths come in sharp gasps and the mechanical spinning of his eyes slows. She lays a hand on his cheek and he leans into it, craving comfort. Despite wanting to stay, Wanda knows that the threat needs to be eliminated. She spins her head around to see the alien couple rising to their feet. She causes them to crumple once more, buying valuable time. She can strongly feel the searing sting of her wound, but she ignores it and focuses on the larger matter at hand.

“Can you contact Steve?” she questions, kneeling down beside him and clutching his hand. His cool, vibranium hand encased around hers provides a bit of solace. She bites her lip, worried. He nods with a flutter of the eyes and she smiles softly before saying, “Good, I’ll hold them off. He can’t be too far away. We need to -”

“Wanda!” Vision exclaims with a weak voice, pulling her downwards towards the rough concrete. With help from the railing, he stands up quickly and shoots a beam from the Mind Stone, crippling Corvus. Proxima rushes to his side, worry plastered upon her unusual face. Vision’s expression is furious before he winces again, collapsing to the ground.

“Thanks, Vizh.” Wanda spins around, standing in between the Children of Thanos and the injured synthezoid. Her power runs swiftly through her veins and it appears as glowing, threatening spheres resting in both hands. Her eyes, once again, transform from their usual green to a menacing scarlet hue. Her rage holds the undeniable power of a raging wildfire ripping its way through a forest in July.

“You will never get to him, at least not without killing me first,” Wanda growls, her nostrils flaring in the process. Vision whimpers in an attempt to protest but he just collapses back to the ground in agony. Exhaustion starts to seep its way into Wanda’s body but she fights it.

She hears the Children of Thanos laugh in disbelief; a grunt from Corvus follows as he stands upwards. With him back on his feet, the villains converge on the young woman dubbed the Scarlet Witch. With an unusual, animalistic growl, Wanda rips a bench from the ground and, with it now encased in a scarlet glow, throws it at the couple. The two jump away, dodging the bench.

In desperation, Wanda scans the depths of her own memories of how she’s defeated villains in the past and her mind instantly finds the Ultron battle; how she tore apart the Ultron minions, splitting them in a matter of seconds.

Wanda furrows her brows, staring at the glaive held in Corvus’ hand. She feels as her powers start to tear apart the molecules slowly before it bursts; the shards of the glaive falling to the ground still encased in the scarlet outline. Corvus’ eyes widen in shock as it falls before him and that, in turn, draws a smirk on Wanda’s face. In a blind rage, Proxima launches her spear at Wanda but she blocks it with the help of a force field, causing it to clatter to the ground.

Without her weapon, Proxima Midnight rushes in quickly, aiming a sharp punch to Wanda’s face. Wanda blocks it, instead planting her own punch to the side of Proxima’s horned skull. Using her knee, she jabs the alien’s shin sharply and then sends a quick blast of energy to Corvus, who quickly rushes in to avenge his injured wife. Proxima grabs her spear and launches it forcefully. Wanda dodges, the three small blades grazing her arm. It falls next to Vision, who carefully grabs it, placing it far from the grasps of its owner.

Proxima snarls before stepping forward, sending a series of kicks and punches at the young fighter. She lands a few blows on Wanda’s pale skin and a swift kick to her chin results in a busted lip. The metallic tang of blood rests on her tongue because of the attack; Wanda raises a hand to her lip, wincing slightly at the sting.

She recovers quickly from the attack before sending a ball of energy forward. It skims Proxima’s legs, not causing her to fall over but it does provoke a flinch from her. Corvus is then by her side, assessing his companion quickly just as Wanda did to Vision. Proxima brushes him off as if saying she was fine. He returns his gaze to Wanda and Vision with a hungry vengeance. The blow of losing his powerful spear has left an impact on the alien but the reason why is unknown to Wanda.

Wanda stares back at her attackers and her powers spark in the palms of her hands, her raging anger easily known to the seeing eye. They rush in simultaneously, both of the villains weaponless. Wanda dodges a few attacks but she retreats back to Vision and creates a powerful force field around them. Her exhaustion was getting the best of her and she needed to find an escape.

“Wanda?” Vision croaks out with worry laced in his voice. “What are you doing? You know how much energy that your force field requires and with it being this large, you could -”

“I know what I am doing Vision. This is the only way to protect you without getting the both of us killed,” She responds forcefully, causing Vision to not respond back. Now that she’s had time to acknowledge it, the searing pain in her leg causes tears to spring to her eyes.

The only noise present is the deep breaths from both human and synthezoid and the angry, muffled yells of Thanos’ children outside of the force field. Wanda winces each time they strike the force field. In desperation, she breaks the unusual silence.

“Did you get in contact with Steve yet?” Wanda grunts as she focuses intently on repelling the two individuals. Her muscles ache from the extensive battle and she can feel her body screaming in protest.

“Captain Rogers is fastly approaching along with Natasha and Sam.” Vision responds, stopping mid-sentence to take a breath. “The team were off on a covert mission in London when they got my message. I am unsure when they will be arriving exactly but it can assure you it will be soon,” he explains, his breathing still labored.

Wanda nods despite comprehending very little of the message. Thanos’ children are now pressing against the force field in an attempt to get to their victims which is also putting a grueling amount of strain on Wanda’s powers. It is evident that the two won’t leave without the Mind Stone and they’d kill anyone who’d get in their way to complete their mission.

Black spots start to fill her vision and her surroundings start to spin. She can vaguely see movement occurring from behind her flickering force field but slowly, the black spots start to fit together like puzzle pieces. A loud ringing fills her ears and the darkness consumes Wanda; the darkness like a predator and the Scarlet Witch like its unfortunate prey.

[gekitoutsu-rispba]

Voice claim ideas?

These are the Draconoids (Autobots) and Serpencieves (Decepticons) of my “series”, Transformers Dragon Storm. Any ideas for what they should sound like would be appreciated!

Optimus (Fire truck/three(five)-headed dragon)

Role: Leader

What is there to say about Optimus Prime that hasn’t already been said? He is the leader of the Draconoids, having taken the position after the death of original leader Ultra Magnus back on Cybertron. He will often get into situations where one of his subordinates would be better suited because he doesn’t want them injured, he’s a sucker for rules and protocol, and despises wonton violence and destruction, or any sort of public attention (something the Serpencieves use to their advantage). For these reasons, he and the trigger-happy Springer don’t exactly have the best relationship.

Sunstreaker (Sports car/Quetzalcoatl)

Role: Scout

Sunstreaker has a desperate need to be in the spotlight. He can be reckless and looks before he leaps, but usually has good intentions. As the youngest of the Autobots, he has a strong desire to prove himself to the others. He eventually (reluctantly) revealed himself to be a Shifter named Tracker. Tracker is not as energetic as Sunstreaker, prone to moping around until the call of duty comes. Unlike Starscream/Mayhem, Tracker is ashamed of his shifting abilities, since he thinks it lowers his true worth as his chosen self (Sunstreaker).

Pharma (Ambulance/Furry dragon)

Role: Medic

Pharma was a former Serpencieve, working alongside Knockout. However, time and distance separated them and Pharma began thinking about allying himself with the Draconoids. He is impatient, temperamental, and silver-tounged, seemingly due to his Serpencieve upbringing. Underneath all of this, he also has a sadistic side that loves inflicting pain on others. He has shown fascination in ripping the humans apart and putting them back together again. Despite this sadistic streak and his unethical-at-times medical practices, he’s the only medic in the Draconoid lineup and is thus a vital member of the team.

Nightbeat (1980s Ferrari/typical Dragon)

Role: Investigation

Nightbeat fashions herself a hard-boiled detective-and in many ways, she is. She is very focused and driven, never stopping a lead until she gets the answers that she wants. This will sometimes lead to her chasing down foes much stronger than she is. She considers herself a lone wolf, with Springer being the only one she was on good terms with from the start. However, when she is assigned to work with a human partner, she begins to open up and work better with the rest of the gang.

Landmine (Motocycle with sidecar/Lindworm)

Role: Mechanic

Landmine fills the “old friend of Optimus Prime” caste that normally belongs to Ratchet. The two of them worked together in missions frequently during the scuffles on their primal planet, both before and after the Techno-Collision that turned it into Cybertron. Landmine has taken an interest in treasure-hunting during his time on earth, and is constantly trying to find new things to add to his horde. This fascination with hunting made finding the Armaments of the Knights and other Quintessonian keepsakes easier. Unlike Optimus, Landmine is a relentless optimist, although he will scold the kids and younger bots.

Skydancer (News Helicopter/Fairy Dragon)

Role: Air fighter

While all Autobots have the ability to fly in dragon mode, Skydancer is most comfortable in the air. Free-spirited and full of energy, she works together incredibly well with Bumblebee. Since she likes to show off her air skills, she will do unnessisary (as Prime puts it) flips and donuts. She hates standing still, and even when she isn’t running or flying, she twitches or fidgets to keep herself active. She is armed with katanas that form her wings in dragon mode and helicopter blades in vehicle mode.

Springer (Muscle Car/Armored Dragon)

Role: Muscle

Springer was heavily inspired by the stereotypical action hero. He’s a strong-willed quipper who hates showing his own weakness. Surprisingly, he doesn’t seem to be compensating for anything, he’s naturally cocky and simply modeled his behavior after the action heroes he saw. He loves the spotlight and public attention, Something Optimus doesn’t approve of. He has also shown to be interested in a romance with Nightbeat, but so far she hasn’t returned the interest.

Falcor (RV/Western Dragon)

Role: Transport

Voice:

Falcor is, simply put, determined to keep his passengers safe. This all-consuming need to protect his precious cargo means that he is gullible at best and a complete sucker at worst.

Megatron (Bullet train/Chinese dragon)

Role: Supreme Commander

Megatron is another one of those Transformers who needs no introduction. He’s ruthless, cold-blooded, and has a near-perfect blend of draconian ferocity and Cybertronian cunning. He is considered an apex predator-a title he uses with pride. He also has a surprisingly long fuse for someone who is surrounded by the likes of Feedback and Starscream, but he tolerates their existence because of their unique abilities (Starscream’s shifting, Feedback’s cunning, etc.). He was also aware of how Optimus wasn’t complete, and welcomed Scourge to the team with open servos because he thought that it meant he would never become whole again.

Starscream (Jet/Wyvern)

Role: Second-in-command/Air Commander

The always-treacherous Starscream is another Transformers mainstay. What he lacks in competence, loyalty, bravery and modesty, he more than makes up for in confidence, bootlicking, battle prowess and creativity. Starscream has always believed that he was destined for greatness, and he will use any means to get it. It turns out that he is actually a Shifter named Mayhem, with a power similar to Sunstreaker’s-although his is more refined, allowing him to mix and match disguises. Mayhem is incredibly proud of his abilities, although forced to hide them by Megatron (further fueling his hatred).

Soundwave (Frenzy, Ravage, Buzzsaw, surveillance truck/drake)

Role: Surveilence

Is Soundwave a boy? Are they a girl? No one knows for sure. All that’s known for sure about them is that they are logical, stoic, and loyal to Megatron until the end. They’re usually the one who keeps Starscream’s (who identifies them as a “she” due to their feminine voice) struts firmly on the ground. They are also the one who keeps the Serpencieve food chain in line, giving and receiving orders from the top lizard. They are in control of three subunits-the destruction lover Frenzy, the sharp-witted Ravage, and the artistically inclined Buzzsaw.

Knockout (Sports Car/Naga)

Role: Medic

Knockout isn’t so much vain as she is a perfectionist. That isn’t to say she isn’t full of herself-which she most definitely is-but she expects perfect functioning order out of everything. Even so much as a little dent or a scratch is enough to send her reeling. When things fall into chaos, she goes into panic mode. She works decently with Starscream, and tolerates Feedback in a similar vein to him.

Leviathan (Cruise liner/Jumbo Jet/Sea dragon)

Role: “Security”

Leviathan is considered the strong and silent type. He doesn’t speak unless he considers it absolutely necessary-which admittedly isn’t often. He is the Serpencieves’ secret weapon-not only does he have a second vehicle mode, he is one of the largest members of the flight. He’s a cold-blooded killer, seeming to delight in the chaos and murder he causes.

Feedback (Jeep/regular dragon)

Role: Mad Scientist

Feedback is insane, and he knows it. He loves reveling in his own madness, placing himself in his own little world. Sometimes, he gets on his fellow Serpencieve’s nerves, but he barely cares. As far as he cares, he’s a misunderstood genius. His mind is always cooking up hare-brained schemes that seldom work, but his relentless determination and surprising brilliance (plus undying loyalty to the Serpencieve cause) is enough for Megatron to keep him around.

Drag Strip (police car/western dragon)

Role: Assassin

Drag Strip is not a Serpencieve in the truest sense of the word-she sees herself as neutral, and will help the Draconoids if she thinks she can benefit from it. She deals in her own ideas of “justice”-basically, the strong preying over the weak. She deals in absolutes, but if she says she will do something, she does it. Deep down, she knows that the Serpencieves are doomed, something she stews over in secret. While she does admire Megatron’s strength, she does not consider herself romantically invested in him.

Smogg (Garbage truck/Wyvern)

Role: Muscle

Smogg is easily the most beastly-minded of the Serpencieves. He is brute strength, always looking for a battle or something to sink his teeth into. So intense is this desire for battle, he has to be chained onto Nemesis Valley in order to keep him from destroying anything that moves. Unfortunately, his beastly mind keeps him from forming strategies and plotting against enemies moves, which is why he works most effectively merely as a bodyguard or a muscle man. Starscream frequently employs him because he himself is not very physically powerful.

[oh-so-scenarios]

Not A Bad Thing ~ Part Eight

Masterlist

Fairy-tale & AU Series Index

Previous Part || Next Part

Word Count: 3.4K

****Trigger Warning: Mentions of bullying and suicide****

Errors. Please excuse and ignore them.

***A/N: This chapter is SOOO SHORT. 

This is a FILLER chapter y’all. I don’t like how this chapter came out. lol I lowkey feel dead inside. Like a dead inside emotionless typing machine. :\

{Update days: Tuesdays, Thursday or Saturdays}

SEHUN:

I sat there at the table with Y/N, who was teasing me. There was music blasting around us as the others celebrated, yet when I’m looking at her, it’s almost like the music was muffled. She has my full attention. Those deep eyes staring at me. The way her nose crinkles when she laughs, and how never fails to make my heart beat rapidly.

I took a deep breath, almost overwhelmed by the swelling of my heart.

“I don’t like crazy romantic stuff like that. I don’t want to be a damsel in distress that needs to be saved.” She said, raising an eyebrow at me.

I glanced down at my hand which held hers. I looked back up to see her gazing at me, waiting for a reply.

“If anything I’m the damsel,” I stated, “You saved me.”

I watched as she leaned away, almost cringing at my words. My eyes didn’t move from hers despite this.

“Why are you getting so intense all of a sudden?” She giggled. Though it’s been some months now, it still feels like I don’t know much about Y/N. The desire to be close to her is strong. When the pack goes for runs, she’s all that’s on my mind.

Yixing told me we should try to grow closer before mating season begins, or else things will become awkward.

I smirked before grabbing the bottom of the chair she sat in, sliding it closer to me so that we were close to each other. Y/N held in her laughter, clearly teasing me.

“You play around too much,” I whispered into her ear.

After winking at me she whispered, “What are you going to do about it, loverboy?”

I kissed her, pulling her close. Her warmth is always so comforting. I was trying to convey my feelings to her through this kiss. Through every touch and smile.  But my lips couldn’t say the words.

I love you.

I broke the kiss hesitantly. She went on about how my brothers are going to tease us and I quickly brushed it off.

Though it wasn’t long before we were interrupted by Eun Ji who said Y/N’s parents were here. I was just as shocked as she was. Though she still left to greet them.

The moment she left the room, I ran over to the speakers, shutting off the music. I ignored the whines of those around me.

“Y/N’s parents are here. Everyone get yourself together.” I voiced.

“Wait, her parents? That’s cool! They could tell you more about her!” Chanyeol said from the couch with his mate beside him.

“I don’t think you understand, this is a big deal! I need to make a good impression, so everyone be on your best behavior.” I exclaimed.

A cheeky smile made it’s way onto Baekhyun’s face, “I’m always on my best behavior.”

This only made me a glare as I saw Y/N enter the room followed by two people. The resemblance between her and her mother were uncanny. Though there were traces of her dad in her face. The woman’s eyes scanned the room with a kind smile.

“Ooo,” Her mother chimed, “which one of these attractive men is dating my daughter.”

I cleared my throat stepping forward with my best smile. I was nervous, but I tried my best not to show it.

Should I go for a hug? No that’s seems too forward. But a handshake is stiff right? My body before I could think, I stretched my hand out.

“Nice to meet you ma’am. I’m Oh Sehun.”

I watched as both of Y/N’s eyes fluttered and they flinched back. The reaction made my heart jump and a weird feeling of darkness washed over me as I watched their horrified expressions.

“Y/N,” Her mother said, glaring at me. I almost took a step back. Her gaze was too strong. I could almost feel the guys behind me becoming alert. The depressing vibes that were coming off of Y/N also left me alert.

Tears began to well in Y/N’s eyes, and my gaze moved back to her mother who called out Y/N’s name once more.

“It’s not the same Oh Sehun is it? Please tell me I’m wrong.” She mumbled.

My brows furrowed. What? Her parents know me?

I looked at Y/N who was almost sobbing her eyes out. My heart tightened as Junmyeon stepped in to figure out the conflict. I stretched my arms out to comfort her but was shocked when her father stepped forward.

“Don’t touch her!” His voice whipped through the air, leaving everyone frazzled. He moved Y/N behind him as if protecting her from me.

Can they sense I'm a wolf or something?

Her mother said something, but I didn’t hear it quite well. I was lost in my thoughts. Before I knew it, her parents were pulling her away.

Yixing and Junmyeon were trying to calm her parents down, while I stood there stunned by the situation.

“Please, just listen to what I have to say! He’s not like that anymore!” Y/N yelled, trying to get her parents to listen.

Not like that anymore? What?

Her father began to tug on her arm more so I stepped in, trying to stop him. My pleas weren’t met kindly. Her mother walked towards me, her chin high up. Though she was shorter than me, it felt like I was being looked down on. Her steps were slow and it almost felt like she was making fun of me.

Her eyes were full of hatred. She glared at me, and tears were welling up in her eyes.

“You and your rich friends bullied my daughter in middle school and the early years of high school, to the point that we had to move to a different country so she could start over.”

Can a person’s heart drop to their stomach? It felt like my blood was freezing over in my veins and my heart was pounding in my ear due to the lack of blood circulating.

There was a high pitch ringing in my ears and my vision blurred for a short moment.

“What?” My voice came out quiet and fragile. When I looked at Y/N, she was looking down. So what her mom is saying is true? How?

“You basically destroyed my daughter’s confidence, passion, brightness, and smile. You don’t know the pain we went through to get her even close to who she used to be.” Her voice trembled as she choked back tears.

Middle school?

Like a vision, Y/N’s eyes flashed in my mind. The constant look of fear in Y/N’s eyes were panning through my thoughts. From when I met her at the banquet till the time she began to relax around me. And just like that, it clicked.I was no longer seeing just her eyes. But I was seeing Y/N, a young Y/N, in middle school crying her eyes out.

My thoughts were broken through like shattered glass as Y/N’s mother stabbed at my chest with her finger.

“I don’t know what you did to change her mind about you, but that surely won’t happen with me. You don’t deserve to be in her presence let alone deserve her love.” She snarled. She quickly turned around and left, Y/N and her father following behind them. I heard the front door slam and my brain was rattling.

I placed both hands on my head, trying to gather my thoughts about what just happened. My mind was blanking and I stared at a certain spot of the carpet.

“Sehun,” Junmyeon called, making me jump.

“What was Y/n’s mother talking about? Is that where you know Y/N from? You did something to her in middle school?”

I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out. As if frustrated, Eun Ji rushed past me, bringing all attention onto her.

“I knew it! My gut was screaming that was her but I didn’t want to believe it.” She muttered as she rushed off. I stared at Eun Ji back as she disappeared into the hallway. My eyes darted to the guys who looked at me for answers. I looked back towards the now empty hallway before chasing after Eun Ji. I could hear the footsteps of the guys following me.

“Eun Ji! Eun Ji! Wait what are you talking about?” I yelled after her, catching a glimpse of her back as she opened the door to the basement. She didn’t even bother to turn around. I followed her down the stairs to the small lobby of the basement.

“Which room has your old school stuff?” She questioned, eyes darting between the few creme colored doors.

“The one of the left.” The voice came from behind me. It was Yixing who looked just as confused as I was. Eun Ji ran into the room and instantly began tearing through boxes. All of us gathered into the storage room filled with dust covered items, accompanied by spider webs and the creatures stuck in them.

“Eun Ji!” I finally yelled. She jumped, shaken by my change in volume,”What is going on? Stop what you’re doing and tell me what is happening? You know Y/N? Where from? Give me answers!”

“Lens freak! Sehun, Lens freak!” She yelled back, “The girl we used to mess with in middle school? Remember? The small quiet girl who always had that camera with her?”

I staggered back, it was like being hit with a brick.

My face scrunched up, “That was Y/N?”

Eun Ji turned back around and started to search through the boxes.

“I remember!” Jongin spoke dully, “I remember! Cause that one time we put paint in her locker!”

“We also put her camera in the toilet…” Baekhyun’s voice trailed off.

Eun Ji finally pulled something out of a box and began flipping through the pages. As I stepped closer to her, I realized that it was a yearbook from our second year of middle school.

“There!” She exclaimed pointing to something. I walked over setting my eyes on a yearbook photo. Though she looked very different, the name under the picture was Y/N.

I gawked at Eun Ji. She stared back at me, and I could see tears welling up in her eyes.

“W-we were awful people.” She stuttered, “I think we ruined her and as if it was some sick joke, she became your mate and had to hang around all of us.”

I strolled through the hallway, Baekhyun, Chanyeol, and Jongin walking beside me. I ignored the glances and the waves from girls who stood by their lockers. While we turned the hallway my eyes spotted her, and instantly an irritation was bubbling up inside me.

“Ugh, it’s her.” I groaned and stopped walking. Baekhyun chuckled, setting his eyes on the girl who stood at the locker, looking through it.

“What about her bothers you so much,” Baekhyun asked, “You’ve never even spoken to her, but the moment you laid eyes on her. You hated her.”

I shook my head, trying to find words to explain.

“I don’t know dude. It’s just something about her irritates me, deep down to my soul.”

Jongin laughed, “Your soul? You mean your nonexistent wolf?”

I elbowed him in the rib, “Shut up. Just because you’ve all had your first transformations doesn’t mean you get to step on me. It’ll happen sooner or later.”

“Whatever dude. But what about that girl? Let me help you out?” Jongin chuckled. Before I could stop him he walked towards the girl who had left her locker and was now approaching us with books in her hands. Jongin walked past her, bumping her so hard her books fell to the ground.

She bent down to pick up, and Jongin turned to me with a wide smile. He raised his eyebrows at me before beckoning me to do something.

I walked forward and set my foot on her Algebra textbook, “Oh no. Look what we have here.”

“Can you take your foot off my textbook?” She asked, looking up at me. The moment we made eye contact, I felt something pulse through me. In the heat of the moment, I kicked her book away from her. She glared up at me, and I glared back.

“What are you looking at, freak?” I hissed. With that I walked past her, stepping on her notebook in the process.

Jongin chased me down, a confused look on his face, “Bro, what was that? I bumped into her so you could help her with her books, and have a chance to talk to her!”

“I don’t like her in that way. She bugs me, plus this is way more fun” I answered.

I leaned against the wall as we all stood in the lobby area of the basement. My eyes were closed

“So why did you mess with her in the first place?” Yixing asked, “I mean what valid reason did you have to dislike her so much?”

I shook my head, “I can’t explain it, but every time I saw her, I was bothered! I don’t know! But I can’t even find traces of that feeling now! When I first saw her at the banquet it was the opposite of what I felt back then!”

“So you would look at her, and get angry? But then she ends up being your mate? That doesn’t make sense, Sehun.” Junmyeon challenged.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I finally opened my eyes, “It didn’t really make sense to me either.”

I noticed Eun Ji standing in the far corner of the place, tears running down her cheeks. Her arms were crossed and she looked off at the wall blankly.

“God.” She choked, putting her hand over her mouth, “I’m...I’m kind of relieved.”

My brows furrowed as I stared at her. I pushed myself off the wall, walking closer to her. I ignored Minseok who called out my name. He was trying to tell me something, but I wasn’t listening.

Eun Ji who now mumbling something, looked up at me, a new batch of tears in her eyes.

I narrowed my eyes at her, “What are you talking about? You’re relieved? Are you that messed u-”

“No! No! Listen! Remember how our second year of high school, I had that huge breakdown? That’s when my mom sent me to that dumb therapy group?” Her bloodshot eyes held bad memories but I didn’t say anything. I simply nodded, remembering the attitude and personality change she went through after that.

The girl who was once an intense bully had become someone who learned a new way to let go of the fear she had.

“Well...one day, weeks after Y/N stopped coming to school...I heard rumors that really shook me up. I didn’t say anything because that was also around the time you had your first transformation and you were an emotional mess. But the rumors I was hearing is what triggered my break down.”

EUN JI:

I stood at my locker, picking things out. It was after school and I’m ready to head to volleyball. I had my bag with my uniform in it on the floor next to me.

After packing more things into my volleyball bag, I closed the locker and headed to the gym, ready for practice.

“Wow, you dare to show your face?” A voice said behind me. I spun around to see the captain of the team, along with a few other players.

I smiled at her, nervously. I’m confused. What the hell are they talking about?

“Oh what you didn’t hear or are you just playing stupid?” She hissed.

“Jenny, I’m sorry but I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I tried my best to keep my voice polite, I didn’t want to offend an upperclassman.”

If she wasn’t older than me I would have given her a mouthful.

“That girl you used to bully, lens freak-”

I chuckled without humor, “I don’t bully her.”

“No,” Jenny spoke sternly, “You bully her. I don’t know what else to call it. You and Sehun are always on her case. She walks around in fear of bumping into you! No wonder she did what she did!”

I scoffed, “What did she do? Go tell the principal? I haven’t seen her at school in weeks.”

“That’s cause, from what I’ve heard, she killed herself.”

“What?” I almost shouted, “That’s not funny!”

“Is death something to joke about? She’s disappeared, and teachers are acting like she never existed! Her family has moved out of the house. What else could have happened? I guess you and Sehun just took it too far huh?”

She shrugged but the gesture didn’t feel casual, “Everyone is keeping it on the low out of respect of Y/N, but damn I thought you should know so you don’t walk around smiling. Like at least have some shame. Or maybe you really are a monster like everyone said.”

SEHUN:

“What the fuck?” I growled, “Why did you keep something like that from me? How did none of us hear about it?”

Eun Ji rolled her eyes, “Come on, be real. Your grandfather is this big powerful man. Either everyone was scared to tell you, or he made them keep their mouths shut.”

“So what, did you ever follow up? Or did you just tuck this deep inside of you?” I exclaimed, “If you had a feeling you should have said something? No wonder she wanted nothing to do with me. I showed up every day with a smile, she probably felt like I was taunting her.” I put my hands on my head my eyes stinging to the point that it was painful.

The tears welling in my eyes blurred my vision.

“Yes, Minseok...I will be home soon. Mrs. Lee made me stay after school to do makeup for a test. Bye.”

I hung up the phone, shoving it into the pocket of my jeans. I walked down the empty hallways. The life that once filled the hallways were gone. The emptiness of the place reminds me of my mother.

Well...of her absence. My father died when I was young and a few years later...my mother ran off. She couldn’t handle us as young wolves and all that. My grandfather was the one to take care of us, since then things have been going well.

I turned the corner, lost in my thoughts. I heard a locker slam and it seemed that the fuzz in my vision was gone.

“Oh Lens freak!” I shouted.

She stood and looked at me with wide eyes, those same eyes that annoy me.

“Listen Sehun, not today. Any day but today.” She said with a trembling voice.

I walked closer to her, “You don’t want to play with me?”

“Don’t you understand!” The change in her voice scared me. She was yelling now. Her voice echoed through the hallway as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks

“You and your friends have ruined me! Yet you can still walk up to me with that stupid smile on your face.”

“Hey freak calm down, they’re just jokes.”

“Just jokes huh? Well, your jokes aren’t funny. I’m not laughing. When will you learn that your ‘jokes’ affect people? Take that entitled stick out of your butt.”

“It’s fun messing with you,” I answered, stepping even closer. We now stood about one foot apart. Though she stared on with a blank face, I 

“Well find a new punching bag..” She snarled walking past me. She stopped mid stride and turned on her heels to face me.

“By the way, fuck you.” She choked back tears, “You have no idea the damage your ‘jokes’ have done.”

“That was the last time you spoke to her?” Minseok asked.

“Yes and she just disappeared. I never asked about it. I practically forgot her face after 3 weeks…” I trailed off.

We sat there in silence for some time. I squeeze my eyes shut, attempting to hide my tears from the others. I ruined her. The scars that are keeping her from opening up were my fault.

I wordlessly walked out of the room, and up the stairs and to my room. My phone was dead, and I wasn’t going to call Y/N right away. I need to think. The tight feeling in my chest wasn’t the same pleasant one from earlier.

What a sick joke of a romance.

[phantastic-wolfies]

July 31st, 1996

Hey guys, this is just something I randomly thought of. I just wanted to try it out so here it is! It changes the ending of the overall Harry Potter book series but it’s fanfiction. And it’s supposed to be different.

Also, I know that July 31st, 1996 isn’t on a Saturday, but let’s pretend it’s on a Saturday. 

Harry x Draco

Today is the day of Harry Potter’s birthday. Today is also the day Harry agreed to date me. Today would also be the day of our third anniversary. Today is also precisely a year after something fucking shit happened to him. And today is the day that my hatred for Lucius Malfoy, my father, grows stronger. 

Exactly the same date last year, Harry and I were celebrating our second anniversary together as a couple. 

Third Person POV

It was an early autumn morning. The sky, slightly cloudy and gloomy like usual. Draco, with a small smile on his face, woke up from his deep slumber. He knew immediately why he was happier and chirpier than usual. His lover, Harry, would be spending the entire day with him. 

Draco climbed out of his warm green bedsheets and got dressed to go out to Hogsmeade. He planned for his birthday boy to celebrate his Breakfast and Lunch at Hogsmeade with him. 

Once he left the Slytherin common room, his palms began to sweat. His forehead creased in anxiousness, and his thoughts were wired with nerve-wracking thoughts about the day ahead. 

What if Harry doesn’t show up at the school entrance?

What if he doesn’t love me anymore?

Draco shook his head, he couldn’t let these thoughts stop him. 

As he waited for Harry to arrive, his fingers began to involuntarily twitch. Although Harry was only running two minutes late, Draco was already feeling somewhat sad. 

But finally, Harry arrived. His dark brown locks looked as though they had been run through by his fingers. His green eyes shimmered in the slither of sunlight that shone. His cheeks were tinted a slight pink from the autumnal winds. He looked beautiful in Draco’s eyes. But Draco would never admit that to anyone else but Harry.  

“Harry. You came” Draco said, relieved. 

“Of course, I’d never miss this day for anything” Harry replied before reaching down to hold Draco’s hand. 

The two strolled together, chatting and laughing before they finally reached Hogsmeade.

Hogsmeade looked absolutely fantastic in Autumn. The red, orange and yellow leaves dusted the cobblestone floor as if it was placed there intentionally. Draco pulled Harry towards the Three Broomsticks, the only place in Hogsmeade that they went to on every visit. 

Once they settled down, they ordered two butterbeers and a large English Breakfast to share. 

“Happy Birthday my love, I hope you enjoy this beautiful day,” Draco whispered to Harry. Harry blushed, his cheeks were tinted a darker shade of red than before. Harry was the only person in the entire world who saw Draco’s sweet and loving side. To the rest of the world, Draco was a cold hearted Slytherin who was a total jerk. 

Once they had finished their meal, they walked around Hogsmeade together. Hand in Hand. They visited the little stores and bought some sweets before finally buying the largest chocolate cake they could find. 

The two started walking back towards the school. Draco had told Harry that he had a surprise for him. 

Harry was so excited. His heart thumped like crazy, he still couldn’t believe Draco had planned such an amazing day so far.

Once they had reached the school, Draco immediately pulled Harry to the courtyard. From then on, they spent the afternoon flying on their broomsticks. They flew and raced each other for hours until finally, they fell together in a pile of autumn leaves.

“Draco, I don’t know how I can top this for your birthday next year. Today was absolutely amazing. Thank you. I love you,” Harry whispered to Draco. Draco looked up to Harry, seeing content, happiness and love in his eyes. Draco reached over and pecked Harry on the cheek. Harry turned away, smiling slightly, cheeks pink.

“You don’t have to top this for my birthday. Spending private time with you is all I could ever want. I love you too.” Draco whispered back.

They lied down together till the sun started to dust the sky in beautiful shades of pink and purple. Orange and Yellow. Red and Blue. The beauty of it all overwhelmed Harry and Draco. It made them feel at home, safe, loved.

Finally, the sun had set entirely. The sky was a bluey black. The evening turned chilly. The two kissed and said goodbye, only to meet that night at the Malfoy Mansion.

 Lucius Malfoy invited Harry and Draco over for dinner. The two dressed up smartly, looking pristine and proper. Then, they headed for the Malfoy mansion.

Harry was extremely nervous. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. He could feel the adrenaline running through his veins. His palms sweat profusely. His eyebrows creased.  This was his first time meeting Lucius Malfoy. Not only is Lucius his enemy, but Lucius is also Draco’s intimidating father. And Harry only wanted to impress.

Once Harry and Draco arrived at the mansion, Draco’s house elves immediately invited them in. 

They started the night off with them, sitting down at the dinner table, enjoying a delicious meal. The roasted chicken, the tomato soup, the Greek salad, everything made Harry’s mouth water. 

Once they finished eating, they all moved to the living room to enjoy a chocolate frog cheesecake. 

But from then on out, Harry’s night turned upside down. He knew he shouldn’t have agreed to go to the Malfoy mansion. Draco might be a good person, but his father was renowned for being evil. 

What happened first was nothing. A simple yet urgent call that urged Narcissa to go across the house to answer. 

What happened after Narcissa left was intentional on Lucius’ part. obviously. 

“Draco, go get me a glass of wine from the cellar at the back of the house. There should be one bottle left of the Cabernet Sauvignon. That wine is delicious with chocolate”, Lucius asked sternly, looking at Draco with his gloomy grey eyes.

“Father, why can’t you get one of the house elves to get the bloody wine for you?”, Draco whined. 

“Because I trust YOU to get me the wine” Lucius replied, he glared at Draco, almost as if they were having a silent conversation. 

Draco quickly pecked Harry on the cheek before storming off to find his father the wine. 

“Now, Harry. I’ll just get straight to the point. I don’t like you. I don’t like my son dating you. Actually, I’m quite repulsed by you two. The son of a death eater, dating his arch nemesis, the famous POTTER? We both know Draco will become a death eater one day. And on that day, we’ll make sure he betrays your love. But, I’m feeling particularly nice today. So I’ll tell you the easy way to get out of this emotional mess. Break up with Draco”, Lucius told Harry. Harry was bewildered. 

“Sir, I will not break up with Draco even if it means I get heart broken in the near future. I love him too much.” Harry replied, reigning in his anger for Lucius. 

“Harry, you don’t get a choice in this matter. I prohibit you from seeing my son. I have eyes and ears absolutely everywhere. If you see my son after today, you will be kidnapped and tortured in front of Draco”.

Harry nodded his head numbly. His head drooped in sadness. He couldn’t allow himself to see Draco again. For he knew Draco would risk his life to save Harry. And Harry couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow that to happen. 

When Draco came back, Harry had already disappeared. Lucius only told Draco a destination to go to before midnight. 

Draco arrived at 11:45, on top of a hill looking towards the ocean. 

Harry was sitting at the edge, watching the moon and the stars glimmer in the sky. The dark blue ocean shimmered with sparkles that were reflected from the sky. 

“HARRY! Why did you want to meet me here?” Draco asked, his heart was blaring in his ears, his breath was frantic. 

Harry ran over to Draco, pulling him close to his chest.  “Draco.. I love you so much. You made my birthday the greatest day I’ve ever had. I love you so damn much”. Tears pooled in Harry’s green eyes.  “Harry... You’re scaring me. What’s wrong? What did my father say to you?” Draco asked quietly. Staring at Harry so intensely that Harry felt his heart break under Draco’s stare. 

“Nothing Draco. He did nothing” Harry replied quickly. Draco didn’t believe him. But he pulled Harry down to sit next to him anyways.  Harry, however, didn’t oblige. He walked backwards towards the edge of the cliff. 

“Draco, move on. I love you. Don’t be sad.”  And Harry tipped backwards, a hand on his heart and a face on his mind. 

Draco screamed. And cried. And punched the cliff. His head kept replaying Harry, tipping backwards into the waves that crashed onto the cliff. The image burned his soul. He felt his heart shattering every time the image rewound itself. 

He stayed on the cliff till dawn. Snape found Draco and brought him back to Hogwarts.

My heart aches every time I think about that day.  God how I wish I could kill my father.  Harry deserves justice. And he’ll get it. Soon. 

I’m kinda not happy with the ending... like the draco ending...