#she's still pushing through. there's that little sliver of humanity again.

[corntort]

rip trace's place as your favorite av protag lmao

LOL i can't say indra beats trace but i ALSO can't say she's less of my favorite either. my love for her just takes a very very different form

[ellieluvr420]

Eye for an Eye Pt.1

MASTERLIST (and information about Palestine) Please read!

SYNOPSIS: Your body yearned for the touch of your girlfriend, the warm embrace that calmed your mind but you couldn't give in, the anger you harboured for her at disappearing with her group for three months without any warning, explanation or even a mention of when she would be back stopped you in your tracks any time you got close to giving in. You loved Abby so much but looking at her made you sick, you couldn't push the feelings down no matter how much you craved for things to go back to what they once were. You hadn't planned this but the anguish in those green eyes mirrored yours and sucked you in before you could think twice about the repercussions of your actions. You made your bed when you made the deal with the auburn-haired stranger, eventually you'd have to lie in it.

Okay i know the vote isn’t over yet but there is a pretty overwhelming majority so here it is! i’m sorry if this is not what u wanted but i promise friends?never is gonna still be getting regular updates, that will be prioritised until it is complete i was just too excited to not put a little something out. love u all as always xxxxxxxx

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

In and out. In and out. Focus on your breathing, focus on it to quell the pit of rage burning deep inside you. That was all you had done for weeks and even at the resolution, when everything was as it should be, still the fire burned on. In and fucking out. Your breaths got deeper, shakier, more frequent again as the weight of her sleeping peacefully by your side consumed you, it had once consumed you with love and it still did, quietly in the background, but it was now overshadowed by the screaming torment of the rage you felt when you looked at her or even felt her presence. It had been like this ever since she got back. Weeks and weeks of refused touches, unanswered questions, shameful glances, you were stuck in this loop because she kept you in the dark. But humans adapt, better than most, so you adapted to the dark, learned to sneak around in it, hunt in it, live in it. You could never leave, neither could she, you were bound cosmically, and you cursed it every day. It was a paradox; how could you love someone so much you felt like your world would burn if they weren’t in it but hate them so much you never wanted to see them again? You couldn’t make sense of it, she’d come to understand your feelings but she was blissfully ignorant to how the swarm of indifference surged through your mind and clamped down on your heart.

You sighed and spared a glance at her sleeping form, the peaceful expression of her face only screaming at you to smother it with the pillow you had laid restlessly on. Weeks and weeks, every morning, you wake up, you stare at her sleeping face and you wish you could just make her sleep forever, it made you want to join her, to sleep and never wake. The anger had become so palpable you actually dreamed of killing her and then yourself just to break free from this never-ending cycle. You tip-toed around each other, you avoiding her like she was the plague because in your mind she was, and her treating you like an unexploded bomb that could go off at the slightest wrong movement. She knew it was her fault, she had made you this way but she had to believe you could both move past it without her shedding light on where she had disappeared off to those months ago. She knew what it would do to you both, leaving for three months without a word, just a quickly written note, no warning, no reassurance, just vanishing. She knew it was stupid to think she could come back without a word as to where she had went and everything would be the same but there was a tiny sliver of hope in her that it could happen. That hope was dashed away when a door was slammed in her face and not opened for her again for two weeks but when it did eventually open, that tiny sliver of hope came flooding back, a flame had ignited in her at the thought that everything would be okay but the flame was slowly dying the more weeks went by without a change in your demeanour. She could feel the hatred, the resentment, the hurt radiating off of you whenever you were near and there was nothing she could do to stop it anymore, you were stubborn, that she knew, but this, this was torture, karma getting its own back at her.

You couldn’t contain it anymore, the energy within you, staring at the wall and focusing on your breathing couldn’t help you now so you threw the covers off of you, rushing out of bed to storm out of the bedroom.

“Babe?” Her quiet, groggy voice sounded out from behind you and your body burned.

“What Abby?”

“Where are you going?”

“I dunno, be back soon.” You echoed the words in her letter and it stung, a physical pain ricocheting through her chest making it hard for her to breathe as she jumped out of bed to follow you.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” You paused and spun to face her, your dark circles were craters under your eyes, your face gaunt and paler than it typically was, your eyes completely vacant, devoid of any emotion.

“I mean I don’t know. Don’t try to find me.” She wasn’t sure if you were doing it on purpose but once again you echoed the contents of her letter as you yanked your boots from the ground, opening the door and slamming it behind you without even a glimpse over your shoulder at her defeated expression. She huffed and dragged her hands down her face as she reluctantly went back to her room, collapsing on the bed. It was times like these she was glad Isaac had moved her to a suite of her own, the thought of Manny witnessing this sending a shiver through her. She knew you could both get through this, she knew, so why was doubt invading her every cell?

You weren’t lying when you said you didn’t know where you were going, you couldn’t go back to your room, it only reminded you of the memories of those three months when she had disappeared and you had locked yourself away, refusing assignments, refusing most food, refusing contact with anyone that wasn’t her. It was too painful to be there, it made being in Abby’s room calming despite her looming presence but this morning it had overwhelmed you, so you kept walking and walking until you ended up at the mess hall. You didn’t remember taking the route there but you had and it was too late to turn back because eyes were on you, familiar eyes, beckoning you over to them.

“Hey stranger! Where you been hiding?” Manny, he had once been a positive presence in your life but he was the antithesis of that now, he had left with her, they had all left with her, leaving you here in the dark and they wanted to play nice now they’re back, you couldn’t. His smile juxtaposed your death glare as you scoffed and looked past him like he wasn’t even there. He could see the anguish in your face, evident in all your features that were nowhere near the radiance you typically emitted, he knew what had happened to you, who had happened to you, his part in it weighing on him heavily. You don’t acknowledge him, you walk straight past him like he’s a ghost, straight past him and all the others waiting expectantly for any sign of forgiveness, straight to the double doors at the other end of the hall, ramming through them like you’re made of steel. “Well fuck.” He mutters as they all watch you storm away out of their sight.

“Are you surprised?” Nora remarks.

“Well no but it’s been almost two months now. She hasn’t cracked one bit.” His eyes never leaving the doors you had exited through.

“She’s seeing Abby, has she said anything about how she’s been?” Mel chimed in with a concerned tone.

“Nada. Fucking nada. It’s radio silence from both of ‘em. I barely even see Abby unless we’re on assignments together because she’s always locked up in her room. I’m worried about ‘em both.” His voice was laced with sadness and there was a tense atmosphere clouding over them as there always was when what they had done was brought up, it was never directly spoken about, it felt like poison to speak it aloud but even a hint of it was enough to make them all shrink into themselves, becoming wrapped in their thoughts.

You trailed the halls of the stadium, circling round and round until your legs ached and your mouth was dry, you had seen people dotted here and there as you walked, smiling politely at any that you mistakenly made eye contact with. You walked past another faceless body as the deafening thoughts drummed around your mind. There was a muffled echo, distant but growing closer until you’re interrupted by a hand enclosing around your wrist, you knew who it belonged to without even having to look causing you to snatch your wrist free from their grasp as you jumped back with a scowl.

“What are you doing? I was worried.” You scoffed at her concerned expression as her eyebrows scrunched. You went to walk away but she was too quick, hands squeezing your hips and pushing you back against the wall you had jumped toward in a bid to escape her first grasp. “Stop fucking walking away from me. When is it gonna end?” You just stared back in disbelief, unmoving in her strong grip, her glassy eyes mocking you, she doesn’t care, her actions had been the opposite of someone who had cared.

“You’re so fucking full of it Abby. You’re worried? Bite me, you don’t worry about anyone other than you.” You spat at her, the shock of your words causing her to loosen her grip around you enough for you to break free and begin storming away from her again.

“I- I just wanna talk. Please.”

“You had your chance to talk. You had so many fucking chances and you wasted them so don’t give me that shit. You wanna feel better about what you did and my forgiveness is the only thing that will do that. Too fucking bad Abby.” You don’t slow as you grit over your shoulder to her but neither does she, following your every movement only a step behind.

“Well if you can’t forgive me why are you still with me? Why do you sleep at mine every night? Why do you still say you love me back when I tell you I love you? What’s the fucking point of it?” You freeze, a choked sob catching in your throat as you look up to the ceiling to beg the tears to just stay in your eyes.

“Because I do love you Abby.” You mutter barely loud enough for her to hear. “How don’t you understand that?” You sound broken, like a shell of yourself.

“Make me understand.” You scoff and chuckle dryly at her as you shake your head.

“I don’t owe you that.” You continue walking again but this time she doesn’t follow, stuck in her place.

“I have patrol! I won’t be back until later.” She calls out to you.

“Thanks for the heads up!” You call back sarcastically. “This time.” You mutter under your breath as you storm further and further from Abby.

You don’t know why you ended up back at Abby’s room, it was so stupid, you couldn’t stand seeing her but her room was the only place that felt safe, you stared at the key that she had once slammed down in front of you as you refused to acknowledge her pleads to just talk, the memory making your blood run cold. It was the first time you had even answered her repeated pounds against your door, two weeks after she had returned, though you opening the door made absolutely no difference because it was like she wasn’t there at all. You had unlatched the door, so it opened a sliver before immediately walking away from it leaving her to hesitantly follow you inside. She watched as you sunk down onto your bed, staring at the wall opposite instead of sparing a glance towards her as she stood over you. She had just stared down at you, pleading with you silently to just look at her but you never did. She slammed the spare key to her room down on your bedside table before sighing and leaving disappointed for what was only the first time to come over the next two weeks. It became a routine, she’d knock, you’d unlock the door and walk away, she’d come in to desperately get you to reason with her but when you showed no signs of a change in your demeanour, she’d give up and leave you alone, letting herself out shamefully. She was just too good at leaving you.

When you had turned up at her door, using the key she had given you, she was stunned, almost so stunned she didn’t see your tear-streaked cheeks and red, glassy eyes but she did notice, she noticed and a lump formed in her throat that she desperately tried to swallow down as she just watched you. Even in her own room you barely acknowledged her only choosing to mutter a small ‘can I stay here tonight?’, the second she vigorously nodded her head you drifted towards her bed, collapsing onto it and immediately burying your face into the pillow to muffle your sobs. She had rubbed your back but when she tried to cuddle into you and wrap you in her embrace you pushed her away hard enough that she didn’t try again. You had gone back to hers everyday since then and the routine hadn’t changed from that point on though you had grown from hurt and beaten down to hostile and the tense atmosphere was painfully tangible. It remained the same as you let yourself into her room, knowing she would eventually come back from patrol later that day and you’d have to face her once again

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Abby felt completely dejected, she was tired and her adrenaline that had powered her through today was fleeting, she was panicking about Owen after seeing Danny’s body and hearing what Nora had told her, everything was backwards and knowing you wouldn’t be there as a comfort to her only made her feel worse as she turned the key to unlock her room. She knew you were here but that made no difference these days, even when you were here you weren’t here and that broke her. 

“Hey.” Her voice was meek and cracked as she looked at you, standing in front of her with the same vacant expression you had worn for months, she couldn’t hold it in anymore, the dam broke and hot, salty tears began flowing down her cheeks as her choked sobs filled the quiet of the room. 

“What’s wrong?” You had moved closer, your eyebrows knitted together in concern as you spoke softly, juxtaposing your harsh tone she had gotten used to, it only made her cry more which drew you in closer until your hand was on her shoulder and squeezing. “Abby what happened?” 

“I- nothing, nothing. We just got ambushed on patrol, I think I’m just tired I don’t know.” You nodded but you were looking at her like you were expecting her to continue, you were coaxing the words out of her and she had no control. “Owen shot Danny and now he’s missing and I just don’t know what to do. Nothing’s the same anymore.” 

“No it isn’t.” Your voice wasn’t as soft as it had been, it wasn’t mean but it wasn’t soft, she warily peeked at your face and the sight of it hardened once again caused another choked sob to rack through her body. She stepped towards you and dropped down to her knees as she wrapped her large arms around your waist and squeezed as she pressed her cheek into your stomach. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have left the way I did and if I could take it back I would but I can’t keep doing this, I miss you and I miss us, I need you, everything’s different I need us to be the same. I’m sorry.” Your hand came to her hair, stroking gently. 

“Tell me where you went.” 

“I- I can’t.” She sobbed more as your hand snatched itself away from her hair before you reached behind you and desperately tried to unclasp her from your waist. “No please, please don’t go. Please I can’t do this without you.” 

“I don’t fucking understand Abby, why won’t you just tell me?” 

“You won’t be able to look at me the same.” 

“I can’t look at you the same now so what difference does it make?” Her eyes meet yours as she looks up at you from her place on the floor and the sight of her lip wobbling as her cheeks were red and tear-streaked almost made your resolve waiver but you couldn’t. You wished you could forget but you couldn’t. 

“Please.” She begged but it fell on deaf ears. 

“Let me go Abby.” She blew out a breath as her eyes clamped shut and she swallowed a sob, her arms loosened around you letting you break free from her grasp to practically run to the front door and leave. She didn’t watch you go from her position on the floor, she just sat and collapsed into a fit of sobs as her door slammed signalling your departure. You couldn’t keep it together once you had walked out of her room, everything felt like it was coming crashing down as you paced the halls. It wasn’t enough to leave Abby’s room, you still felt suffocated, you needed to get out of the stadium. You headed straight for the secret hole in the fence that only you and Abby knew about to make your escape and the second you emerged into the drizzly outside of Seattle you could feel your lungs filling with air that you desperately needed. You considered going back in but when you turned back, your lungs felt like they were constricting again and you ran in the complete opposite direction until your legs were tired and your lungs burned. You didn’t have a gun, or a knife, you were completely defenceless so when you heard the shrill cries of infected, you immediately looked for an entrance into any one of the buildings that surrounded you. 

You spotted a window open just one story up at an old theatre and you sprinted towards it and up the stairs of the fire escape to climb through. Once you were inside, you shut the window softly and began making your way through what you assumed was the backstage area of the theatre, the red, velvet curtains called you towards them and as you stepped through you gasped at the sight of an auburn-haired girl sleeping on one of the chairs. She looked a couple years younger than you, nineteen or twenty you assumed, and despite the sleep her face still looked screwed up and tense. You edged closer to her, careful not to make any noise and when you saw her gun on the seat next to her you grabbed it, pointing it at her while kicking at her shoe. She stirred slightly and then her eyes flashed open revealing bright green eyes staring back at you in disbelief.  

“Don’t scream. Who are you?”  

tags: @emiliabby @liasxeatt @kawaiibreadbouquet-blog @tphmnv

[eggluverz]

Operation: Dog Food

PAIRING. dan heng x reader

WORD COUNT. 1.0k 

SUMMARY. modern au. neighbor au. dan heng sees his new neighbor sneaking around his front porch. he hopes it’s for a good reason. 

NOTE. my coworker told me how she’s been taking care of a stray dog for the past 4 years and it was so wholesome… then this idea came !! dan heng is my current obsession and modern au’s r my passion <3 pls enjoy :3

Through the small crack between his slightly opened blinds, Dan Heng noticed some unusual movement near his front porch. Not unusual as in suspicious or worrisome. It simply wasn’t something he was used to seeing. 

The apartment next door had been vacant for almost a month now and he had gotten accustomed to the welcomed silence he had experienced while living at home in that time. But just a few days ago, someone had moved in and interrupted the solitude Dan Heng was living in. As much solitude as one could experience in an apartment complex that is. 

Despite what may seem like his complaining, he actually didn’t mind too much. You weren’t a loud or obnoxious neighbor. You didn’t have your television or music blasting loud enough for the entire building to hear like the previous tenant. Thuds and bangs of crashing into walls or dropping items were occasionally heard, but he attributed that more to the almost flimsy build of the apartment rather than you attempting to be loud. 

This, however, was the first time he had seen you so close to his own unit. He wondered what called for this invasion of privacy as he pushed open his curtains to see what you were up to. It seemed rather odd to peer at you through the slivers of his blinds so he figured peering at you through a wide open window must be less strange.

Dan Heng paused, concerned at his thoughts. But you were the one on his porch in the first place— So perhaps he wasn’t the strange one here anyway. 

He sighed, rubbing his temples. You’re coping, as Caelus would say. 

Shaking his head, he decided to focus on the task at hand: To see what you were up to. As Den Heng looked out the window again, he saw you crouching close to the ground, hand out as if holding an offering. What exactly you were offering something to, he did not know. 

He had two options running through his mind. The first was to go back to shut the blinds and go back to reading, leaving you to sort out whatever you were doing in peace. The second option, the one he ended up going with, was to open the door and ask what was going on.

“Is everything okay out here?” he asked, voice gentle as to not startle you. 

Still, you flinched in surprise. “Oh! Yes, but— Don’t make sudden movements or noises right now please I’m trying to help this little baby…”

Dan Heng was only confused for a short while before he laid eyes on the creature you were extending a hand out to. There was small, fluffy dog with disheveled fur and a wide-eyed look on its face standing right beside his porch. 

“A stray?” he concluded. 

You nodded. “I saw him when I first moved in but I figured he had an owner and was just wandering around the neighborhood. But I kept seeing him wander around and he just looks messier and hungrier each day… Realized he probably has no owner after all.”

He hummed. That did seem like a reasonable conclusion to reach.

“So I’m trying to feed him and take him to the vet and maybe take him home with me if he wants,” you explained, taking a small step towards the dog in front of you. At the forward movement, the dog whimpered and dashed away. You let out a groan, frustrated at the failed attempt. 

“Not working out for you?”

You shook your head, finally turning to face him once you accepted that the dog was gone for today. 

Dan Heng considered the situation. The dog looked quite frightened at the prospect of human contact. He wouldn’t be surprised if it had some past trauma and didn’t trust the help of another human. In this case, starting with a more hands off approach would probably be for the best. 

“Have you tried putting a food and water bowl out yet?” 

“No…” you replied, hanging your head in shame. “Should I? I haven’t even bought proper dog food, I just asked someone at work to bring a dog treat for me. I thought he would follow it to my car and I could take him to the vet.”

The corner of his lips raised in amusement. “And that’s okay. You did the best you could do with your current knowledge of the situation. But the dog does seem a bit too frightened by humans to accept your help without feeling safe in this space first.”

“You’re right,” you said with a nod. “I just hope it’s not too late and that I didn’t scare him away forever…” 

“You didn’t,” he said with confidence. “I hear dogs are a good judge of character and I’m sure deep down he can sense you have a great one. You should feel proud for trying to help him in the first place.”

You slowly lifted your head back up, a pouty yet hopeful look on your face. “I do want to help him and not scare him away,” you said with conviction. “Then, I suppose need to get dog bowls and food right now! Wait here, okay?” 

Dan Heng stood there as a few minutes ticked by, unsure why he listened. 

He watched as you ran into your apartment and ran out with a phone and keys in hand. 

“The pet store nearby doesn’t close for another 30 minutes! If we go now we can make it in time,” you said breathlessly, eyes lighting up with determination.

We?, he mused. 

Dan Heng wasn’t sure how he got himself roped into this dog-saving mission but he had no urge to back out of it now. He wanted to help the stray. And you. 

You ran a few steps ahead before realizing he hadn’t moved yet. You looked back at him with a hesitate smile. “Coming?” 

Without missing a beat, he followed after you this time. “I’m right behind you,” Dan Heng promised. “Let’s go rescue that dog.”

[revasserium]

a pantheon of ghosts

osamu dazai; 1.636 words; mostly fluff, with a tiny bit of suggestiveness in the middle but nothing explicit; normal dazai warnings apply but its cute i swear

there’s a notebook he keeps with the names and ages of every single person he’s ever killed.

it’s very kunikida-kun of him, yes, he knows. and when first he tells you, you’d blinked at the tremor like the first warning thrum of an earthquake behind the skyscrapers of his voice. and then, you smile and remind yourself that skyscrapers are nothing but a glass and metal and a foolish human defiance of gravity — you reach out your hand, palm up.

“so?”

“h…ha?”

dazai blinks.

“the book. where is it? i wanna see.”

he blinks again.

“a-ah! i don’t have it right now — you see — it’s in this bulletproof safe inside the last vault of a very fancy bank and i just… lost… the key…” his voice trails off as you quirk an eyebrow, your hand still outstretched.

the notebook, it turns out, is kept in a locked drawer in ranpo-san’s desk. safest place for it, dazai had claimed as he tugs out the tiny thing and hands it to you.

that night, he spends too many hours mapping your body with the silk and silver of his tongue.

later, after he has fulfilled himself of the cartography of you, you lie on your stomach, flipping through it’s pages.

you read out a name, and dazai tells you a thing about them —

“morimoto keisuke,” you say.

“ah — he was an office worker — skinny little guy, wife and two kids — sons… if i remember correctly —” and he always does, “he had a bad habit of gambling… shame he only ever bet on the losing horses…”

“miura tatsuya,” you say.

“oh yes! this one — young man, so beautiful that he’d often get stopped in the streets — a ton of agencies tried to scout him but… he liked to make his living crossdressing at night in kabukichou… i considered asking him to commit a double suicide with me, y’know — obviously, this was before i met you, darling — “

“tadakoro suzume,” you say.

“ah… she was…” dazai turns his eyes towards you. in the darkness, you can see the streetlights reflected in them like shards of shattered stars. he leans over, trails his fingers along the soft of your cheek.

“she was… difficult.”

“difficult… to kill?”

you turn towards him, letting the notebook fall shut.

“yes… she was — one of my last before…” he lets out a soft laugh, “before that bastard odasaku grew me a heart.”

you inch closer, push your palm against chest; outside, the light of a passing car paints the wall behind him in slivers of white before the light fades and you’re left blinking with the afterimage, printed across the backs of your eyelids. you taste dazai’s lips on yours before you feel him pressing in.

“isn’t it terrible?” he asks, “all these lives that i’ve taken?” and there’s a shudder in his voice that’s caught between fear and elation. you curl in closer, cup his cheek and let your nails dig into the bandages at the back of his throat. you tug them one, twice — hear dazai’s breath hitch into panting gasps.

“n-ngh — please —”

you bite his bottom lip, taste the metallic sting of blood and feel his hips kick against yours.

you grin to yourself as you press him back, crawling over him to straddle his body, pulling back just far enough to hear him hiss.

“yes,” you say, “it was terrible,” you say, even as you lean down to kiss him, even as you hold his face like a wishbone cupped between your palms. you kiss him like a wish made on a dandelion seed and grin as he whimpers beneath you.

“but there’s also that woman you saved — last tuesday — do you remember?” you ask, pulling back just enough for him to lean up and chase you, a whine twisting his way out of his throat as he yanks you back down, rakes his nails along your sides, down your back, digging crescent moons into the thick of your hips as you grind down over him.

“y-you mean that lady i pulled back from the crosswalk? sh-she wouldn’t have been hit by the bus even if i —”

“you won’t have done that before.”

the rustle of sheets goes quiet. and for a few precious seconds, the bedroom is just the sound of breathing. him and you and the world — taking one collective breath.

“i… i might have…” dazai swallows, his eyes flickering away from your face before you give him a tiny shake and force his gaze back onto you, “if i were… bored enough…”

you cock your head, and beneath your hands you can feel dazai’s skin simmering hot and then hotter.

“and then, there’s the nice old man at the tea house —”

“yes, but that was an agency assignment — he paid us —”

“would you have killed those people if you weren’t in port mafia to begin with?”

“i —” dazai stutters.

you lean back with a satisfied smirk, even as dazai pouts, his hands going slack around your waist.

“c’mon,” you say, swinging your leg from around his hips and slipping off the bed. dazai squawks, pushing himself up as he sputters after you.

“w-where are you going?”

you roll your eyes and pad back to the side of the bed, reaching out a hand.

“come on.”

he eyes your hand for a moment before sighing and taking it, letting you drag him bodily from the bed, downstairs into the living room where you spend too long rummaging around a few drawers before you jerk up with a triumphant a-ha!

you’re holding a notebook — in the darkness, dazai can’t really tell what the color of the cover is but it’s small. you grin toothily up at him as you drag him back up to the bedroom and plop down on the bed. the bedside table clicks on; dazai winces in the sudden brightness, in the warmth and light suddenly spilling from your side of the bed.

you’re lying on your stomach, your pillow shoved beneath your chest, pulling the cap of a pen off with your teeth, your feet kicking up behind you as you glance over at him. behind you, the lamp is spilling something like sunlight over your shoulders.

he’d never stopped to notice how warm bedside lamps are before today. or maybe, he’d noticed but he’d never thought about it until today. against it — your body looks like a cardboard cutout of what 'happiness' might look like.

“so!” you say, laughing as he slumps down on the bed beside you, making you bounce just a tad as he wiggles over to you, curling an arm around your waist again to pull you closer, “the lady… at the crosswalk… i thought she looked like… early 20’s? right?”

you scribble down your words as you say them, looking up when you’ve finished the first line.

the ink on the page is blue, not black like it is in his little death-ledger, as he’s grown to call it.

he blinks.

“uh… twenty-four, i think.”

you frown, “you think? that’s… really specific.”

dazai shrugs, “well, based on the texture of her hair ad the make of her —”

“okay, okay — got it, sherlock — so, twenty… four…” you mark down the number before moving to the next line, “old man at the teahouse —”

“sakanoshita kentarou,” dazai says, only for you to whip around and stare at him. he stares back, “what? he was an agency client! we keep files on everyone who requests our services…”

you press your mouth into a line but he doesn’t miss the twitch at the edge of your lips.

“okay — and age?”

“seventy three.”

you nod, penning that in.

and then, you move to the next line, listing down every agency member, and then all the port mafia folks you know the names of.

“w-wait, what are you doing?”

“listing people whose lives you’ve saved.”

“but…” dazai stares, and stares, and then finally, he drops his face into the pillow next to you with a loud, theatrical groan, “ah… has anyone ever told you that you’re perfect?”

you roll your eyes, “you don’t believe in perfection,” you say, turning back to the notebook.

“no… i didn’t,” dazai murmurs, shifting to pillow his cheek on his hands as he watches you continue to scribble.

your pen pauses, “didn’t?”

the use of past tense doesn’t escape you.

dazai smirks, “mm, yep.”

you narrow your eyes even as you feel your cheeks start to warm beneath his unrelenting gaze.

“w-what changed?”

dazai laughs, leaning in to poke your cheek with a forefinger, his eyes nearly as dazzling as his smile.

“now, now… you know i hate it when you ask questions you know the answers to…”

you bite your lips and turn back to the page. you’d been halfway through writing your own name, but dazai reaches out to take the pen from you and finishes off the last few strokes.

he pulls you in and presses his lips to your forehead.

“y’know… i hated you when we first met,” he says, casual, as he curls in next to you, watching as you continue to pen in names.

“yeah? i remember you told me that…” you turn to glance at him.

dazai nods, “you were the first person i met that made me want to keep on living… and for that, i don’t think i can ever forgive you.”

you smile, “well… i can live with that.”

dazai smiles as if accepting a challenge —

“yeah? well… so can i."

bsd dazai requests are open pls send me some i'm THIRSTY

[xxnashiraxx]

With Stars to Fill My Dream (7) - From Now Our Merge is Eternal

I'm releasing chapter 7 early!!!! ❤

Please have my girl in her new hard af fit, about to be traumatized next chapter. Lets goooooooo.

I'm setting up Ofelia's and Astarion's relationship, just the bones, it's so hard to write these two idiots sometimes. Forgive any grammatical errors I really tried to proofread this a billion times first. :")

Thank you guys!

Summary: A street-smart, musically inclined human girl with a tragic past gets abducted by a nautiloid after her painfully average shift at a retro singing diner. What's worse- putting your all into Olivia Newton-John and Travolta for lousy tips, or getting your guts ripped out by a gnoll? Or worse- getting turned into a hideous humanoid squid? Ofelia Montez will have to see if she can survive long enough to find out.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of past abuse and trauma. Canon-typical violence and gore.

Word Count: 8,238

Opening below the cut!

Sparks of red and gold flash behind his eyes as Astarion sits against a tree, the breath that fills his lungs and pushes outward again makes him feel almost alive. Every scent feels more powerful- even his sight is sharper. He can see the individual feathers of a hawk circling above, looking for its next meal.

He’s chosen a view of the sunrise today, and whether it's his freshly sated appetite or something else, it looks more beautiful this morning than ever before. Granted he hadn't had the chance to see it before these last few days in as long as he can remember, but still… Ofelia’s blood has made him feel like himself again. Maybe more than he has since he’s been dead.

No flush colors his cheeks when he thinks of their union- he does regret the intimate nature of the bite, but even knowing its troublesome side effects, he’d have done it all again just the same, perhaps aside from not properly asking her first.

She’d been so willing, and that fact wasn’t lost on him. Why? He can’t fathom it. No matter how hard he pours over her every word and subtle expression, he doesn’t know why she’d said yes. Stupidity? Curiosity? Some strange notion of compassion? Pity?

He grits his teeth, though he can’t find it in himself to stay irritated. He can’t stop thinking about the taste, the warmth in his skin now, all of it. How can he secure this strange partnership between them? She isn’t like his usual marks. She’s intelligent but stupid. Kind, but petty. Soft, yet tough. She doesn’t seem to be receptive to his more flirtatious remarks, but perhaps he isn’t trying the right kind. All he’d had to do before was bat his lashes and flatter his prey, but with her it’s different. Her keen eyes search for something deeper- a connection.

The kind she looks for isn’t something he has. Mutual trust? Banish the thought. He’d sooner flee their odd little group of misfits than confess to Ofelia a genuine emotion of his. Or thought. She’d find some use for it, no doubt- keep it stowed away for her benefit someday. She’s just enough of a wildcard that if he yields a sliver of control to her, she may see the opening and go for his throat. He’s smarter than that.

Perhaps he’ll manufacture lies for her? Pretty ones? She’s young and impressionable- perhaps she’ll be swayed by them. He can feed her some truth, just enough to gain her trust, and perhaps secure future feedings and a warm bedroll. Astarion’s nothing if not a master of deception- the scores of victims trailing behind him speak for themselves. He’ll resort to the one thing he knows best- luring with his looks to keep her hooked so he can stay fed and safe while he figures out how to remove his old master from the equation.

After that’s through, he’ll be rid of her and the parasite.

He ignores the odd little twinge in the back of his mind- likely the worm. When he stands, his limbs stretch, and his muscles flex, the breeze coming off the river balmy and carrying the promise of another hot day. He’ll go find her and thank her, see if he can begin this dance he’s set out before himself.

And hide her marks from the rest of their companions…

[interlagosed]

As per your request i humbly remind you to post your massage table hc

The first time it happens, Lando doesn't expect it. In fact, he doesn't expect to see Carlos in his driver's room when he opens the door at all. He screams, hand over his heart, and says, "Carlos, what the fuck-"

"Mind your language," Carlos replies, his voice muffled. That's when Lando realizes Carlos isn't just in his driver's room, he's on Lando's massage table, facedown, lanky arms draping off either side of the table. His polo shirt is slightly hiked up in the back, exposing a sliver of hairy back. Lando gawps for a moment, before regaining control of himself.

"Why are you here?" Lando demands, scowling. "You've got your own massage table, mate."

"I was looking for you," Carlos says, voice still muffled, though Lando can hear the smile on his face. Fucker.

"What for?" Lando grumbles, and then adds, "I was on the phone with my mum."

He doesn't know why he adds that. Carlos doesn't need to know. But then Carlos says, "Oh, how is she?" and Lando's glad he brought it up.

"She's good, yeah. She says hi."

That makes Carlos lift his face up from the table, and Lando's heart skips a beat at how stupid handsome he is. Carlos smiles.

"Good. Hello to her, also."

Why does he have to be nice on top of everything?

"A-anyway, don't change the subject," Lando says, trying to force steel into his voice. "Why were you looking for me?"

"I wanted to show you a video."

"You wanted to- we have texting powers," Lando says, laughing, but Carlos is already shaking his head.

"No, no. I have to see you seeing this. Lando, please. I must," he says, and rather than sitting up like a normal fucking human being, he scoots back, his eyes big and pleading, and turns onto his side. He pats the narrow space beside himself on the massage table.

Realization dawns. Flatly, willing his tone not to betray his anxiety, his- his- his stupid crush, on his stupid teammate, Lando explains, "I won't fit."

"You are very small," Carlos says, as though it were no matter.

Lando scowls, his heart beating faster. And then Carlos has the audacity to add, "And I will not let you fall."

Fuck. Son of a- fuck.

"Won't let me- you'll push me off!" Lando laughs, incredulous, but Carlos is shaking his head again.

"Me? Push you off? Never," he replies, aghast, but the effect is ruined when he wiggles his eyebrows and says, "except if you deserve it."

"Bye."

"Lando! Wait!" Carlos says, laughing, his hand reaching towards Lando. Lando rolls his eyes and steps closer, and then Carlos' hand is on his side briefly, then in his shirt, and Lando is frozen in place. "Please. Please. Just for a little bit, eh? I promise, I will not push you. Promise."

His hand. Why is it so warm, even through Lando's shirt?

Lando looks at Carlos' big, hairy hand. He follows the hair up Carlos' arm, where it disappears under the sleeve of his polo, stretched as it is by Carlos' bicep, and then he sees Carlos' face: open, good-natured, hopeful, god, so handsome.

He sighs and slips onto the massage table, and Carlos grins. "Thank you," he says, as though he has the right. He doesn't touch Lando as Lando lays down on his side. It's a tight fit, as Lando expected, and he nearly teeters over the edge-

But then Carlos' arm is around his waist in a flash, pulling him close. Lando gasps, and Carlos says, his voice gentle, "I told you, no? I won't let you fall."

Lando lets Carlos believe the gasp was about him almost falling. He hopes Carlos attributes the wild, certainly audible beating of Lando's heart to that, rather than to the proximity between them. There is no gap between their bodies. He feels Carlos' stomach, his chest, against his back. He can feel Carlos' chin just grazing the top of his head. He feels Carlos' fingers, steady, on his shirt; his pinky is just on Lando's skin, where his own polo hiked up slightly. The touch is searing, it's unbearable, it's-

The whole thing is perfect.

Then Carlos hands Lando his phone, commands him to hit play on the video he had been nursing for apparently nearly twenty minutes, and Lando can't help it: he laughs hysterically. Yes, the video's funny, but he laughs at all of it.

Before they know it, they've been watching stupid videos on Carlos' Instagram feed for nearly half an hour, tears in their eyes, laughing until their sides hurt, then laughing even harder as they both try to keep each other from falling off the massage table. There's one particularly precarious moment where the whole table seems at threat of tipping over, but Carlos pulls Lando half onto himself, trying to rebalance everything, and it works. Their giggles subside, then; Carlos seems to realize at the same time as Lando just how...how they are. And they look at each other, residual mirth still carved into their faces, and it's a long moment. Then, then, Carlos' eyes crinkle as he begins to quote a stupid line from the first stupid video he showed Lando, and they're laughing all over again, loud and outrageous.

That's how Charlotte finds them, and even the annoyance and frustration on her face as she tells them how late they are for what they were meant to be doing isn't enough to make them stop laughing.

So, the next time Lando sees Carlos on his massage table, he just grins, closes the door behind himself, and says, "How long have we got?" before hopping up onto the table to let Carlos take his waist again.

For safety, of course.

[piratekane]

3 and/or 5 from the sentence game 👀💕

five: i hate seeing you like this

(takes place after this)

Ava pauses in the doorway, head against the solid wood and her arms crossed over her chest. The morning sun is filtering through the window and long glowing beams of light stretch out across the bed.

Bea turns over in the sheets, forehead wrinkled with some unknown thought. Ava wants to know what it is. She wants to coax Bea away and ask her what's going through her mind, what's bothering her, what can she do to make it better.

But she knows she needs to let Bea rest, that last night had been long. So she stands in the doorway and stares and wonders to herself, do you feel this too?

She's been feeling it for a while now - before the Alps, before the Vatican. This sliver of something that started like a soft drop in the center of her chest until it turned into a flood that seemed to press at the back of her teeth each time she went to open her mouth. But being here now, being the two who got out together, has brought it into sharp focus.

The sun changes, lifts a little higher in the sky, and touches the top of Bea's head and hair where it's strewn across the pillow. It looks like it's going to be a clear, crisp day today - she might be able to convince Bea to walk down to the bakery they found on their way into town and get a pain au chocolat or two before they go see that bar with the 'Help Wanted' sign on the small post outside.

A raspy, "you're awake" pulls her back into the moment.

Ava blinks, pushes off the door frame and takes a step forward. "Morning," she says quietly.

Bea, still blinking her way into consciousness, sits up slowly. The blanket pools at her waist and Ava has to purposefully look away, purposefully meet Bea's eyes and try not to waver. "How late is it?"

Ava smiles a little. "Not late. I was going to wake you up soon." Lie. "But you looked like you needed the sleep." Truth.

Bea's eyes cut over Ava's shoulder and there's a faint flush across her cheeks. She steels herself - Ava watches the way Bea's shoulders pull back and her jaw tightens and her chin lifts a little and Ava sighs - to say, "I didn't mean-"

"Don't apologize," Ava rushes out before Bea can finish. She sees the protest on Bea's tongue and takes a step forward, cutting her off again. "You don't... You don't need to apologize. We're... You're human, Bea. You're allowed to have a bad night." She takes another step forward, hesitant this time. "If you wanted to talk about it..."

Bea's jaw clicks again. "I'm fine."

"But if you weren't," Ava pushes. She's at the foot of the bed now. She sits, curling one leg up under the other. Her hand clenches into a fist instead of dropping over Bea's ankle. "You could talk to me. I meant what I said, Bea. We're in this together. You can count on me."

She must say it earnestly enough that it cuts through whatever embarrassment is building up inside of Bea. Because Bea smiles a little and the tension in her shoulders that seems to bleed up into her neck and down into her elbows eases. She softens and so does the knot of knowing something is happening inside Ava's chest.

"I know, Ava."

She's not done. "I want you to know that what I say next does not mean I think you're, like, weak or anything." Bea's shoulders start to tighten again and Ava does reach out this time, does curl her fingers around Bea's delicate ankle bone, squeezing tightly.

"No, just listen to me. I can be your shoulder to lean on. This?" She points a finger between them. "This is important. We're important. Bea." She waits until Bea looks at her. "You're important."

Bea opens her mouth to say something, but seems to think better of it, closing her mouth again. Her eyes cut away again but Ava can see their shine. So Ava looks down, trying to ease the tension. Her fingers dance across Bea's shin.

"I just hate seeing you like this," Ava continues softly. "Like... hiding yourself. From me."

There's a moment of quiet before Bea says her name quietly. She looks up and is struck again by the intensity that is Bea's full attention. She wants it all the time and doesn't know what to do if she had it.

"I'm not used to... telling people things. Like that," Bea adds, voice wavering just a little. "But you were... You made it easier for me. To not want to hide."

"Really?" she asks hopefully.

Bea leans closer, dropping her hand over Ava's, trapping it between her palm and the scratchy cotton sheet covering her leg. "Really."

Ava looks into Bea's eyes and thinks, even if you don't feel this, I'll feel it enough for the both of us.

She smiles crookedly and turns her hand over, palm to palm with Bea. "I was thinking we could do a tour of town and then check out the bar? Making drinks can't be that hard, right? You just pour and serve?" She doesn't wait for an answer, standing up and propping her hand up on her hip. "Maaaaybe get some pastry?"

"Of course," Bea says flatly.

Ava grins properly now. "Come on. You can get a plain croissant. Wouldn't that make you happy?" She laughs when Bea doesn't, dancing out of the bedroom and into the kitchen where she starts the dented kettle to make Bea a cup of tea. She hums happily. Last night had been dark clouds but the sun is shining this morning and Ava is going to make the most of it.

[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job, Post 343: A Sunday at Melissa's, p1

“Oh, hey,” I said, as I stepped into the kitchen that rainy Sunday morning. I had a throbbing headache, a bit like a hangover but as far as I could remember I hadn’t had a drop last night. Or maybe I had? I was also sore just about everywhere, most acutely the, uh, parts between my legs. They’d had quite a bit of use yesterday. What was it? Four times? Five?

“Hey,” drawled Amelia, the other sole occupant of the kitchen. It was early-ish, the weird, heretofore unseen clock of Melissa’s mom had just struck I dunno seven-eight-or-I- don't-know a bunch of  times just a few minutes ago as my head pounded along with it. She was wearing a casual, long sleeved white thermal and some yoga pants. Her makeup was light, which was rather atypical for her.  Maybe it was just leftover from last night. I noticed she was slicing an apple…casually using her impressive fingernails. “Want some?” she asked.

“Uh, no thanks…” I answered, watching for a moment as the long, white-painted nail of her right hand slivered off another slice, cutting through the apple like butter. Just another thing to add to the weirdness that was this weekend, I thought. At the very least, standing there for a moment and watching her distracted me from my vague sense of awareness that things felt different to me than they had yesterday morning. The house seemed bigger to me, the counters higher. Yes, Amelia had been going through this same strange growth spurt as the other girls had over the past couple months and even here in her bare feet she stood at least six feet tall, but I couldn't ignore the creeping feeling that I’d become shorter again, just in the past day. I pushed that frankly terrifying notion deep back in my mind, like I'd somehow done many times before. 

“Is anyone else still here?” I asked.

“No I’m the last one,” Amelia answered, as she casually speared an apple slice onto the nail of her right index finger, “and I’m leaving.”  She popped the piece in her mouth, and speared another. With her other hand she picked up a white travel mug adorned with what looked like the symbol of the New Woman Party, emblazoned in deep pink. 

“Coffee?” she asked. 

The kitchen had one of those fancy single-serve units, built into the counter. 

“N-no thanks,” I answered. 

“Oh yeah that's right,” Amelia said, between another bite of apple and a sip from the mug, “Melissa only lets you have milk.”

I flushed, unable to find the strength of will for an argument. Memories of last night flashed before me. A mug of warm milk…human milk. It sent a shiver down my spine.

“I hear she’s your sugar-mama now,” Amelia continued, regarding me with cool interest as I stood there awkwardly. I hadn’t moved a step since first setting foot in the kitchen. 

“She’s…what?” I asked, a little confused.

“She’s giving you money now?” the buxom blonde said in retort, with arched brow and another bite of apple, “that officially makes her a sugar mama.”

“Oh, th-that…” I stammered. How had she heard? “That’s just a one time th-“

“Sure don’t worry,” Amelia answered, reading the embarrassment right off my face, “It’s no big deal to her. You should see her bank account. It’s huge.”

For a moment, that took me aback. I never considered whether Melissa had money. I figured that she was like most every other twenty-something in today's world, just trying to make ends meet and maybe slowly putting something aside for the future. I knew she’d worked as a small-time model for a bit, but besides that most of her work history had been relatively meager-paying jobs. But, after our conversation last night, considering this elegant home of her mother’s, and now with this nugget from Amelia I was beginning to see things differently. Maybe she was the one with the financial power in our relationship. After my divorce, I certainly didn’t have much to my name. Not anymore.

That reminded me. I had some work to do today, some paperwork, some things I was still responsible for after Olivia had taken the reins. It wasn’t a lot, but I’d been told they wanted it for tomorrow. Some stuff for the building permits and some new clinical trials. “Hey, um, Amelia?” I began, “could I grab a ride home?”

Her answer came straightaway. “No. Melissa will drive you home when she wants.”

That statement, also, struck me funny. And again I didn’t have the fortitude to argue or complain. I guess I’ll be waiting for you. I put that little humiliation to the back of my mind as well. 

I glanced around the room, the white marble countertops, searching for what had originally pulled me downstairs. It had been missing since…I dunno when. 

“Looking for your phone?” Amelia asked, watching me as she took another sip of coffee and grabbed a jangle of keys from the counter. “Check around the pool,” she said, “we were playing with it last night.”

Ah okay. Despite being uncomfortable with the fact that my young employees had been maybe going through my phone, I thanked Amelia and - without much else besides a ‘bye’ - she turned and left the room, taking her coffee with her. I watched her curvy hips sway away and felt a wave cloud of perfume recede from the room behind her frankly jaw-dropping ass and shapely back. 

Immediately, things felt strangely  colder, darker, and I felt a little smaller. Maybe a storm cloud had further darkened the scant mid-November sun. Anxiety began to tickle my bones and I wanted nothing more than to just find my phone and scamper back upstairs to bed with Melissa, where it was warm and, frankly, safe. I could stay there with her until she was ready to drive me home. I had woken with my face alongside her naked breast and I somehow  found the strength to peel away while she slept, but suddenly I really wanted to go back. I wanted her scent and warmth again to the point it felt uncomfortable not to be next to her. I'd become spoiled by it. 

It was a Sunday morning, after all. A time made for cuddling, you’d tell me. 

But, first, I wanted to find my phone. There was nothing in the kitchen, so on unsteady feet, I made it out to the soaring great room while trying to ignore the worsening of my headache. Amelia said it might be out by the indoor pool, so I headed in that direction. Looking over the now-empty couch and floor brought back vague memories, which made me reflect on and justify how I spent last night. My mind, truth be told, couldn’t quite accept that the last 24 hours had really taken place. Echoes of the girls laughing filled my mind as I tried to remember what happened last night. Flashes of breasts and curvy hips plagued me as I searched the couch cushions for my phone. I couldn't remember what really happened, and the more I tried to the more it slipped away. All I could remember was bits and pieces...feelings. I remembered skin and touching and kisses that had seemed all too real at the time but my current sense of logic was already rationalizing these strange memories away,  altering them  for my own mental well being. That I’d seen…or had I?...women grow before my very eyes was ridiculous. It was almost like something out of a movie or an animation. No, that couldn't be right. My mind was clearly getting the best of me. Whatever happened couldn't have been that weird. Maybe I'll ask Melissa after I finally find my phone, I figured. Similar to how I was denying the feelings that everything seemed larger, I didn't want to accept that I may be smaller now than when I first stepped through Melissa’s door on Friday evening. My brain was adapting. Protecting me. Keeping me sane. Or, maybe this is insanity? Is that what you want?

Nonetheless, despite all my subconscious attempts to see the world as normal, standing next to familiar standardized constructs like doorways, light switches and tables I was constantly reminded of my altered state. The sliding glass door to the indoor pool seemed so much bigger and heavier than it should, and it took all my effort to pull it open. 

Stepping into the room, the pool filter was on, and the hum of it buzzed in the chlorinated air. Ripples shimmered over the surface of the water but as I made my way midway around the perimeter I spied it, my phone…sitting on the bottom of the deep end. Ugh.

Phones, these days, were made to be waterproof, right? I mean, I’d never really tested mine out but…maybe it survived? How it had gotten there - were the girls using it to take pictures? Look through my apps and documents? Email and texts? Whatever it was, why did they have it in the pool?  I didn’t need to concern myself with that yet. I just needed to retrieve it. Hm…it was only Melissa and myself here, now. I could shed these clothes (a t-shirt and gym shorts Melissa had picked up for me at the mall yesterday, fresh from the shopping bag this morning while she slept), dive in and grab it. But…I seemed to remember something, some time in the pool yesterday. Had I…had trouble swimming? There was something, some new anxiety I felt when I looked down into the depths of the pool - maybe it was eight feet or so - that kept me from jumping in. A quiet little dread. I wasn’t afraid of the water, was I?? As I stood there debating on whether to get in my eyes spotted a net, a skimmer on the end of a long, telescoping pole hanging on the wall...that felt safer 

Feeling heavier than it should as I tested it, the skimmer net should help me get the phone off the bottom without me having to get in. That made me feel better. So, without too much hesitation I had the thing off the wall and telescoped it out to its full length. It was kind of ungainly, I realized, as I slowly stepped toward the pool’s edge. I dipped the thing in the water, lowered it down and, awkwardly, started trying to scoop my phone off the bottom.

“Dammit…” I murmured, as at first all I managed to do was push it farther away, towards the pool’s center. A wave of something - dizziness? anxiety? -  washed over me. Maybe I should just wait for you to come down and do it for me? No no, I could do this. I just needed to get a little closer. I crouched down and stretched out over the edge as far as I could. That got me just about…yeah…almost there. I stretched my arms out as far as they would go. They shook from the exertion, but I could - just barely - touch the edge of my phone at the bottom of the pool. Now I just had to pull it back. This would have been so much easier if I were just a bit taller I thought, but goddammit I was gonna get this done. It was just within reach! After a few desperate attempts to pull the phone toward me my body reached its limit. I was already out of breath. I had clearly overestimated how much my body could do in its weakened and shrunken state, but still I thought I could do this. I just needed to reach out…a bit more…

Ahhh shhhhhhhittttt…..

 <<SPLASH!!>>

The water hit my body like a shock as I crashed face first in the pool. My mouth filled with warm pool water as I wrestled with the net still in my hands. Coughing and sputtering my head broke the surface my arms helicoptering wildly in attempt to stay afloat.  I threw the net aside my lungs burning as the panic set in. 

I can’t swim! I really can't swim!!

My legs kicked frantically as I tried to keep my head above water.“AHHHHGgglp-!!” I cried as I went under and swallowed another mouthful of chlorinated pool water. My arms and legs began to pinwheel in uncoordinated spasms, my head breaking the surface for a second as I finally opened my eyes and looked into the great room through heavy glass doors. I tried to cough, to scream, only to be met with yet another mouthful of water.

No one was there! I was alone drowning in an indoor pool inside my girlfriend's mom's house and no one could hear me! I tried to scream anyway, to call for help but all that came out were tortured gasps and sputters as my lungs expelled mouthfuls of water.

This is it?? This is how things are going to end??

My thrashing began to slow as I ran out of energy unable to find purchase on the pool's edge. My head dipped below the surface and I started to sink.

Melissa… I found myself thinking, I'm sorry…

>>>THOOM!!<< a huge crash from above, through the water, and Melissa was there, in the depths with me, breaking the surface and in an instant down under, aside me, in front of me, naked, hands under my armpits and her feet on the pool’s floor. Her eyes were wide, looking into my own panicked ones, and with a burst of strength she pushed us up to the water’s surface.

>>>AHHHHHH!!!<<<

"Shhh…shhhhh…it's okay now. I got you."

I coughed as I struggled to breathe.

Melissa pinched my nose and took me into a long powerful kiss filling me with her breath as she sucked the water out of my lungs.

Air, in my lungs. Then water, rocketing out of them. I coughed. I coughed and coughed feeling my eyes near to bursting. Her eyes were still on me, in half-panic herself.

“JayOhMyGOD!!!” she exclaimed, as she all but shook me back to life.

>>cough cough cough!!!<<

“JAY ARE YOU OKAY?!?!”

She was…she was naked.

>>cough cough<<  >>cough cough<<

“Talk to me! Jay!”

>>cough…cough<<  “yes…yes…<cough>...I’m okay…”

She was definitely naked.

“THANK GOD!”

Still swimming, still treading water there in the deep end, Melissa hugged me to her. Had she just saved my life? I think she did…

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

More thanks to ResistanceIsFutile for his assistance.

My Patreon

[come-down-that-tree]

Prologue Previous

Come Down That Tree ! (an aftermare story)

Chapter 11: ከትንሽ ልጃገረድ መልእክት

Geno took a breath in and pushed any remaining bad thoughts away.

He breathed out and runned the red fabric against his cheeks to remove the last of the wetness that could have lingered there.

He was there, he was alive. 

He would go along with whatever the universe had in store for him for now. Enough moping around.

 He stayed still for a moment longer, merely enjoying the gentle sun and his grass bed.

The situation was pretty good after all. He had spent much of his time so far lazing around and neither of his benefactors complained about it yet.

They were letting him stay in their “home”, giving him food and company. Despite all the troubles he brought with him.

Shouldn’t he give them something in return… to thank them? The skeleton hummed, deep in thoughts. 

But what?

He owed very little. Rummaging through his pockets only confirmed this statement: he found nothing he could use to pay “rent”. 

Just a few candy wrappers. A weird shaped key. A buzzer. A torned up tissue and a worn letter.

The letter…

He brushed his finger against the yellowish papier and silently put it back in his pocket.

His sigh rolled out in the air.

Not even one measly gold.

Should he try to find a job? He was confident in his capacity to take on any job if necessary. He did have a lot of small jobs back at home after all. 

The gentle noise of his fingers drumming against his leg filled his mind.

Where would he find a job around here? Down the village?

The drumming intensified.

That was a very very bad idea. The village had a lot of humans in it for what he understood… It would absolutely end up with him killing someone. While he couldn’t let go of his distrust of humanity, he could at least avoid doing something that would distress the twins. Like killing a villager, even if it was deserved. 

His fingers were creating a strange rhythm that was getting more and more mesmerizing as his thoughts swirled inside his skull.

There was no reset here. No need for human souls to free the whole kingdom. No past war to justify his grudge (as far as he knew). 

Only peace…

With dangerous neighbors…

His sliver of soul thrummed, following the entrancing music of bones against bones.

Ah. Where was he again? Who was he? 

Was he home?

What was home again?

A gentle smile. Red fabric he just sewed together. The warm embrace of tiny arms who grew big far too quick, without ever losing their kindness. The flutter of long forgotten black in the back of his mind.

Hmmmmm.

A light thug on his arm abruptly stopped his mental vortex. Reality rushed back in with enough power to make feel dizzy and he swung back and forth a few seconds while blinking rapidly.  

“Sir?”

A small voice made Geno look down, still a little frayed around the edges. 

A piglet monster was standing in front of him, eyes wide open and features settled on badly concealed curiosity.

“Sir, you hear me?”

The child was very small and wearing a dirty dress around her chubby body.

“Siiiiiir?”

A red ribbon decorated her neck as if she was a very strange present.

“Are you dead?”

Geno forced himself to stop his inspection of the unknown and locked his eye onto the greenest eyes he ever saw before answering.

“I was born dead, little lady, can’t you see I’m nothing more than a skeleton?”

He must have smiled too big or something because the young girl made a small jump backward as if badly startled. Aw, did he completly lose his social skills already? The child scrunched up her little face as if in deep thoughts for a whole minute then she shook her head very hard and stared at him fiercely.

“Is mister Dream here?”

“Use your eyes kiddo, do you see anybody, beside me, here?”

She didn’t even blink before shrugging.

“My mom sent me with a message for him but I wanna go back to play now. Give it to mister Dream when he’s back!”

Geno was really itching to mess with the kid but he kept the twitch in control and just nodded silently. Best not to worsen whatever impression the villagers must have had of him by now…

“The Frog announced a big tempest tonight, if mister Dream needs a shelter we can give him a bed.”

“Just for mister Dream? And what about mister Nightmare?”

“Mom said to tell mister Dream we don’t have enough bed for him too. But he’s not here, so we have lot of beds but mom and pop say the dark one is malfr- malfu- malfaisunt… He’s bad.”

"Oh… They said that?"

He crouched down to the girl's eyes level.

She rocked and twisted her fingers in the recoils of her outfit's fabric.

"Yes. Pop said to scream and run away if “that thing” was the only one here and it tried to come closer."

Geno didn’t even twitch despite the indignation wrestling in his soul. It had some advantages to have the best poker face around.

Maybe it wasn’t that good as he thought, however, as the girl suddenly got even more agitated, stuttered a few words of goodbye and dashed down the hill.

Well, that was something.

He plopped down on the grass here and there, absently staring at the blur of colors running away.

He scratched his neck.

Nightmare… was not well liked around here. He did have the sneaking suspicion it was the case. That was only the final nail on the coffin. 

He still was unsure why, however? How could that whole village hate him? He sure is one of the least threatening monsters he ever met… Spirits he never met? Was it because of the spirit thing?

The monster hummed.

People do tend to fear what they don’t know. But wouldn’t they be wary of Dream too then? It didn’t make sense to hate one twin and not the other if the matter was their very nature. Was it just because Dream was almost always at that village? 

What did Nightmare tell him last time? “They were created with positive and negative energy”. 

Were they both an equilibrated mix of negative and positive magic or did each tended more toward a side than the other?

Geno glanced up at the supposedly magic apples above his head. Golden apples on one side. They were pretty, he bet they tasted good. He chuckled at the idea of trying to eat one and the probably explosive reaction of the “apples guardian”. 

On the other side were dark purplish fruits. Far less tasty looking. But no less intriguing. That color theme strongly reminded him of the twins. And “Dream” and “Nightmare”.

It was fair to assume Nightmare was more associated with negativity and Dream with positivity…

If that made any sense.

As if anything in his life made sense.

Orange light over the distant forest distracted him from his tribulations. The sun was setting. His hand lightly scratched the back of his skull. 

“Agh, I once again spent the day doing nothing.”

The skeleton sighted loudly before sitting on the ground, exasperated.

“At least the sunset is pretty.”

Pretty couldn’t really encapsulate how amazed he was by the phenomenon but it would go for now. A real lightshow every night here. And it was never exactly the same. If only it wasn’t so short… Geno let himself sink into a more comfy position and let his mind empty as colors danced in the sky.

The sun had almost completely disappeared when the twins came back.

He didn’t see them at first but he heard them.

Loud chatter, screeching giggles and annoyed grumbling.

Geno propped himself up on his elbows to glance at the two climbing up the hill.

He vaguely saw their shapes moving towards him because of the distance and the lack of luminosity.

His sight wasn’t getting any better, was it?

The monster just plopped back down, he was just going to wait for them to be closer. 

And closer they got.

They stopped right next to him and Geno lazily stretched and merely angled himself better to be able to look at the two.

“‘sup?”

The two bursted into laughter at the comment for an unknown raison but he didn’t mind. They must have had a good day. 

If he spent a good extra minute observing Nightmare’s happy face, nobody would notice. Right?

He didn't know why seeing the glee in his half lidded eyes, the color tinting half of his face, the arms closed around his chest while he was doubling over…rendered him utterly speechless with fascination.

Tremors shook Nightmare’s frame as he struggled to get out of this fit of laughter, legs swinging back and forth making his skirt swirl in the same way…

…Skirt? 

The other was wearing a skirt somehow and not his usual purple linen pants. 

Unusual…

But not unwelcome. It was well made and fit him well. He hummed and a gentle warmth made itself known in his chest.

Cute.

“I hope you weren’t too bored alone here!”

Dream was now staring at him with a strange look in his eyes. Oh. He forgot he was even there.

“Meh, nope. Even got the visit of a sweet teeny thing.”

He yawned loud and clear before continuing.

“It appears that there’s going to be a tempest tonight.”

A rain drop landed right on his skull as if the weather waited for his words to be summoned.

Welp.

End of chapter 11

Go to chapter 12?

------------------------------------------------------------

@dragon-tamer-1 @shinechermont

Geno!Sans belongs to @/loverofpiggies

Nightmare, Dream and dreamtale belong to @/jokublog

Lil' piggy kid is mine

[slusheeduck]

WIP Whenever

I was tagged by @falmerbrook! ...a while ago. I'm tagging @im-fairly-whitty, @sheepwithspecs, and @bzedan--if you want to do it, obvi.

I was hoping to have something for one of my fics started this week, but alas--too much work. Instead, I'll just do a lil thing from my original work:

He scrambled over the soft, slippery carpet of leaves beneath his feet, lungs burning as he gasped in cold breath after cold breath. The wolf was close on his heels, howling. Oh, god, it was calling more. He pushed himself over a fallen tree, nearly stumbling over it as he tried to heave himself forward one-handed. The box! He was still carrying the box!

He threw it aside, then sprinted in the opposite direction. But the wolf stayed close, and it was much more practiced in the art of the chase than he was. His calves burned, his lungs ached, and as he tried to push forward in one last burst of speed, his foot caught on the gnarled root of a tree, sending him crashing down to the forest floor. He rolled over as quickly as he could, just in time to see the wolf lunge at him.

As he braced himself for what would no doubt be a very painful death, something leaped over him, straddling his chest. He automatically heaved himself back through its—they, it was human (or something close)—through their legs, gaping as he caught sight of their fist plunging into the wolf’s open mouth. The wolf gagged, teeth clamping over the person’s arm, but they held their stance and pushed the wolf back. It gagged again, and as they drew their arm out of its mouth, it made a horrible hacking noise as it backed away. Finally, it opted to turn and run, still huffing out coughs as it went.

Cai stayed very still, breathing hard as he watched the wolf run off. Finally, he looked up at his savior. In the dark, he couldn’t make out more than the bulky shape of them, covered as they were with furs. They breathed hard, clouds puffing up over the hooded shape of their head, then they finally shook out their hand.

“Gods damn, that hurt more than I thought it would.” They turned; their face was shielded by their hood and a thick scarf, but Cai could just see pale blue eyes narrowed at him. “Didn’t anyone tell you not to wander in the forest alone?”

“I…well, yes,” he said weakly.

“Oh, so you just decided to play tag with a wolf in the dark for fun, then?” The voice was decidedly feminine, with an odd accent he’d never heard before. His savior narrowed her eyes at him again, then rolled them before holding out her hand. “You’re from that town, aren’t you? Just like stadvolken, you never can manage outside of your cushy homes.”

Cai took her hand, legs shaking as she pulled him up to his feet. “I…yes. Thank you. I…I don’t know how to repay you,” he said, voice hoarse.

She looked over him for a moment, the sliver of her face clearly unimpressed. “Well, you didn’t piss yourself. Suppose that’s thanks enough.” She looked down at her bitten arm. “No broken skin on me, either.”

Cai looked down at her arm, then back up at her face. “You…oh my god, you punched a wolf in the mouth,” he finally said, eyes widening.

“I did. Stupid of me, actually, but I’m always weak for dramatics. Don’t do that, by the way.” She held her arm up for him to see. Thick padding covered her arm, and small bits of straw and wool poked out. “He’d’ve bitten your arm clean off.” She let out a little huff, then nodded. “You have a camp?”

“I…I did.”

“You’re not hopeless, then, that’s good. Come with me; I’ll get you to the inn.” She’d already started walking. He quickly loped to catch up with her, then stopped.

“Oh, the…hang on! I had a-a box. A wooden one, about this big?” He held up his hands in an approximate size. “I threw it during the chase, but it’s, uh, it’s important.”

Her pale eyebrows rose. “Not that important, clearly,” she said, though she started poking through the undergrowth with her boot.

“Well, it wouldn’t do me any good if I was that wolf’s dinner,” Cai said dryly. “But…I need to take it somewhere.”

“Where?”

“Merrhun?”

“Merrhun?” She whirled around staring at him. “That’s clear across the valley! You’re not gonna survive that—even without the spritvolken wandering around, you couldn’t get ten feet in the forest without a wolf trying to chomp you to pieces.” She waved a gloved hand. “Tell you what, from someone who actually knows her way round here, you’re better off heading back home.”

“I can’t. It’s…well, it’s a long story.” Cai, knelt down in the weeds, looked up at her. “Look. Thank you for saving me. I-I wish I could repay you, but you don’t have to hang around if you don’t want.” He let out a long sigh, giving a shrug. “I know what I’m doing is a long shot. That’s…well, that’s my burden to bear.”

He continued looking for the box, trying not to be too disappointed as he heard her start to walk away, footsteps fading. Well. Things could be worse than being alone again.

Before he could start feeling too badly about himself, though, something large and wooden was suddenly shoved in front of his nose.

“This your box?” the woman asked.

Cai let out a quick gasp, and he took the box gladly. “Oh, yes! Yes, it is, thank you!” He gave her a wide grin, and she waved a gloved hand.

“Oh, hush up, hush up,” she said. “No need to fall over yourself.” She set her hands on her hips. “Let’s find your camp and pack you up. I’ll get you to the Midforest Inn, and then we can talk about this mad plan of yours to get to Merrhun.” She held out her hand to help him up. “Name’s Anneke, by the way.”

“Anneke,” Cai repeated, then shook his head. “Oh! Oh, I’m Cai.”

Anneke nodded for him to follow her. “Then come on, Cai. It’s a bit of a walk, but let’s be honest: you won’t be sleeping after that anyway.”

[thevhagarwriter]

Grandma Violence - I.VI.

[Dragons, Death and Daemon]

Chapter VI - Anticipation

Vhagar was relaxing in the sunlight, a rare warm day had finally blessed Dragonstone and Visenya was curled against her wings, having fallen asleep while sharpening her dagger. The dragon had managed to carefully push the blade out of her hand and onto the hem of her dress, the sharp edge gleaming towards the castle. When the young woman would wake up she would quickly sheath the dagger, gather her skirts and frantically look around, making sure that no one had seen her in this vulnerable state. Vhagar purred, letting her left wing fall over Visenya like a blanket as she heard it - the loud, shrill and pained scream of another dragon. 

The anguished cry of Balerion rocked the very foundation of the island, making birds flee the area in masses and Visenya shot up with a loud gasp, her dagger falling onto the ground, clattering loudly against the rocks. 

Vhagar stared at the sky in shock, the loud screaming hurting her ears as she tried to find her footing again. She had heard this song thrice before - it was a dragon’s requiem. Panic filled her heart. What had happened? Was it Aegon? Did something happen to the young man? Was it Meraxes?! 

“Vhagar! Vhagar, serve me!”, Visenya yelled, her voice quivering - she too had heard that song before, even though she had just been a little hatchling back then. The copper dragon hesitated, staring at Visenya, to the cries beneath the ground and then back to Visenya again. 

Hissing impatiently, she lowered her shoulders and the woman quickly climbed on the ornate saddle on her back. 

Without having to wake for her command, Vhagar jumped into the air, her muscles straining under her scales as she raced as quickly as possible to the main entrance of the dragon cave system that was riddling the bowels of the island. 

She was almost there when she caught a glimpse of silver from the corner of her eyes and she immediately felt relief washing over her. Meraxes was alive.

Vhagar felt Visenya's tension falling as well as the older dragon came closer and they could see Rhaenys sitting on her back, her brother holding onto her waist behind her. 

But that feeling didn’t last long, as a cold realization settled in Vhagars stomach and by the dark look in Meraxes eyes, she knew too. 

Meraxes and Rhaenys were alive, Vhagar and Visenya were alive, Balerion and Aegon were alive, which left…

The dragon sisters landed gently on the rocky beach, letting the human trio jump off. Vhagar felt a stab of bitterness through her bond, as Visenya watched Aegon descend first before helping their sister of her dragon. “He is just helping her because she is younger. Meraxes is quite the big dragon to be ridden by a fourteen year old…”, Vhagar whispered, even though she knew she could not understand her mixture of hissing, purring and clicking. But hopefully the feeling could still pass through. Visenya shouldn’t feel jealous about Aegon and Rhaenys. Vhagar wasn’t envious of Meraxes’ and Balerion’s courtship, so why should her human feel that way about their human counterparts? 

Vhagar tried to catch her sister's eye, as she felt sick about what was to come, but her eyes were like two stones - staring straight ahead, not letting a sliver of emotion pass through. The younger dragon understood, she had to be strong for Balerion now. 

Slowly, like humans in their temples, they walked into the dark caverns and tunnels, their rider purposely falling behind. They knew this was a dragon’s affair and that they were only guests, trying to give comfort but not truly understanding the weight and darkness of this particular situation. Still it was nice to smell their sweet scent behind them. 

As they moved deeper, the wails and cries became louder and louder, almost deafening. At the drop to the deepest, hottest pit the humans stopped, knowing that their frail bodies wouldn’t survive the heat, their ears would not withstand the noise and their stomachs would not stand the sight. No words were exchanged. The trio bowed deeply and Vhagar and Meraxes nodded back, before spreading their wings and diving into the abyss. 

First it was only pitch black darkness and the hot air brushing against her face, then it was rocks glowing red and yellow and white. Melting and dropping to the floor like candles. 

Vhagar couldn’t help but wince in pain, the heat too hot for her and she just managed to suppress a pained scream as a drop of molten stone hit her back, sliding off her and leaving blackened and bruised scales. 

Meraxes whined softly and she saw the cause for the excruciating heat - Balerion was crying and thrashing around, breathing fire against the walls and ceiling, digging his clawed wings into the soft stone and spraying it around him. 

The cause of his sorrow was obvious. Beside him laid a dragon of unfathomable size, easily twice the size of Balerion - if not more. His red scales had turned into dull and dirty rust ages ago, his wings were ripped at the edges and the few remaining horns and claws were sootstained and chipped. 

“Balerion! BALERION!”, Meraxes yelled and the black dragon stilled, staring at the two with huge, sad eyes. 

“He’s…he’s gone…O-Obaevas is gone and now I’m the only one left.”, he sobbed, nudging one tattered wing with his snout. “He was the only one, the only one who knew, the only one who understood!”, at the last word, Balerion began to scream again, burying his head into the dead dragon's side. 

Vhagar and Meraxes exchanged quick glances. They knew that this day would come sooner or later. Five dragons and eight dragon eggs were taken from Valyria before the fall - though six of the clutch would prove sick and cloaked into the doom. And even then - the eggs which hatched into the copper and silver dragon were only laid but not born in the empire, unlike its last five children, who had seen it in its glory before the doom came. Now there was only one of them left. 

There were no words to comfort Balerion, to take even the smallest edge of the pain away.                                                    

All they could do was watch and wait. Watch and wait. 

Vhagar wasn’t quite sure how long it took until Balerion calmed down, but the molten stone was only glowing faintly when he did. The black dragon shook his head and stared at Meraxes with dull and sad eyes. “Are you feeling better?”, she asked gently and he nodded. “Yes, we can move on now.” 

Vhagar felt her sister's body stiffen and she too took a deep breath as Balerion touched Obaevas’ snout with his own, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again and beckoning the two younger dragons with a flick of his tail to him. 

There were no grand ceremonial words or prayers spoken, no spices burned or sculptures forged - no, dragons honored the death of their brethren quite differently than their humans did.

Balerion took the first bite, ripping through the softened scales of the old dragon’s cheek and chewing on the tough meat, red blood pooling down the floor and his chin. 

Meraxes took the second bite, breaking a long, brittle horn beneath her strong teeth, reddish splinters flying around. 

Vhagar took the third bite, her jaws opening and closing around his lifeless, left eye. 

The more Vhagar ate the more hungry she grew, ripping and biting at the corpse with ever growing urgency. With every portion she felt Obaevas strength, wisdom and swiftness taking root inside her, coursing through her veins, beating with her heart. 

The three dragons ate and licked the blackened skull of the dead dragon clean. The head would be the only remnant of him, staying in the center of his cave as a memory of the power and might of old Valyria. 

But the rest…

It would take days, maybe weeks to finish eating the rest of Obaevas body, but it would have to be done. It was necessary. They couldn’t let the flesh of such a noble beast be left to the earth or the jaws of scavengers. It would be a disgrace to Obaevas memory and a waste of good food. 

Suddenly Meraxes hissed sharply, making Vhagar jump and Balerion flare his neck crest. 

“What’s wrong?”, he asked, but the silver dragon didn’t answer - instead she wildly ripped at the thin membrane of his left wing, biting huge chunks of the pale red fabric and throwing them behind her. 

Vhagar carefully stepped closer and then she saw them. Nestled at the joint of his wing laid two dragon eggs, glowing bright red, steam curling from their thick shell. 

“E-eggs, where did those come from?”, she stuttered quietly as a flash of black jumped beside her. 

“How strange…”, Balerion muttered. “I could have sworn Obaevas had always preferred being a male, changing into a she-dragon so soon before his death just to lay two eggs? Well, the fear of death makes us do the most unlikely things I suppose.” 

Meraxes hummed in thought. “How sad. None of Daerax’ eggs ever hatched so I think it’s only natural that Obaevas would do something so desperate…even though he couldn’t have both sired and laid the clutch, am I correct?”, she deduced and Balerion nodded. 

Vhagar had only half listened to her… there was something in the back of her hearing that she couldn’t quite place. It was a faint knocking, like a human fist on a wooden door, but that 

couldn’t be possible down here. The sound was also rhythmic, like a leather drum and strangely muffled, as if the drum was hidden inside a metal chest - or dragon scales!

She shuffled closer to the eggs, feeling the curious looks of the other dragons on her, as she rubbed her cheek against the thick shell. “Vhagar, what are you doing? These are not your eggs!”, Balerion asked, his voice strained with annoyance regarding the youngest dragon's antics. 

“Shut up.”, she told the Black Dread and closed her eyes, concentrating further and ignoring Balerions deep huff. 

Vhagar closed her eyes and held her breath. Yes! There was it - from the eggs came two steady noises, the second only a fracture of a moment delayed to the other. The clutch glowed in the heat of life and the heartbeats only confirmed it - these were living dragon eggs. 

She stared at the two other dragons in unveiled excitement and bewilderment, her snout barely able to form proper words. “The…the..eggs, they are…they are alive!”, she finally whispered and nearly burst into laughter as she saw Balerion’s eyes nearly bulging out of his head, while Meraxes stayed frozen. “But..but that can’t be.”, the black dragon said, much louder than he planned to. 

“Daerax died three decades ago, even if she changed into a siring male, the eggs would still have to be nearly thirty years old. An egg cannot stay that long unhatched, that’s impossible!”

“Is it?”, Meraxes asked, closely examining the eggs. “Don’t forget, Neirael’s eggs still haven’t hatched - even after ten years.”

Balerion hummed deeply. “But we thought that was a singular event…a remnant of the old valyrian magic.”

“And why can’t it be the same case here?”, asked Vhagar and the Black Dread sighed sadly. “Well…Daerax and Obaevas have lost every single egg of every single clutch.That their last one, after thirty years, can still be alive just seems…very unlikely to me.” 

The three dragons fell in silence again, staring at the two red eggs that were still partly covered by their sire's corpse. One was a bright, fiery red with long, sharp edged scales that were tipped with just a bit of ivory. The other was darker in color, almost the color of blood and the shell’s scales were much smaller and more tightly cramped together, making it look more like snakehide than dragonscales. “Well maybe we should bring them into the clutch chamber then, shouldn’t we?”, Meraxes finally interrupted the quietness. Vhagar nodded and helped to carefully excavate the clutch from Obaevas’ torn wing, though her eyes kept dancing to the darker egg. There was absolutely no basis for her thought, but she just knew that it was this egg, from which she heard the heartbeat first. 

“Hey, Smokey!”, Caraxes grinned and ripped a huge chunk out of the tuna at his feet. 

“Meleys, Syrax and Dreamfyre - who do you wed, bed, behead?”

Vhagar snorted as Seasmoke stared at the red dragon with open snout and wide eyes. “W-what?”, his pale eyes traveled to Vhagar, pleading to save her from this misery. 

She could, but she knew from the commotion in the camp that this was the eve of battle, which meant drinking, eating and whoring all your fears away till sunrise. She guessed that Daemon didn’t particularly care and was most likely the center of attention, but she couldn’t see the Seasnake being all that supportive of his army's shenanigans. 

But when some of the braver soldiers graciously gifted them with freshly caught tuna and squids, why shouldn’t they indulge all the way? Dragons didn’t need to sleep that often anyway.

“Wed, bed, behead? Don’t you know?”, Caraxes asked and the gray dragon shook his head. “And I’m not sure I want to know…”, he added and the other dragon rolled his eyes. 

“You and Laenor are soooo boring. Wed, bed, behead is a popular game among drunk soldiers. You take three people and you have to choose which you mate with, which you mate…uhhh…for one day with, I guess? And which one you would kill.”

“But Caraxes, dragons can’t get drunk.”, Seasmoke opposed and the red dragon smirked. “Why, have you tried?” “W-what, of, of course not!”, the gray dragon stuttered. 

“Dragons also don’t have the concept of marriage and everything that comes with it, so I fear this game lacks a lot of the thrill that humans get out of it.”, Vhagar hummed and Caraxes scoffed.

“From where did you learn that game, anyway? I doubt that common soldiers play it in High Valyrian…”, Seasmoke asked and both of the older dragons answered simultaneously: “Prince Baelon.” 

“I see…”, the gray dragon muttered. “Prince Baelon, wasn’t he your last rider, Vhagar? Why don’t you tell us a story about him?”, he suggested, desperately trying to find a way out of his current situation. 

Vhagar hummed amused. “Well, how about the time I cooked for Baelon the Brave?”, she asked and Seasmoke laughed. “You did what?” 

The older dragon purred. “It’s not a long story, but quite funny. So, one day Baelon and I went on a flight through the Stormlands - I think that was just after the battle against the Myrish, but I’m not sure. Anyway, it’s not that important to the story. Well, one evening, the Stormlands were especially stormy and Baelon thought it was too dangerous to continue flying so we searched for shelter in the nearby forest. Also, just to be clear, I would have definitely brought us back safely to Storm’s End - it’s just that Baelon was secretly afraid of thunderstorms.”

Caraxes snorted. “What a wimp. Baelon the Brave - more like Baelon the…uh…don’t worry, I’ll think of something.” 

Vhagar rolled her eyes. “Hmm…where was I? Ah, so Baelon had decided to seek shelter in the woods and luckily we quickly found a nice forest clearing on which I could land without smashing acres of land under me. Baelon’s plan was simple - make a small camp out of an old blanket under my wings and wait for the storm to rain itself out. But unfortunately the little Spring Prince didn’t take enough food with him and grew very hungry very soon. He knew that it was too dangerous for him to explore the woods on his own, so he tried to hide his hunger but I obviously still felt it - and was getting hungry myself as well. Baelon was obviously not very happy that I left him in the clearing, huddled in his blanket, but what was he going to do? Hold me down by my tail?”

“Laenor used to tuck at my tail as a hatchling.”, Seasmoke mumbled, partly nostalgic, partly angry. “That hurt!” 

Caraxes huffed. “If Aemon or Daemon had tried something like that, I would have burned their pretty eyebrows off!”, he…lied?

“Anyway. Of course I didn’t leave brave Baelon alone for very long. We were in the middle of a forest, so I didn’t have to look long to find an especially big, fat and nasty boar - really, that animal was fierce enough to even rip off some scales of my feet as I slayed it…” “Oh…you slayed it.”, Caraxes said mockingly. He puffed out his red chest and pranced around. “Look at me, I’m Vhagar - the mightiest of all, the Witch Queen’s beast, the queen of all dragons, the slayer of pigs!” 

Seasmoke laughed nervously, his eyes darting quickly between the two older dragons. 

But Vhagar wasn’t the victor of one thousand battles if she couldn’t deduce the weakness of each foe in a matter of seconds. 

Instead of acting insulted and annoyed, she lovingly nuzzled Caraxes cheek and licked his forehead. 

“And you are my cute darling boy, my little snake son, my poppy flower.”

As expected, Caraxes hissed loudly and jumped back, steam and sparks flying out his snout. “Keep some fucking space, you old hag!”, he growled and glared at Seasmoke who laughed loudly, rough gurgles escaping his throat: “Haha…poppy flower!” 

“I swear, if you call me that again, I’ll strangle you with your own tail!”, the red dragon growled, though the gray one seemed rather unfazed. “Will you? Just be careful, if you move around too much, your petals might fall off.”, Seasmoke challenged in an unusual moment of confidence - and recklessness. 

With a catlike pounce, Caraxes jumped forward and pinned the smaller dragon to the ground who in turn shrieked loudly and whipped his tail against the thin, red body. 

“Vhagar! Vhagar! Vhagar, help me!”, he yelled, but Vhagar smirked in amusement. “He did warn you, didn’t he?” “Yes, I did warn you, didn’t I?”, Caraxes said with a toothy grin and swayed his head quickly to the side as a small fire burst shot into the air. 

“But I only implied you were a poppy flower, not said it outloud!”, Seasmoke tried to defend himself and Vhagar shook her head as Caraxes laughed loudly, “You are really digging your own grave here!” 

But this tiny distraction gave the young dragon enough of an opening to free his wings and wrap them around the red dragon's head, thus shoving him beside him into the beach dunes. “Ah, fuck! You bastard!”, Caraxes raged as Seasmoke used his broad claws to quickly shovel more sand upon him, covering his winged legs and tail. 

The gray dragon jumped back and fled behind Vhagar’s wings, purring and giggling like a little hatchling, as Caraxes stood up and shook out the membrane behind his legs. “Shit! Fuck! Damn it! This is going to take ages to clean out. Seasmoke! You little shit! I’m going to strangle you with your own tail for real now!” 

Now his sharp, red glare settled on Vhagar. “The fuck you looking at?” 

“You have a crab hanging from the tip of your tail.”, she explained, her eyes glittering with humor. 

Caraxes head flung to his rear, trying to catch the crustacean but accidentally biting his own tail which made him lose his balance again, as he crashed back into the sand. 

Now even Vhagar had to laugh low and deep at that embarrassing display, though her joy didn’t last long. 

Caraxes immediately straightened up as the smell reached his snout and the other two dragons turned around to see Daemon Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon marching down the grassy field that led to the dragon’s beach.  

“Is something the matter?”, the Targaryen asked in a hard, commanding tone and Vhagar already wanted to bite his head off! 

Caraxes relaxed his posture and came closer to his rider, purring quietly and pressing his snout against his chest, making Daemon smile as he rubbed over his head. 

Laenor looked to Seasmoke with a mix of concern and curiosity at his closeness to the notorious aggressive Vhagar, but the smaller dragon swiftly returned to his rider's side, leaving the copper-green dragon alone. 

She watched both Laenor and Daemon whispering to their bonded dragons, though she couldn’t understand their exact words - but their faces, that she could read. Though they were both knights and high lords, their faces softened when they rubbed their cheeks against the scaly snouts, their eyes sparkling with pride and affection, their stance relaxed and trusting. But not towards her. Suddenly she wished to be as small as a dog, or even as a mouse. To feel less like an intruder, to feel less like an untamed beast prowling on hatchlings, to feel less like a stranger. Her eyes wandered from the gentle waves to the dancing grass to the fires of the camp, to them - to them and their shared companionship, their shared friendship, their shared love. And Aemond wasn’t even born yet. 

“Now,”, Daemon said and clapped Caraxes gently between the nostrils. “Tomorrow our final, grand offensive against Crabbitch will take place.”, he said and all three dragons immediately perked up. Caraxes seemed to shake with excitement, while Seasmoke seemed more hesitant. Vhagar…wasn’t quite sure what she felt yet. Daemon sighed heavily as he showed his dragon a sympathetic smile. “But only Seasmoke will be coming with us.”

“What?”, Seasmoke yelled, panic lacing his voice. “Why just me?!”

“Easy, easy, calm down, Seasmoke.”, Laenor muttered gently, rubbing the gray dragon's chin. “Daemon knows what he’s doing.”

Caraxes huffed and his rider raised his eyebrow, before saying something to Laenor in the Common Tongue. Though Vhagar didn’t know what he said, the frown following on Velaryon's face and the way he possessively wrapped his hand around one of Seasmoke’s horns gave enough insight. 

“Seasmoke, listen closely, this is going to be really important!”, Daemon continued, staring the dragon right in the eyes. “In this maneuver, I will be alone on the ground to fake a surrender in the hope that this will bait the Crapfeeder into showing himself. Now, since I’m alone down there, you and Laenor have to keep an eye on me until all of the Velaryon troops make it to the battlefield. But you cannot show yourself until the Cabbagefeeder is out, do you understand?”    

The pale dragon nodded and huffed hot steam out of his nostrils, while Caraxes growled quietly. 

Daemon turned back to him and smiled softly. “Don’t worry, everything is going to work alright. Don’t forget, I have Dark Sister with me - if some dumb whoreson comes too close, I’ll just skewer him and bring you his liver for breakfast.” 

Caraxes giggled roughly, while Seasmoke fake gagged.

“I’ll promise you as a Velaryon and a Targaryen, I will protect your rider with my life.”, Laenor said, knocking his fist against his chest, but Caraxes only scoffed, red sparks dancing onto the young man's white hair. The older human smirked. “Caraxes isn’t impressed by pretty words and speeches, the only thing he respects is blood and death.”

Vhagar rolled her eyes. She was getting strangely anxious, as her gaze darted between both pairs. Daemon would be on the ground…but only Seasmoke was allowed in this fight. Daemon would be alone…and Caraxes would be too. Daemon would be utterly defenseless…but miles and miles away. Daemon would be doomed….and Caraxes would be too.

She grit her teeth and dug her claws deeper into the sand, which caught the attention of the Velaryon, who smiled at her cautiously. 

“My deepest apologies, Vhagar, but you have to understand that my father is apprehensive to let a dragonless rider participate in battle, even someone as experienced and grand as you. In my humble opinion, our troops would be blessed to be able to fight in the shadow of your wings and in the light of your fire, but alas, I have no authority over these matters. But I assure, even without you on the frontlines, your mere existence in this camp has inspired many of our men to the greatest extent. They see you as an omen, as a spirit of war that promises great victory!”

Vhagar stared at him with wide eyes and let out a confused chirp. 

While next to the young man, Daemon was crying with laughter, leaning against the shoulder of his dragon to find his balance again. “Did you memorize that little speech by heart? How long did it take you to come up with it?”

Laenor glared, his skin heating up with anger and embarrassment. Seasmoke whipped his tail around while Vhagar did something she would normally never, ever do to a human who was not her rider, but Laenor - the brother of her sweet Laena and the rider of adorable Seasmoke - would be her only exception. 

She stared straight at his face and purred, purred so loudly that even Daemon would have to hear it. The younger human stared at her in wonder, turning around to smile at Seasmoke, before turning back to her and bowing deeply.

Daemons smirk faltered, but only for a fraction of a second, then it grew even wider. “Seems you are lucky. Though I have to admit, I thought Lady Vhagar was a bit more like Visenya in that regard.”, he laughed, short and arrogant. “Seems my father’s charm even worked on the scariest women. Still, I suppose the Witch Queen’s Beast is still a better name than the Spring Prince’s lapdog.”

Vhagar's eyes jumped to the Targaryen, her pupils thin as a blade. 

Daemon raised his chin in challenge. “Oh? Did I insult you?”

“Yes.”, she thought. “More times than you can count.” 

[marypsue]

Oh hey, it's Sneak Peek Sunday! Have some fic about it.

This is another sample from former heroes who quite too late, part three in the AU where (almost) all the Hawkins kids have powers.

...

Heather Holloway barely manages to slam on the brakes when something flashes out into her headlights.

By the time she gets her breathing back under control, her heart lurching back down out of her throat, whatever it was is gone. The dark trees on either side of the narrow road have swallowed it up without a trace.

But Heather could have sworn she’d just seen a kid run across the road.

She debates with herself for one long, agonising second, before she shifts her beloved little Chrysler convertible into park and kills the engine. The sudden night hush swallows up its rumble like it was never there, the faint tick tick tick of hot metal parts cooling under the hood blending seamlessly into the rustle and chirrup of bugs in the trees and the soft susurrus of a breath of blessedly cool wind through the leaves overhead. She doesn’t think she hit – whoever or whatever that was, but she came pretty damn close. And if it really was a kid –

Heather listens, hard, for anything that might sound like footsteps. Like a human voice.

There might be a rustle, a crackle, off to the right of the road. Like small feet pattering over decades’ worth of fallen leaves. Like a small person pushing their way through the brambles and brush scattered between the trees.

“Hello?” Heather calls, pushing open the driver’s-side door. “Is somebody there? Hey, are you okay?”

The looming mass of dark trees doesn’t answer her.

Heather steps out of the car, looking back and forth along the road before she shuts the door behind her. The heavy metallic chunk sounds obscenely loud in the quiet of the night.

She doesn’t see approaching headlights in either direction. And there’s really no reason for anybody to be out this way at this hour unless they’re coming back from the pool. It’s probably okay to leave the convertible, for a minute or two. Heather crosses in front of her car’s nose to step onto the grassy sliver of shoulder between the road and the trees, passing through the glare of her headlights. The pool of light they cast on the road, catching motes of swirling pollen and the occasional whirling mosquito hanging in the air, only makes the lowering twilight around the car seem even darker.

Heather thinks she can faintly make out, in that dark, a small white shape retreating between the trees.

“Hello?” she calls, again.

Again, only the soft hush of the breeze answers her. And a crackling sound that could be distant thunder.

Heather glances back at the road, but her own car is still the only one visible. The headlights dim to a dull brown, then flicker out, briefly, as she watches. Leaving it sit with the lights on can’t be good for the battery.

She takes one last glance over at the trees, where she thought she’d seen the white shape. But there’s nothing there now. Maybe she’d imagined it. Maybe it’s just the dark, and her own worry, playing tricks on her mind. Nobody’d answered back when she called out. She hasn’t heard anything that sounds like a cry of pain, and she’s pretty sure she managed to brake before hitting anything. If there’s a kid out here on their own – and that seems less and less likely – they don’t want to be found.

And Heather doesn’t really want to let her car die in the middle of the road. Even if there is almost no traffic at this time of night.

She hurries back through the headlights, watching them carefully for any more flickers, startling a little when she catches sight of her own shadow moving in the pool of light they cast out of the corner of her eye. The heat of the day is starting to fade as the last of the sunlight drains out of the sky, and the little breeze that’s making the treetops whisper is chilly in just a polo shirt and chino shorts. As soon as she gets back in the car, Heather’s pulling on her sweater.

A sudden flapping, rustling commotion overhead has her looking up, just in time to catch a flock of dark-winged shapes fluttering against the starry blue velvet of the sky. Bats.

Maybe she’ll put the ragtop up, too.

It takes her a few minutes of struggle to get the top up and fastened into place. Heather’s just climbing back into the car when she hears the rattling thrum of another engine, coming up the road from behind her. Her timing is, apparently, perfect. She twists the key in the ignition and shifts up into first, pulling right to let the headlights now shining in her rearview mirror get by her.

But the white panel van coming up her tailpipe doesn’t pull out around her. Instead, it drives right up behind her, those headlights blinding in her rearview. It keeps riding her bumper as she shifts up through the gears.

Heather’s got no idea who it could be, but she can’t say she’s impressed. If they were going to wait for her to get up to speed, then maybe they should’ve waited. Driving like this out here, they might actually hit that kid Heather saw.

If she really did see a kid, that is.

And, she thinks, watching anxiously in her rearview mirror, if they keep speeding up, sooner or later they’re going to rear-end –

There’s a sudden burst of light, a headlight flashing on, glaring directly through the windshield and into her eyes. Heather glances down from the mirror, and chokes on a yelp as she slams on the brakes for the second time in fifteen minutes.

She only just has time to wonder who the hell drives a motorcycle at night straight down the middle of the road with no lights on, before the nose of the van behind her collides with her rear bumper and turns the world into a terrifying fairground ride. The woods around her flash drunkenly in her headlights as she spins out, tires screeching, heart hammering, the sharp taste of blood in her mouth as she desperately tries to wrestle the convertible back under control –

The ride comes to an abrupt, jarring stop. Heather never knows what, exactly, she hit. Or what hit her. The last thing she knows, after her head bounces hard off the steering wheel, is the quiet scrape of her door being pulled open, and lowered voices arguing about something her stunned mind, barely clinging to consciousness, can’t understand. Strong, broad hands under her arms, pulling her gently but inexorably from the car.

And then nothing but darkness.

[jaundicehinch]

Until the Last Drop

𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑡 2, 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 2

»»-------------¤-------------««

After a long, exhausting summer holiday, Y/N couldn't help but be happy to return to Hogwarts. She had become very familiar with the school and the professors, Hogwarts was her true (more or less) home.

Her mother wasn't awful, she still had a sliver of human decency and empathy in her. But she'd always work late, long shifts at the Ministry as an auror, and when she 𝑤𝑎𝑠 at home, she wouldn't dare interact or speak with Y/N. The girl felt alone and troubled at home, like she had no one to turn to. Not even her own mother, which was sad to an extent.

Her father wasn't bad at all, in contrast to her mother. F/N F/L/N was very kind and understanding toward his daughter, even though no one would know when he arrived home from his shifts.

The Department of Mysteries was a very dodgy place to work at, hence the name. He was a well-respected colleague among the other Ministry workers, and had a high-ranking position. What more could Y/N want? Well, aside from more affection...

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

As soon as the Slytherin walked through the immense doors of Hogwarts, and her eyes fell on the Great Hall, she couldn't help but smile ever so lightly. She didn't display affection, rarely did, but that didn't mean she wasn't happy inside.

The girl sat down at the green table on the far left, and listened to Dumbledore as he spoke. He finally gave words of wisdom, like everyone said he did, and not some 'Nitwit' or 'Blubber' nonsense like last year. He didn't act very wise, at times.. But Y/N had to give it to the old man; his sense of humor was a bit endearing, though childish. Draco was more upset than usual; Harry, Fred, George and Ron were not at the Gryffindor table.. Merlin, something was going on again. Y/N decided to reluctantly show awkward empathy by initiating conversation with the silvery-haired, cocky boy. "Malfoy, everything in order? You seem quite brooding, more than usual.", Y/N chimed in monotonously.

"I'm fine, leave me alone.", the boy spat.

Well, this went down the gutter, Y/N thought. Maybe it'd be better if she didn't push? She was terrible at socializing regardless.

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

Halfway through the banquet, the headmaster tipped his goblet and requested for silence. Everyone complied. "I'm pleased to inform you that this year's Defence against the Dark Arts post will he occupied by Professor Lockhart.", Dumbledore pointed his hand toward the strawberry blonde man, who stood up and flashed his iconic million-galleon smile.

Of course, how could she forget. The overly-confident, arrogant and exceedingly stupid author, Gilderoy Lockhart.. Not to mention his terrible sense of fashion. Euh, look at those blue robes! An atrocity.

Y/N remebered him, the fool of a wizard who took a photograph with her and it landed straight on the Daily Prophet. Commenting on Y/N's parents, their occupations, and wealth.. Not that the girl wasn't aware of it all, surely. Only to boast, and another story for him to contort into his own little fantasy where he is portrayed the hero.

Draco couldn't help but smirk as he, too, remembered this curious memory back in Flourish and Blott's.

"What are you grinning at, boy?", Y/N spat in an agitated tone, which made Malfoy giggle. "Nothing, nothing.. Sorry, L/N.", he muttered and smiled, before turning back to his platter and cutlery.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

A few more crazy weeks had passed, with there being evidence of writings on the corridor walls, mainly threats spelled out in blood that involved half-bloods and muggle-borns, saying they'll rid the school of them. No one knew who was writing them, though it is rumored that the heir of Salazar Slytherin was the one behind all of these threats.

✰⋆｡:ﾟ･*☽:ﾟ･⋆｡✰⋆｡:ﾟ･*☽:ﾟ･⋆｡✰⋆｡:ﾟ･*☽

McGonagall had a more worried look on her face in Transfiguration, seeing as she knew all too well the whole school is in danger, and may possibly even close. Hogwarts closing was a not a very common occasion, mind you.

Ron was trying to perform Vera Verto, but his damaged wand had managed to give the goblet a rat's tail and fur, instead of turning it into a rat. Harry was laughing at him, and Hermione was grinning. McGonagall didn't bother praise Y/N for getting the spell correct on her first attempt; she was lost in her thoughts. Y/N was a bit upset since professor McGonagall was a bit of a mother figure for her, but she'd rather jump off Gryffindor tower than admit such a thing to anyone.

The class passed through agonizing, slow silence, the only sound being the bell tolling. Every student had ran out of the class, avoiding McGonagall, while Y/N decided to stay behind for a bit. McGonagall looked up from her desk somberly. "You are dismissed, Miss L/N.", she mumbled grimly and looked back down. "I apologize for the disturbance, professor, but I'd like to know something.", the girl explained quietly and monotonously. McGonagall adjusted her spectacles with her bony fingers and sighed, clasping her hands.

"Please, go ahead, L/N.", she replied nonchalantly and exhaled through her nose.

"Are the rumors true? About the chamber, i mean. I think i might know who the heir is, professor."McGonagalls eyes shot up and she almost gasped, placing a hand on her chest. "Indeed?" She inquired, taken aback. She quickly regained her composure, despite this, and cleared her throat. "The chamber has been opened, correct. Students have been petrified all around Hogwarts.. And the headmaster is at risk of being sent to Azkaban.. Oh L/N, what could be worse?"

Y/Ns pitch-black pupils focused ferociously. "You don't say.. The headmaster is near expulsion? Because of the attacks, i assume, miss?"

"I'm afraid so.. Oh, don't worry, L/N, do enjoy your term here. Don't worry about these things; they're for adults.", the old professor waved her hands and advised Y/N, though the girl nodded in response. "No ma'am, i do not worry about many things, often times. Even if i should.. Does that sound concerning?", she chirped an octave higher, making McGonagall smile weakly.

"Quite so, my dear."

━━━━━━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━━━━━━

A few days had passed since the curious encounter with McGonagall, and a few more times had passed where Y/N handed out snarky comments to Ron.

The girl was studying in the library peacefully, when she couldn't help but overhear Hermione, Harry and Ronald talk about Polyjuice potion. Polyjuice potion? What are they doing with that? They were barely in their second year, what did they need that for? 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑜𝑑𝑔𝑦, thought Y/N.

Of course, the trio wasn't famous for their ability to just settle down for once.

"I've never seen a more complicated potion.... This'll take a month to brew.", Hermione commented worriedly. Harry raised a brow. "A month? But who knows what'll happen in a month? We don't have time!", he exclaimed.

Ron kept munching on some chocolate frogs while listening to the two reason, the boy was a glutton to the core..

Little did they know, Y/N was observing and listening to their every movement. But oh, she wouldn't rat them out. She was smarter than that, was she?

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

L/N didn't really have the will to go to the girls bathroom to examine the noise coming from it. No one was there, day or night, and for good reason. Moaning Myrtle was the annoying ghost who haunted the girls lavatory, determining a very uncomfortable experience for whoever in Merlin's name went there.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚'𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈. The girl thought as she cupped her hands around the corridors walls, listening to the three children talk. Yes, that's it. There was the noise of a simmering cauldron, and bulky ingredients being dropped in it. But whatever, Y/N thought. It's not her business, and she'd rather stroll through Knockturn Alley than meddle into risky situations with the golden trio.

She rubbed her temples as she descended down the stairs to the dungeons, alleviating her incoming headache as she strode to the Potions classroom for an extra study session.

Seeing her favourite professor, was her favourite activity to do in her spare time, obviously enough. She didn't knock on the door before entering. There was Snape, Draco, and Crabbe in the otherwise empty classroom, who were talking while writing. Professor Snape seemed quite agitated with the three children interrupting his potion-brewing and assignment-grading. (The last part he was doing against his own free will)

Y/N held her Potions for Beginners book clutched in her hand as she approached a desk in the front row, in front of Snape's desk. Perfect. She sat down and snapped her book open on page 70. Y/N didn't even know why, as she was using her quill and ink, she even 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 professor Snape in the first place. Sure, he was her head of house and all.. But why?

He was bitter, resentful and unnaproachable at all times, and incredibly biased. Everyone hated him, aside from a handful of Slytherins and Minerva, maybe even Albus. But why did she like him? Was he like her father? No, not at all.. Like her mother? Yes, maybe.. But not entirely.. Y/N didn't notice her eyes were drifting away from the parchment, and her fingers were loosening around the handle of the quill, as she wasn't focused on studying at the moment.

"Feeling rather 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑, Miss L/N?', Snapes silky voice interrupted her thoughts and daydreams. "Huh? Oh, excuse me. I was.. Distracted, yes.." Y/N shook her head and kept writing her notes down. Snape curled his lip in an almost.. Amused? Manner, and kept on grading his assignments while keeping an eye on Y/N.She finished her notes rather quickly, and gathered her things. But one thing did catch her eye. Draco seemed drastically happier, acting like his usual arrogant self.

"One minute, you're brooding and depressed. The other, you're beaming with arrogance and joy?", Y/N approached the silvery-haired second year. "What's it to you? I'm not an animal for you to check on, L/N." Draco spat unpleasantly, and Y/N grimaced.

"That's unfortunate, really. I'd be delighted to see you gnaw at the bars of your enclosure.", Y/N retorted, making Snape almost smirk, but he quickly turned around and hid it.

⑅୨୧⑅*⑅୨୧⑅*⑅୨୧⑅*⑅୨୧⑅*⑅୨୧⑅*⑅୨୧⑅*

Another month passed, and Y/N was sitting in the common room, near the fireplace. Draco had gone to look for Crabbe and Goyle, while she was acting like a vampire in the shadows. No one noticed her, no one spoke with her. Just the way she liked it.

Draco returned a quarter hour later, with his two lakis. The cocky little boy sat down, and the three of them started talking. Malfoy kept ranting about Harry and bad-mouthed him, causing Y/N to get an insatiable itch to roll her eyes.

Though she swore to herself she wouldn't go through the effort of listening to those babboons, her ears perked up when se heard Goyle mention the Chamber of Secrets.

"I already told you, i don't know who it is. But I'd be delighted to help them." Malfoy grinned smugly, and Crabbe dug his fingernails into his palms. "What's up with you two?", the blonde boy knit his eyebrows together. "Stomachache.", Goyle insisted and Malfoy turned his head away.

What a fool..

Everyone knew that clenching your fists that way was no symptom of a stomachache. Even Draco wasn't that thick. Malfoy kept ranting about Potter and Granger for what seemed like an eternity, as Crabbe and Malfoy grabbed their faces and suddenly ran away. "Hey, where are you two going?" , exclaimed Malfoy. He sighed and turned to Y/N.

"Odd bunch, those two.", grumbled Malfoy and Y/N grinned. Sardonically, of course. "Idiot, aren't you?" "I 𝑏𝑒𝑔 your pardon?" Malfoy scoffed and held his chest like a girl. "You know that wasn't Crabbe and Goyle. I thought you wouldn't be so thick, but here we are. You're an idiot.", she explained curtly and factually.

And Y/N was right.

The effects of polyjuice potion wore off as she cupped her hands around the corridor wall, eavesdropping on the trio. Hermione was in a bathroom stall, telling Ron and Harry they were hideous while Moaning Myrtle taunted her.

"My father will hear about this!" Draco spat and reached for the door handle to barge in on the three, but as he did, Y/N restrained him by the waist and spoke lowly.

"No he won't."

Draco flushed.

⁀↘‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀↘‿↗

Autumn swept over Hogwarts like a breeze of wind, the grass turning dull and the weather gray, the leaves' vibrant green colors faded a lucious orange and brown.

Students wore their long coats more often and started adorning their outfits with shawls, gloves and boots.

Y/N was sporting a proud green-and-gray shawl over her pale neck and black, wool gloves. Strolling around the marvelous castle was another one of her peculiar hobbies. Whether to flaunt her outfit (yes, show off) , help people around the castle, or just enjoy the ancient corridors of Hogwarts and the beautiful nature surrounding it, reasons may vary.

Comfortable, black tights and green leg warmers were wrapped around her ankles and legs, as she walked and wandered around the courtyard and corridors. She had a gray beret on, purely for flaunting reasons, and a thin, elegant silver chain hung around the collar of her Slytherin robes.

Y/N wondered about her favourite professor, Professor Snape. She wondered if she could ever behave more loosely around him.. Like an acquaintance-like relationship.

Maybe that's why she approved of him, Y/N thought. Because of his vast intellect, and mystery? He was an Enigma, after all. She was somewhat like him. Or was he somewhat like her? Both were mysterious, quiet, and mature. Severus didn't speak unless spoken to, mostly, and Y/N appreciated it immensely. Why would people start a conversation, when they clearly don't know how? It confused her. But regardless, Y/N was quite fond of her Potions Master. Could he say the same? No one will ever know. Ron was also, another person on her mind.

That boy was, truthfully, the epitome of stupidity and immaturity. You're twelve, come on, not 8! Not to mention he followed the herd, always. Saying all Slytherins were bad, and that all they are are sneaky, arrogant blood-supremacists.. Disrespecting her house like that..

What a 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑒, she thought and clutched her book under her arm. When suddenly, she feld a hard bump on her shoulder. "Professor Snape!", Y/N uttered and quickly picked her book up, giving a short bow. "Terribly sorry, truthfully. I didn't see-"

"Quite alright, Miss L/N.", Snape stated and walked forward nonchalantly. Y/N was burning in embarassment because of her bumping into her favourite grumpy professor, not that it would be a common occurence.

❖ ── ✦ ──『✙』── ✦ ── ❖

The rest of the term passed rather smoothly for her, though not for the trio. As it so seems, Harry and Ron found the chamber of secrets with the help of Hermione and Moaning Myrtle, and had dragged Lockhart along, who said that he knew all along where the entrance was. What a fool.. But there were no more worries, at least not now. Harry defeated a basilisk, banished the diary of Thomas Riddle himself.. The boy should take a break every now and then, Merlin's sake.

Y/N didn't feel like eating at the end-of-year banquet, she was too busy observing the enchanted ceiling, which was bewitched to look like the night sky. Though it was over as quickly as it started, the term closed off as Y/N hurried with her luggage to the train station, getting on the Hogwarts Express in an empty compartment.

┬┴┬┴┤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈├┬┴┬┴

Y'ALLLL PoA IS GONNA BE SO LITTT I'M TELLING Y'ALL 🩷🩷🥹🥹

[feverinfeveroutfic]

blood & wine | chapter five of six

ao3 link

Even with the clear blue sky overhead, I still shivered from the cold. Night began to fall, but I had my instincts to act upon from thence forth. The Diablo winds were about to pick up, as well. I only had so much time before I had to return home to warm up and have dinner for myself.

I stood down the block from the house of Skolnick wrapped up in my black coat and with my black leather gloves on, and I watched them there at the mouth of the driveway. Alex hunkered down in his long coat while his mother put her arms around his waist with a smile on her face. He closed his eyes and smiled at the feel of her hands on his chest, to which she slid them down onto his soft belly.

She kissed him on the side of the neck and said something right into his ear. It made me think of my mom.

I shook my head about.

Come on, Eric, concentrate. My friend and partner in crime may be a cannibal as far as I knew.

I kept my head down so the wind would not billow my hair all about the place. I watched him and his mother walk together to the driveway, and, within a few minutes, they backed out into the street and drove in the opposite direction. I had no idea as to what they were doing for the evening, but I needed to have a look around, however.

I waited a minute before I made my way down the block to their cute little house, buttoned up for the time being.

Probably went out to dinner, or maybe they were getting something for the dead body cooped up in the garage.

I had the weirdest, most morbid curiosity to see this corpse, and if he was in fact telling me the truth.

The one challenge was sneaking into the garage to actually see it for myself: as far as I knew, they locked up the house.

I reached their property, the edge of the front yard with the little patch of grass under a cluster of oak trees which shielded their house from the hot summer sun and the harsh cold of the fog and winter nights. I had only been to their house a couple of times before, and yet I remembered the back door as well as the side door, the one at the back of the garage as long as the gate to their little back yard was unlocked.

I licked my lips and peered over my shoulder to ensure no one was looking. I kept my head down as I made my way to the gate: it hung open by about a hair, but it was enough for me to push it all the open and make my way inside. I closed the gate behind me, and I knew I was lucky that the daylight was disappearing.

I was in the back yard.

Alex mentioned the big freezer in the garage, and I knew that I could find something in there. Something that I could use against him.

There was a part of me that wanted to let it go, to head on back out of there and back to my place. I needed to let the family go, to let them be who they were even if I didn’t necessarily feel comfortable with their desires for human flesh among other things. But then again, I needed to know about it. I needed to know if they were in fact eating human flesh, and if they did in fact eat this guy who came to their house and insulted them.

I wasn’t going to turn them in, but I needed to know, and moreover, I deserved to know as well.

I crept along the grass towards the door there: if it was locked, I had no other means of finding out.

I rested my hand on the panel closest to my head and pushed on the door itself. Very slowly, it swung open into the dimly lit garage. Even though they lived in a nice neighborhood, I still grimaced at the thought of them living there without even so much as locking their doors.

The garage was dark except for the sliver of light from the garage door before me. And yet, it was enough for me to see the work bench in question as well as the big shiny rectangle against the wall. It hummed down upon the floor as well as the wall behind it.

I took a glance over my shoulder. I was alone in the garage, and I was alone in the house as well.

I crept over to the bench: through the dim light, I spotted a stray light bulb on the far right side of the cork board panel against the wall. I reached up and spread my fingers over the cork for the switch, and I felt a chain as it dangled down from the base of the bulb. I tugged on it, and the pale yellow light spread over the bench and the concrete floor behind me. The bench itself was clean, without a tool one; something about it left such a pit in my stomach.

I turned my head to the freezer, and the dread only swept over me even more. I stood there on the cold concrete with my hands clasped on to my chest and my throat closing up from the feeling. 

I stepped closer to the freezer, and all the while, my heart pounded even harder inside my chest. A pit emerged in my stomach, and I swore that it was about to wear a hole through my entire belly once I put my hand over the notch on the door: it was only big enough to let in my index fingers, but I gave it a tug anyway. The ice crunched with the opening, and I pushed the lid all the way back to the wall. Indeed, I was met with these big briskets at the bottom of the freezer, as well as rolls of matzo and sufganiyot dough all wrapped up in plastic and neatly stacked at the base of the freezer as if they were preparing to build and igloo. Ice packs covered the bottom, as did a pie, a few loaves of bread, some cans of what appeared to be homemade ice cream, and bags of frozen fruit and vegetables. They lived modestly and ate like farmers.

“Jesus, they could probably survive a nuclear winter with all of this,” I muttered aloud.

But then, right at the spot of the freezer closest to me, I noticed a series of Tupperware containers. I reached for the one closest to me and picked it out from the walls of frost crystals.

I held it before my face for a better look at the red substance inside. Lumps, bumps, and who knows what the fuck else was in there, but I could only make out the sight of what appeared to be dark spots in the red.

I had no idea as to what it was, and I was afraid to figure it out as well.

I picked up the one next to it to find another dark red substance inside, and the way it seemed to splatter all around the inside of the container. I turned it to the side for a look inside, a look to the dark material in there.

I was afraid to open the lid, and thus, I held it close to my face, and I leaned the container to the side so more light could flood inside. Whatever it was inside glistened and glimmered under the light. I could tell it hadn’t been in the freezer for very long.

I returned to the floor of the freezer, where I caught a glimpse of the packs of brown paper stashed underneath the briskets. I nudged the briskets back with my free hand, and I could see nothing but those brown paper packs, bound together with twine. Some of the tops and sides were spattered with something dark.

My mind immediately jumped to blood.

Blood.

They really did eat him! And they cut him up into pieces and wrapped him up and bound him and stashed him under their holiday briskets like no one would ever notice.

I had seen enough.

I picked out those two Tupperware containers as well as the smallest pack closest, and I closed the lid with my free hand. I reached up and turned off the light, and I was enshrined in total darkness. I ran blindly back to the door when the chain that opened the garage door jolted and ground right over my head. I yelped out and scurried over to the light before they could catch me.

I stumbled out of the back door of the garage and into the backyard with the two containers and the pack of flesh tucked right under my arm. I couldn’t believe I stole from the Skolnicks, and most of all, I couldn’t believe I stole from Alex. But as far as I knew, it was for his own good.

Panting, I lingered right by the edge of the main building of the garage, and I held still. The containers and the pack were frozen solid, and it didn’t help that it was still windy as well: so I was going to have to head on back home for dinner as well as a warming on my body as well.

The garage door ground open, and their car pulled inside. I didn’t move a muscle, especially once I realized that they hadn’t pulled in all the way. Alex’s voice caught my ear; it was followed by the car door closing, and his footsteps.

I had a hunch that that was my cue.

I ducked out from behind the corner and towards the gate. The red lights of the car shone out to the street, and before I could bow out of there, the engine stopped.

The gate slammed right behind me. I almost lost my balance going into the bushes, but I caught myself and darted towards the fence to the next property over. I held my breath and I held still as I heard his father outside of the car.

His mother said something right then.

“No idea, honey, I thought I heard something,” he replied. The next car door opened, and I knew his mother got out of the car as well.

“What’s going on?” Alex’s big voice caught my ear then.

“Your father thought he heard something in the bushes,” I heard her say. She then muttered something to him, and then she chuckled at something.

“—give it all a nice crunch, if you will.”

“Crunch like bones?” Alex quipped, and I couldn’t help but feel my heart skip a few beats.

“Crunch like bones, yes!” His father laughed out loud at that.

“Alex, bubbeleh, I can help out with the cake,” his mother was saying to him. “It’ll go so well with the flesh of it all.”

“You sure, Mom? The meat of the fruit won’t spoil with time?”

“If we can store meat for as long as possible, we can do it with something like that.” I swallowed. What could it mean?

“Nice and plump and lush and sweet—just like how I like my cakes,” Alex declared.

“Just like how I like my boy,” she decreed.

“Oh, Mom…” Alex chuckled at that.

I scurried away from there and back around the corner to the next block over. The more thought of it made my stomach turn, regardless of whether or not it was out of self-defense. In fact, I was so sickened by it that I wanted to throw up right there in the street. I stopped and leaned forward with my hands pressed on my knees.

I had to confront him the next time I saw him for Halloween, be it through a party or a one-on-one affair between myself and him.

I needed to tell him that I knew what he was doing, even if it meant admitting to him that I had broken into his parents’ house when the three of them were out and about. I needed to outsmart him somehow.

And I had the babka and the blondies as my weapons.

[ladyemberswrites]

AeriSeph

[A little Au where Sephiroth doesn't go insane and actively tries to escape from Shinra's hold]

Bitter accusations sat on her tongue, but in spite of herself she swallowed them, her throat tight, her heart hammering angrily against her ribcage, her mouth dry as the blood coating his dirtied hands. 

How many innocents had fallen beneath the weight of his hands and infamous blade.

"I left Shinra" he swiped his bloodied nose with the back of his gloved, blood stained hand. 

Aeris blinks at the admission. Too good to be true. Why would he, as he is and what he is, why would he leave. A change of heart? It seems too implausible. Then again, she frowns at herself, but it's not as if she knew him. She's heard the stories, the rumors that float around the slums, but that doesn't mean they offer any amount of truth.

"Why?" 

"I'm no more than a dog to them, probably less than that…." He paused glancing at her with those inhuman eyes that shot chills up her spine "but what does it matter, I knew that from the start" he wipes his still bleeding nose with the back of his hand again.

"Of course they didn't take my resignation lightly." 

"So….you…." 

"I ran President Shinra right through. Though I have no idea if the blow killed him or not. Don't know if they'll come after me or just let sleeping dogs lay" 

Aeris placed her hand across her mouth, to think….? She grimaced at the thought of imagining cool sliver tearing through weak human flesh. 

".....I don't know anything now that I left. What do I do now? Where should I go? I have no masters any longer?" 

Aeris sighs. It's getting late. Nights were dangerous for a young girl like her to wander "How should I know that?

"I don't know." He stops again to look at her, she can't pinpoint what he's thinking "you're a cetra-" 

"Half-cetra." She feels the need to point out, but has no idea why he's brought it out.

"Your kind are considered wise beyond human integrity. I don't know, I thought perhaps you might hold the answer I search for" 

Aeris isn't sure whether she should feel commended or insulted. Commended that he thinks a simple flower girl like her could soothe whatever existential crisis he was currently having. 

Insulted by the assumption.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can help you, General-" 

"Sephiroth. I am no longer employed by Shinra" 

"Right" she pushes some hair behind her ear "but in all seriousness I doubt I have any wisdom to offer you, I'm just a simple flower girl, I'm no wiser than anybody else here" 

-

[grxmincvdescxnce]

ELECTRIC PULSE | event iii.

tendrils of inky blackness and brilliant crimson hues.

these are the first images to shutter across her mind's eye, the former royal of varael recalling little else, initially, as she comes to in what she was certain was death's lair. yet, she would come to think better of her circumstances with the jolt of pain that shoots through her wrecked figure — the slightest shift apparently enough to signal a deed well done by her opponent thus far.

amber irises ease to life at a near snail's pace, gradual blinking beneath a flutter of lashes and bruised skin.

ah, she thinks.

right.

and the blow she couldn't see coming dents her already swollen left cheek, cracking into back teeth. a smattering of blood sprinkles the darkness in specs of gold as her body is sent lurching outward, skidding along the barrier of their enclosed little domain once in contact.

the echo of her pained utterance, the lacking, unknowing expression pieced together in worn features seems to fill her enemy with an unrelenting glee. granted, the brilliance of their teeth was dulled in a prison of their own making, but it remained present all the same. they were sure now more than ever. the girl could stay down. they could practically taste their victory.

just one more go of it, just one more solid hit, and that'll be the match. they were quite enthusiastic, nearly skipping in their joyous mood.

yet, the sight of her blood escaping her desperate, decrepit little self doesn't bother the former royal of varael.

the tip tip tapping that signaled the coming steps of her now well-enthused enemy stir her in a vague sense of the word, but the alarms aren't blaring.

for once, daeneryn is seemingly entirely composed, still, emitting a calm in a manner that's outright terrifying as she lies there. rotting like a corpse.

daeneryn notes the bellowing of the crowd — once a formidable roar of thundering applause and marvelous delights — is now a dull whisper against the near impenetrable blanket of shadow.

a sliver of a grin situates itself well before she fully does.

her fragility appears to be on rare display for an unknowing audience as unsteady limbs attempt to push the figure attached upright again. the daggers that would glisten where human teeth should reside are as dull as her enemy’s own. yet, they slither forward to a point of prominence, seeming to slice through a bloodied, golden mouth ( and this was not just a symptom of her tongue ring ) and sever into already aching, tender flesh. it breeds a wild, maniacal impression of the former princess — and in a flash, it all practically vanishes. the blur of daena seems to launch itself from one side of the room to another, halting suddenly before the once confident figure of her enemy. appearing to relay the shock of her abrupt appearance into the depths of wavering bones, the next thing her opponent feels is a crack beneath their chin as an open hand thrusts upward against it, propelled by an unimaginable force.

she's free.

cast in a nearly endless veil — the pinpricks of light that dance along the shadow globe's ‘ceiling’ are not at all enough to be concerned over and barely allow for true visibility — an impenetrable shield. daena realizes she's struck the motherlode.

she’s free. for a moment. only just.

finally.

free to mangle, to choke, to tear into delicate flesh with all the obscurity the shadows allow.

no longer did she have to take in deafening blow after deafening blow, to dart around with intention to defend, to maintain a cover she barely cared about. trapped as they were in this pocket of darkness her enemy had so foolishly permitted, her risk for exposure was non-existent.

and she grasps her opportunity with clinging, gnashing, wanting teeth — devastatingly unhinged at every passing step.

and oh, the pain.

the divine, marvelous agony of aching.

she seems as if an insatiable thing, overall — how easily she bursts through shielded flesh, carving through skin and bone with such a marvel of motivation. in every instance of her blood flooding forth by her will — launching her forward at remarkable speed, elongating claws to ridiculous lengths, creating bullets out of her enemy’s guts, keeping the remnants of her work entirely within herself so that only she knew the truth — she’s further rendered a bloodthirsty wreck. adrenaline and rage are all she knows in time, suffering through every shudder of motion, barely coherent of her actions.

and desperate as she is to taste, to further give in to sweet ecstasy, she swallows nothing of her prey. demonstrating a fringe semblance of control even in her darkest, most glorious moments. a well-earned discipline and a notable feat in the face of such longing.

with the eventual collapse of its master, the veil melts away gradually. daena emerges victorious. drenched in red and no longer bearing signs of the maniacal fiend her opponent would know with horrifying clarity, the leader of vanitas seems rather small and child-like, even helpless. especially draped in her usual sigil jacket, the DGF cropped tee barely peeking through.

any semblance of conversation that could have occurred in their domain of darkness would remain almost entirely unheard by audience ears. at most, the cry of her enemy would pierce through, due to just how devastatingly shrill it became.

she leaves her opponent effectively swiss cheese, in the worst possible sense. the cause of such is never revealed to the crowd, the spirit warrior seemingly lingering with a thread of life, rendered wholly incapacitated.

the moment the time runs down, daena has collapsed to her knees. a mess of shattered bones and various fractures, ruptured skin.

medical is on their way to render care.

and the only breathless words on offer for her exit interview are, “rosalind alimjan. goddess be fucked. go out with me.”