#sorry i love pale colors so much it will happen again

[mewymarsher]

Pluto sketch for the Pluto fans.

[suzukiblu]

Excerpt from an in-progress DP x DC soulmate AU starring Jazz Fenton, a very unfortunate mugger, and a smoothie. Oh, and I guess Jason is there too.

Jazz meets her soulmate in, of all places, Park Row. Or as the locals call it, Crime Alley.

Seems about right for her life, she decides as she kicks the shit out of the guy who was trying to stab him for his wallet fifteen seconds ago. Her soulmate watches her curiously, seeming unconcerned by the fuss, and takes a sip of his smoothie.

Also seems about right, for her soulmate. A guy who got too nervous when necessary violence happened was not going to survive Thanksgiving in Amity Park, much less Christmas.

Well, it is Gotham.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi, sorry, one sec," Jazz says, then leans over the groaning mugger and offers him a card to the best local crisis center she's managed to track down via research and word of mouth in the four months she's been in Gotham. Not her card, obviously, since she just roundhouse-kicked the guy in the head to protect her soulmate from him and that's arguably a conflict of interest. Or close enough, anyway. "So you should check these guys out, they've got a very high success rate in their job program and there's an associated food bank and rent assistance, if you qualify."

"What?" the mugger says dazedly.

"Also if you ever touch my soulmate again I'll make you wish for the cold mercy of the Infinite Realms," Jazz adds pleasantly. The guy goes very, very pale. Then he snatches the card from her and runs for his life and eternal soul.

"This is the nicest thing the universe has ever done to me," her soulmate muses, taking another sip of his smoothie.

"Getting you mugged?" Jazz asks wryly, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Are you religious? Do you want kids?" her soulmate asks. "Also, who's your favorite Bat?"

"Robin, obviously," Jazz says. "The overdramatic and feral little stabby one, I mean. He reminds me of my little brother. Makes me feel a little bit maternal, to be honest. So that answers two out of three, and as far as religion goes, I only believe in Psychology Today, highly customized guns, and my mom's ninth-degree black belt."

"This better not awaken anything in me," her soulmate mutters under his breath.

"That seems unlikely, or we wouldn't be soulmates," Jazz says.

"Point," he says, sipping his smoothie again. Jazz didn't even know anywhere in Crime Alley sold smoothies, but she is new around here. "Wanna go break my bed? Or maybe go get coffee?"

"You've already got a smoothie," Jazz says.

"So I do," he says.

Jazz looks him over. He's her soulmate, so she's not surprised to find him gorgeous. She wasn't ever expecting a familial soulmate–Danny is a very intense sibling to have, and her parents are very intense parents to have, not to mention everything about Dani, and "soulcousins" aren't typically a thing–and she's never been especially interested in keeping around too many close friends, so considering all that, she was already expecting her soulmate to be a romantic one. If they are platonic, it's definitely only going to be because her soulmate is an aromantic asexual. Which he probably isn't, since he already asked about kids and religion and if she wanted to go break his bed.

Then again, she's met people who'll posture worse than that. Especially guys, and especially ace ones with a clear investment in their masculinity, and given this particular guy is built like a brick house could only dream to be, chances are he has some feelings about his masculinity. Though he's also drinking a visibly pink smoothie, not a neutral-colored protein shake or generic black coffee, so . . . fifty-fifty there, maybe?

Further inquiry will probably be required.

"I'm Jazz," she tells him. "What's your name?"

"Robin," he says. Then he–pauses. Blinks. "I mean–Robin."

He looks very confused for a second, and Jazz blinks too, and refocuses her eyes a bit. Oh, is he–

"Are you overshadowing that guy?" she assumes. For the love of–of course her soulmate would be a ghost, she thinks dryly. Who'd want a soulmate their mom and dad wouldn't want to grill for information and ask a thousand invasive questions, after all? "I mean, he's really hot, don't get me wrong, he looks good on you, but I'd rather meet you for real."

"'Overshadowing'?" Robin looks bemused.

"I'm Danny's sister," Jazz clarifies. Robin does not look less bemused. "You know, the new king?"

"What?" Robin says. Jazz frowns a little, feeling a bit bemused herself.

"Do you not get out much?" she asks.

"Never, actually, but also yes and constantly and way too often," Robin says. "My job is kind of demanding that way."

"What's your job?" Jazz asks curiously. Ghosts' jobs are always interesting, even if only for how they interact and manifest with their Obsessions. She wonders what his Obsession is, actually, because smoothies seem like an unlikely option but she doesn't have much else to go on here.

Can't be weirder than Box Ghost, either way.

"I'm a Bat," Robin says, then looks absolutely alarmed and also absolutely horrified.

"Huh," Jazz says, tilting her head. He seems really big to be one of the Robins, and a little too old besides. A year or two younger than her, maybe, and even the older Robin she's pretty sure is at best Danny's age. Though that's assuming this body is the one he fights crime in, admittedly. Although it's kinda funny if one of the Bats is just named Robin. Must get annoying on patrol, though. "I didn't know any of you were dead, but I guess that's not actually a surprise either, given the profession."

"Why did I say that to you?" Robin asks tightly.

"I told you, I'm the new king's sister," Jazz says. "You know, it's the royal family thing. Technically I'm his regent, legally speaking, but only because I'm better at paperwork and he doesn't count as a legal adult in the Infinite Realms yet. Hasn't been dead long enough, you know how it is. But I've been alive long enough to, apparently? But his 'being alive' technically stopped tracking at fourteen. It's complicated, basically."

"What the fuck does that mean?!" Robin demands.

"It means you can't lie to me because you're one of my brother's subjects," Jazz says, really not understanding his reaction. Every ghost knows this, after all. The only ones who wouldn't know it are too young to be away from their guardians' haunts or even leave the Infinite Realms at all. Definitely a ghost who knows how to overshadow someone this thoroughly and fully is old enough and experienced enough to know it, though. "Whose body is that, anyway?"

"It's my father's," Robin says. Jazz's eyes widen a little and she has several very concerned internal reactions before he chokes and sputters–"I mean–it's not–he's not–!"

"You realize there is no healthy way to mean that, right?" Jazz says. Robin looks frustrated and freaked out and she feels bad about it, because she didn't mean or want to upset him, but she clearly has. "Sorry. I mean, I still secretly feel like I'm the one parenting my parents half the time, you're not the only one with weird feelings about yours."

"I'm his," Robin says, then grits his teeth in visible pain. He's this close to crushing the smoothie cup he's holding but hasn't actually done it. Jazz wonders if that's an example of deliberate self-control or subconscious restraint.

She's pretty sure Robin didn't mean to say that, though.

"Are you okay?" she asks, a little concerned. Normally ghosts just stop talking about things they want to lie about, when they realize who she is.

"No," Robin says. "I'm just his. I've always been his, I always will be, his good soldier, his worst mistake, not his actual fucking son, why am I telling you this?!"

"I don't know," Jazz says, frowning in increased concern. "Usually people can work around the inability to lie a little bit, but you sound like you're being compelled to speak. Increasingly like, actually. Hm. What's your Obsession? And what kind of core do you have?"

"What?" he says.

"They might be making you unstable, is all," Jazz says. "I don't think it'd be a soulmate thing but to be fair I don't really know how that works. Are you dead, or are you a manifestation of something?"

"I'm dead," Robin says, staring at her. "That bastard clown beat my head in with a crowbar and blew up what was left of me. I woke up in my grave and–I–how did you know that?"

"Well, I didn't, that's why I asked," Jazz says reasonably, idly wondering why the Joker isn't dead yet, since this is Gotham and obviously it wouldn't be another "bastard clown" Robin was referencing, even if he wasn't a Bat. But like, at least dead via the court system, if nothing else. The Joker is insane, yes, but no one can argue he doesn't know right from wrong at this point. Does New Jersey just not have the death penalty, maybe? She hasn't thought to check. "Maybe it's the guy you're in? He's not drunk or high or anything, is he?"

"I hate drugs," Robin says, gritting his teeth again; tightening his grip on the smoothie again. He's trembling, just barely. "I hate them. I'd never touch them. I don't know what you are. You're scaring me. Please stop."

He definitely didn't mean to say that, Jazz can tell.

But . . . he doesn't know what she is.

He doesn't know.

Well, that's a problem.

"Robin," she says gently, and for some reason his face twists painfully at the sound of his own name. "Can I see your core? Please?"

[motherloads]

Meet Me in the Pale Moonlight

Disclaimer: I absolutely love Jenny in the film! Too bad I like writing miscommunication. No bashing of Jenny!

The reader was supposed to be brooding and menacing? But she’s a wreck with a symbiote lol.

My spanish is also pretty meh in writing despite being Mexican myself. I speak better than I write! Pls keep that in mind ◡̈

Summary: The reader watches on the sidelines as Jenny and her longtime crush, Jaime Reyes become close to one another. Being Milagro's closest friend, she dreads when she has to come over and see the lovebirds.

But who says her little friend would allow this to happen? And who says what she sees is true?

->Pairings: Jaime Reyes x F!Reader

-> Use of (Name).

-> Marvel/DC crossover (mentioned Eddie Brock, Peter Parker, and relations to other fic)

->Warning: So much miscommunication, murder talk, and spinal cord removal :(

Once again, please ignore grammar mistakes.

⋆｡°✩

I'm the sweetest girl in town so why are you so mean? When you gonna ditch that stupid, you got? It's me you should be seeing.

"Are you just going to continue to stare?" Milagro questions her close friend, who stares at her brother with a pair of love-sick eyes. "Dude, just go talk to him."

"Can't really do that," Her friend hums in response, "Look, Kord is walking over to him. Now he's going to have the brightest smile ever and then they'll hug Then she's going to pat him on the back and start helping him with your house remodel. Look! They're doing it!"

Exactly at that point, Jaime laughs as Jenny pushes him over, grabbing the paintbrush on her own and assisting him with the cream-colored outer walls. Jaime shakes his head in response, nudging her back.

"So what? I'm his sister, and what I can tell you is that they are NOT together. They're just really good friends!" Milagro explains, quieting down when Jaime looks over. "Come on, clear it up. I don't want to see my best friend so sad."

"I'm grieving," She pouts, lowering herself into the chair, "You don't see what I see. They are definitely together."

"Si no lo preguntas, nunca vas a saber," Another voice exclaims. Both girls turn their heads to her mother who shakes her head at them. "Don't be shy! I don't want my future daughter-in-law to lose her chance."

Feeling her face heat up, she looks away from the older woman's words. "I know he's your son, but I can't. I'm sorry."

Maybe if you weren't such a pussy, you would have gotten the guy. Does the K-dramas we watch together not mean anything?

The sudden voice caused her to jump straight into her seat. Narc had been quiet since she had arrive at the Reyes’ house hold. She hadn’t expected them to speak at all since he rarely did when she was at their residence. At first, it was off putting to never hear the familiar voice, but she slowly grew used to the silence.

Born out of wedlock from the original symbiote, Narc had been the symbiote who had begun their stay before she arrived in this Universe. They were the only connection she had to the life she once had. Or was it the other being stuck here as well? She wasn’t sure, she ignored all contact to the woman connected to her in more ways than one.

"K-Dramas are not real, idiot." She hissed under her breath.

"Did you say something, Mija?" Mrs. Reyes questions, resting her hand under the woman's chin. "You often talk to yourself, just like little Jaime."

"Mama!" Jaime calls out, "I'm not little anymore! Come on, don't tell her that!"

"You are little, cabrón. Don't you remember the incident? Naked con tus chiquito huevitos." His Uncle Rudy cackles, "Don't you remember that, ama?"

Their Nana shakes her head in response, smiling broadly at the memory. Milagro begins to laugh as well while Jenny sits beside the girls with a small nod in the direction of (Name). She returns the gesture, crossing her hands as she ignored how hard her heart hammered.

"I'm lost," (Name) murmurs, "So, so lost...But anyway, I have to head out. Thank you for having me!"

"Come by anytime, (Name)." Jaime grins, walking up to her and hugging the girl tightly, "Just remember to ignore anything they say about me, okay? Don't want them ruining anything."

"They're your family, I don't think they are capable of doing so," She pats his back, looking down at Milagro who fake kisses the air in front of her. Jenny seems to notice as she raises her eyebrows at the duo still hugging.

"You can let me go now, Jaime." (Name) murmurs into his ear, "Don't want her getting the wrong idea."

Jaime pulls away, smiling at the girl in front of him. His eyes flickered down for a second before he looked back at her, "Sorry?" She smiles sadly at him as she moves towards her vehicle. She refuses to look at the family behind her as she hears the conversation pick up again.

I think we should kill her.

"Absolutely not. There is a new hero here, Narc. We can't just murder a well-known figure and expect to get away with it." She groans, buckling her seat belt. She looks back at the family once more as she shifts her gear to drive.

We've done it once. And we can do it again.

"I don't think killing the Green Goblin counts for anything! He was already crazier than us, so the headlines were thanking us!" She exclaims.

His brain was nasty anyway.

⋆｡°✩

"Do you think Blue Beetle is cool?" Milagro asks, absentmindedly moving her straw around in boredom. "Personally, I think he's a huge nerd. What do you think?"

"Who says you can bother me on my shift?" (Name) frowns, cleaning the bar top in front of her, "And how did they let you in?"

"I have my ways," Milagro grins, "Answer my question. I need to know."

"I think he's...unique? From the news I have seen of him, it's obvious he is of Hispanic Descent. His suit is otherworldly, so I'm assuming it's some kind of alien tech he is using. Definitely not Superman, though." (Name) shrugs, moving the alcoholic beverages aside as she begins assisting the bartenders alongside her.

"Do you think he's cute under his mask?" Milagro leans closer, "Would you date him?"

I would eat him.

"I wouldn't eat him," (Name) responds instead. She pauses as the conversation around her began to quiet down. Some stared at her while others whispered to their compadres nearby.

"I...didn't ask that? I asked if you think he's cute and if you would date him. Dude, where the hell is your mind thinking right now?" Milagro whispers, eyeing the men nearby, "God, I’ve always hated this bar. A bunch of chismosos who are almost always cheating on their wives here. They're always eyeing you too. How do you handle that?"

"First, I can't tell if Blue Beetle is cute based on his voice. Second, I wouldn't date him since I am sooo hung up on your brother." Milagro snorts. "Lastly, this is the only bar that offers the minimum wage. I can handle drunk men well, I've always had."

The conversation began to pick up again as most began focusing on the news displayed in front of them. Blue Beetle was shown on live television, fighting off rogue soldiers from Victoria Kord's force. Despite the woman being long gone, the impact she made had not quite disappeared.

"I knew you were still into him! I say you ask him out! You ain't a homewrecker if he isn't in a relationship!"

"Didn't you say Kord and Jaime kissed? That your whole family cheered for the couple?"

"A fluke! It's a fluke I swear, but it is complicated! Just ask Jaime, please? It would be so cool for us to be family."

"If our lives are ever in danger at this very bar, then I'll ask." (Name) turns away from Milagro's eyes, "That means it will never ha-"

Her voice gets cut off when bullets begin hitting the bar's windows, causing the occupants to duck down to safety. Many of the drunken men tried to escape but most were quickly shot down by the bullets.

Milagro screams, ducking down into a crouch as the bullets continue. (Name) ignores the danger as she maneuvers her way through the destruction. She grabs Milagro, forcing the girl to look her in the eyes. "I need you to hide behind the bar, okay? The bullets won't get you. We will protect you.”

"W-who's we?" Milagro cries as (Name) pushes her behind the bar. There was silence for a moment as screams echoed in the bar. "(Name)? Where are you going?" She pushed Milagro down, moving her way from the bar corner as she looked at the bodies around her. Many men stayed below tables, looking at her in fear as she counted the people alive.

"Nobody get up. It’s not ove-" Her words get cut off when bullets pierce through her whole body. She is flung against the countertop as a bullet pierces too close to her heart. She hears her name being called out as Milagro tries to find her way to the woman.

She smiles at the tear-stained face in her vision. The fear in the other girl's eyes was evident as she continued to scream her name. At that moment, smoke bombs are thrown through the window. The screams had begun to mesh together, the fog covering the vision of the little who were still alive.

She feels the blood oozing out of her mouth, the familiar metallic filling up her mouth. She sputters, not being able to breathe.

It's your turn.

My turn.

Shoes stepping on glass were all everyone heard as the perpetrators stepped through the mess they caused. They held their gun up in return, moving through the fog stealthily. As they communicated with one another, they grew unnoticed by the thing they had angered.

"Find the Reyes girl. She is to be left alive." One spoke up, "Kill every survivor." The main soldier calls out. They await the confirmation of the others but they hear nothing. "I need an affirmative."

The soldier gets smacked in response, feeling themselves recoil from the weight against their body. When they look down at the unfamiliar weight, they begin to scream.

The weight crushing them was there comrade. Left unrecognizable with no head in sight. The blood wafts through their mask. They begin to gag as they try to pull the body off of them. They freeze up when a bloodied helmet rolls closer. Empty and dented, the helmet hits their shoe with a loud clank.

The fog begins to clear up, displaying the mess left behind. The soldier tensed when they noticed the bodies presented around the room. Many hung from the lights, their necks cracking from the added weight of their helmet. Others were hazardously thrown against tables. One had a table leg pierced through their helmet.

"Why must humans be so selfish? Is this fun for you, you pathetic piece of shit?" The soldier whimpers in response, turning their eyes away from the figure crouching in front of their face.

The creature, despite crouching, was still overlooking the only soldier left alive. The disarray and multi-color of the night sky reflected back to the onlookers who began to murmur about the new being. They tilt their head and leaned closer to the soldier, their bright, soulless eyes stared into the helmet. They licked the sharp smile forming from the fear they felt radiating off the soldier.

"Unlike the Blue Beetle, we do not care about the lives of our victims. What do you think happens next?"

"W-What the hell are you?"

"If you must know, my host has named us Narc. Will you beg for your life now?"

The Soldier rips their helmet off, looking at Narc with a look of fear, "Please. Please. I'm sorry. I'll never do this again, please!"

"He had once told us the same. You are just like the others. Pathetic. Unworthy. A perfect meal."

A scream is ripped through his victim's vocal cords as Narc bites down. Blood seeped through their mouth as they ripped out the spinal cord in one sharp turn. Narc stands, spitting their leftovers to the side.

"Hey, ugly!" A voice called out, "What the hell are you doing, man?"

Narc cranes their neck towards the entrance of the bar, watching as Blue Beetle floated at his place. They both stared at each other, unmoving.

"Blue Beetle!" A voice calls out, Milagro moving from her hiding spot to the blue-and-black-clad hero. "My friend is gone! She was just--where is she?" She turns her head towards Narc, who stares down at the shaking girl.

"Get away from it!" Blue Beetle yells, flying through the bar as he centers himself between Milagro and Narc. "Take it up with me and not the civilians!"

"He just--he ate all the soldiers--" Milagro gasps, stepping behind Blue Beetle, "I saw what he did--"

"You--What the hell are you?" Blue Beetle points his palms toward Narc, who continues to stare in silence.

"Does my figure scare you? I can hear your heartbeat." Narc cranes their head towards Milagro. Blue Beetle blocks her from their eyesight. “Worry not, we do not hurt the innocent.”

With those words, Narc feels their familiar bulking figure die down to their less impending figure. The duo are lost for words at the new figure presented in front of them.

"I'm so sorry I think I misgendered you--" Milagro's eyes stayed pinned to the pair of boobs Narc had.

"Where's (Name)?" Blue Beetle turns his head around, "Khaji-Da says she is still here! She was working, right?" His questions are to Milagro.

None of the three seemed to notice the survivors running out of the bar.

"She is here. With me." Narc hums, moving closer to Blue Beetle, "Is Khaji-Da your symbiote?"

"Symb--what? What do you mean (Name) is with you?"

"Jaime Reyes. You are a host are you not?"

"Stop avoiding my questions! Where is she?! How do you know my name--That is not my name! I do not know Jaime Reyes. Do you?"

"I have known of the scarab on your back since the beginning. Do not worry, (Name) remains clueless, for now."

"Why are you saying her name as if you know her?" Milagro questions.

Narc purrs, tilting their head closer to Blue Beetle who stepped back hesitantly. "We have known each other for a long time. We are bonded together until she dies. She is my key to survival in your world. She is me. I am her. We are one. We are Narc."

“Like Narcotics? Did she get you from a drug? She doesn’t seem like the type to do drugs.” Milagro questions, stepping closer to the duo, “And why are you so close? I can smell you from here!”

“We are host and symbiote. We am not from here, you see. Your alien won’t know of us.”

Milagro and Blue Beetle share a look, communicating with silent words. Blue Beetle lowers his hand, allowing Narc to step closer. The symbiote smiles, their purrs growing louder.

“I see why she likes you.”

With those words, Narc sinks into (Name)'s skin, leaving the woman defenseless from the eyes of her long-time crush and friend. She drops to the floor, her wounds patching over themselves with a familiar goo.

Blue Beetle drops to the floor, bringing (Name) close to his body. He rocks her back and forth as Milagro stumbles beside him. Her eyes were bloodshot and the tears that disappeared has formed all over again.

"Why didn't she tell us? Why didn't she tell me?" Blue Beetle, now Jaime who removed his helmet. He leans his forehead on the woman and murmurs into her hair. He kisses her temple as Milagro continues to cry.

"Why didn't she tell us her hero name is literally short for Narcotics?!"

⋆｡°✩

(Name) awakes to a horrible headache splintering her head. She groans as she shifts closer to the warmth of an unfamiliar body. She nuzzles in closer to the warmth, groaning at the light against her eyelids.

"Narc turn off the lights...I feel like I've just been shot." She moans, gripping her blanket tighter against her body, "I'm going out with Milagro later. I have to go buy cat food..."

"Milagro is taking care of Eddie, don't worry." A familiar voice whispers against her head, "Just go back to sleep. I'll block the sunlight."

"Thanks, Jaime..." Processing the name that came out, she jumps away from the warmth. She stares at Jaime, who stares back in equal shock and sleepiness. His hair was a mess, pointing in different directions. She presses her hand to her mouth, gasping behind it.

"Oh my god. We didn't have sex, did we? If so, that would be awkward because you are my best friend's brother and you literally have a girlfriend. I can't even get drunk so it's impossible for me to forget--oh my god am I in your house?"

"Hey, Hey," Jaime soothes her, smiling at the woman freaking out in his bed, "We didn't have sex and we were not drunk. You were...shot multiple times and some things came to light, but it's okay now, I promise."

"I'm still sleeping in your bed though! You could have left me, being shot doesn't stop me! We were holding each other?! What would Kord think if she saw this now?" She grips the unfamiliar sweater covering her body, feeling her legs shift through from under the sheets and hit against Jaime's.

"Jenny? What about Jenny? We aren't...We aren't dating if that's what you're worried about." Jaime grabbed her by the face, locking eyes with her who looked anywhere but him. "I can't just leave you when you were hurt."

"Milagro said you two kissed."

"We did once have feelings for each other. But it's long gone now, it was just a...heat of a moment kind of thing." Jaime brings her cheeks towards his chest, which she just noticed had nothing covering him from her eyes. Her hands stopped short on his stomach. She felt his stomach flutter in response.

"Besides, I like someone else. I like you."

She feels her heart stop at his confession.

Knew it.

"No shit." She exclaims, looking up at Jaime who smiles down at her doe-like look.

"I do." He whispers back. They both stared at one another until he leaned closer to her face. She felt his breath fan her face as she wrinkled her nose.

"You stink." She snorts, moving her hands to the back of his neck. He laughs at her words.

"Yours smells much worse. Now, come here--" She cuts him off, smashing her lips to his. He holds her waist, bringing her to sit on his lap. Her tongue finds his, leaning closer as her hand moves to stay on his chest. Biting his lip, she softly sucks it lightly. She opens her eyes to find his eyes half-lidded, enjoying the moment.

When she pulls away, her lips find his neck, kissing down to his collarbone. Pulling her hand back to his neck, she inhales his scent.

"Couldn't have waited until I was asleep. You are always like this. The same exact way with Peter Parker."

They both jump at the new voice, turning their heads towards Narc who floated their head around the room, reading the boxes that held different items. She turns her head to Jaime, eyes wide, waiting for him to begin screaming.

"Narc-uh. They explained more about your origins with each other. After finding them standing in a bloodbath, Milagro and I thought the worst had happened but someone--something told me to let Narc explain."

"They told you about our.... situationship?" She questions, gripping onto Jaime's bicep. "You're supposed to be running away--not making out with me!"

"And you! You aren't supposed to be out. You're grounded!" She growls, pulling Jaime's face into the crook of her neck, "You told him everything, huh? Why can't you ever keep secrets? She'll be angry our cover was blown!"

She ignored the look Narc gives, opting to continue her rant, “Asshole, is it because I’m not letting you meet Red Robin? You know it isn’t allowed!”

"The other youngling saw you get shot. Was I supposed to act as if I ate you instead?"

"Actually, yes! Nobody is supposed to know, you promised. We promised Eddie."

"You made a promise to your cat?" Jaime's muffled voice questions. Despite the situation, he bites her neck. "Who is Peter Parker?"

She glares at Narc, who innocently whistles. "No one Jaime, he is no one."

"Former boy toy." Narc responds instead, "Hell of an amateur kisser."

"You kissed him! Not me!" She turns to Jaime, pulling his head back to stare at him, "I'm so sorry, I don't know why they're acting this way. I'll go right now, seriously. I don't want you in our mess."

"Relax," Jaime comforts, grabbing her hand that stayed on his cheek. He smiles at her, "I can protect myself. Look--"

She felt him shift from under her, watching in shock as his body began to be covered by a familiar suit she had seen countlessly on television. Everything except his face was covered in armor. Whilst she analyzed the markings on his suit, Narc moved closer as well.

"Does your scarab only speak to you?" Narc asks, "It is unlike anything I have seen on my planet. Do you feed them as well?"

"They aren't really fed? They don't need sustenance. Khaji-Da only talks to me in my head so they're like a second voice...and planet?"

"This is going to be a long talk," She sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly, "At least you don't have to feed them human brains..."

"What?" Jaime recoils, looking at the two with wide eyes, "I'm sorry? Brains? Like Zombies? The Walking Dead? Like zombies from The Last of Us?!"

"I thought you told him everything!"

"I would never tell of my eating habits! Humans are judgemental!"

[irisintheafterglow]

don't even know, i'm talkin' nonsense

summary: on his way back from a patrol shift, your boss gets hit with a mystery quirk that affects his speech. you're the only one in the office who can help him (pro!bakugo x you).

wc: 2k

cw/tags: swearing cuz bakugo's here and he's angry, miscommunication-based comedy, idiot(s) in love, coworkers to lovers, a little bit of angst/comfort but it's just for the plot yk

note: i'm not sure where the concept of this came from; i was just listening to sabrina carpenter and was like,,,, hey i can use this. so have this! hope you like it :))

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <3

“Okay, go over it one more time for me. I think I’ve got it,” you reassure him, only to be met with a skeptical glare. “I’m serious; I think I understand it, even though it took forever.” You tap the whiteboard of the meeting room with the red marker in your hand, slightly tired from scribbling down as much as you could comprehend from your boss’ vague gestures. He exhales deeply, dragging a hand down his face, and gives you an impatient look. “Ready when you are."

“Fucking hell, I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

“I didn’t understand a word of what you just said,” you remind him and he shoots you a withering glare that doesn’t deter you in the slightest. “And don’t try to write it, since that clearly didn’t work.” You glance at the scribbled mess of letters scratched onto a yellow notepad of paper, Bakugo’s first attempt to communicate that something was off when speech was not working.

“I fucking know that! You don’t think I can’t remember that you have no idea what I’m fucking saying?” You blink at him, desperately biting your tongue to avoid bursting out laughing. Even though Bakugo had been hit with a quirk that was creating some very entertaining moments in an otherwise bland office job, he could still make his palms crackle dangerously in warning. “Remind me to fire you when I get out of this.” You can’t control your laughter that time and you let a snort slip from your throat, wincing when his scathing eyes stare menacingly into you. 

“Sorry, I am so sorry,” you laugh quietly, attempting to subtly wipe a tear from your eye. “It’s just that…that time it was a dolphin.” You scrunch your face to avoid laughing again and try so hard that it makes your stomach hurt. Your boss continues to stand there, absolutely mortified, while you add another animal to the list of sounds that have come out of his mouth. Since he re-entered the office after a seemingly normal patrol shift, the noises of a bear, horse, mouse, tiger, monkey, a bird you couldn’t identify, and now a dolphin had exited his mouth in place of his scratchy voice. You thought it was a sneeze, the first time the bear roar had echoed through the office, but were equally perplexed when you asked him to sign a form and the only answer you received was high-pitched squeaking. 

“There’s no fucking way,” he’d muttered under his breath when you first explained to him what you thought was happening. It became all too real as his face paled when you played what your phone recorded as his “voice,” which only came out as the insistent hoots of a monkey. He was used to receiving weird looks on the street, especially when civilians realized that they were walking next to one of the top Pros in the country, but it dawned on him that they may have not heard his usual voice when he barked at them to move. “And you’re the only one in the office right now?” 

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” you inform him carefully. “But, if you’re wondering if anyone else is here to help you, there’s not.” You can only imagine what kind of colorful expletives he yelled by the unrelenting scream of bird noises that left his mouth. “And I was about to leave, so if you want me to stay and help–” 

“I don’t need your fucking help.”

“Oh, great. You’re a horse now,” you deadpan, understanding from his facial expressions alone what he was trying to communicate. “Well, if you don’t need my help, have fun explaining to the guys why you sound like you swallowed a zoo.” Your boss’ face turns bright red at the idea of showing up to dinner with his old classmates in his current state. He fires off a single, precise shot at the rubber door stop before you can exit the meeting room, effectively locking you in there with him until you sort out how to fix him. “So, you do want my help?” You turn to look at him with a knowingly innocent smirk, delighted to find him seething in place but reluctantly nodding. “What’s the magic word?” A single horse neigh echoes through the meeting room and you head to the whiteboard. “Alright, let’s get to work.”

You spent the next hour and a half playing a ridiculous game of charades with Bakugo after the alarming discovery that anything he tried to write would become illegible scribbles. You figured that it was just an effect of the Quirk itself, which seemed to give the user the ability to communicate with different animals without being understood by humans. If an eavesdropper managed to figure out what they were saying, the words would become unreadable on the page for further secrecy. Despite inconveniencing your boss and preventing you from leaving the office on time, it did serve as an important tool in the Quirk-stealing weapons trade you’d been investigating. The only issue now was to figure out where Bakugo was hit. 

“So, you’re walking down 25th.” A nod. “And make a right on Pine?” His palm hits his forehead in frustration. “No, no, not right. A left, towards 24th.” Another nod. “And that-that alley, by the coffee shop with the good strawberry milk teas?” More aggressive nodding. “That’s where you got hit? With the dart?” He slams his hand on the desk, nodding furiously. You stare at him, slightly in disbelief as you pull out a rolling chair and slump into it. “How the hell did you get pulled into that alley?” 

“Someone was screaming for help and I’m a hero so I go help them, I don’t fucking know.”

“Dolphin again,” you smirk and he rolls his eyes. “But, really. You don’t ever go that route since it’s too out of the way from where your patrol ends. What were you doing on that side of town?” He pauses, his mouth drawn into a tight line and his eyebrows drawn as he searches for an explanation in his brain. Truth be told, he had no idea what possessed him to take that route back to the office. All he could recall were snapshots, little Polaroids of information that, if he pieced them together, made a relatively cohesive explanation. He’d snapped at you unfairly, a common snap of his temper, but the hurt on your face affected him more than he was willing to admit. Something bothered him about your tense expression and it continued to bother him when he was out of the office and kicking villains into the dirt. It seemed like instinct was the only reason why he headed in the direction of the cafe with the strawberry milk he knew you liked. “Well?”  

He blinks at you once, twice, and then stands abruptly and swings open the door. You watch him through the room’s tall windows as he enters his private office briefly and exits with a cardboard drink holder. A minute later, a plastic cup with the taut seal unbroken is unceremoniously set in front of you, along with a large straw to suck up the extra strawberry bits he knew you always ordered. 

“What is this?”

“What does it look like, idiot?”

“I know it looks like a drink, but why did you get it for me?” His eyes widen with the idea that you could understand him again, but you’re quick to shut him down. “And no, I can’t understand you yet. Right now, you’re a tiger.” You half expect him to launch the other drink, something brown sugar looking, at the wall; instead, he pulls out the chair next to you and stabs his straw into the plastic, gesturing for you to do the same. You obey hesitantly, eyeing him curiously as he avoids your questioning expression. “Thank you.” He huffs, something you’ve learned is the only response he gives to gratitude. “You really didn’t need to do this.”

“I hurt your fucking feelings, of course I needed to.” You’re staring at him again, you and your pretty eyes and kind smile and uncanny ability to withstand even his most fiery temper tantrums. He’d discovered his feelings for you months ago and it was like a speed bump was put in front of him every time you were near, always making him trip or say something stupid. Bakugo was never known to be good with his words or his feelings, but you made him feel so warm inside that he’d be a fool to deny what it was. “I guess it’s good that you can’t understand me right now because I can vent about how stupid you make me feel.” You hum, a fond glint catching in your eye. 

“That’s a new one. You’re a chicken right now.” You laugh and he can feel his forehead get airy, like he’d chugged three sojus. What he felt was sweeter, though, without the bitter taste that always followed alcohol. To him, you were pure light. 

“Makes sense, ‘cause I’m too much of a dumbass to tell you how much I care about you. Fuckin’ idiot.” 

“You sure have a lot to say, boss. Go on and let me pretend I’m on a poultry farm.” You take another sip of your drink and close your eyes, appreciating his unexpected gift. “A much needed vacation, in my opinion.”

“There you go again with your stupid sarcasm and your stupid laugh. You’re insufferable, you know that? Always making me run around in circles because I don’t know what I’m fucking doing around you.” You raise your eyebrows melodramatically and nod at him slowly, still having no idea what he’s trying to communicate. “You’re lucky you’re pretty because if you were anyone else, I’d fucking deck them right now.” Your attention shoots to him but gives no indication that you comprehended what he just said, so he goes on. “I wanna take you out to dinner sometime, but I think I’m a little too proud to admit how much I like you. Fucking hell, you don’t know what you do to me.” 

“Hey, boss?”

“The fuck do you want?”

“The Quirk wore off,” you breathe, in complete shock from what he just unknowingly confessed to you. You’d be less surprised if he’d told you that he murdered his way up to the top three. “You started speaking normally when you said,” you pause to try to slow your racing pulse in your ears, “that I was pretty.” You sneak a look at him out of the corner of your eye to find him bright red and mirroring your wide-eyed expression. “I guess the effects wore off pretty fast?” 

“Yep,” he forces out. “Must have.”

“You really think I’m pretty?”

“It’s why I got you the fucking drink, stupid,” he mumbles, still examining the shiny wood of the table. “Didn’t want you to be sad.” An idea pops into your head and you shrug, leaning nonchalantly back into your chair. You can feel his eyes watching you, reading your body language.

“I know something that would make me less sad.” 

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” You shrug and let the corner of your mouth turn up, brushing a stray blonde hair from his face. You didn’t think it was possible to turn such a deep shade of pink and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t amused by how miserable he looked. 

“Take me out to dinner,” you reply, chuckling at the way his nostrils flare. “Repeat all the stuff you said while you were speaking zookeeper. Beside the love confession, of course. I understood that pretty well.” 

“God, you’re ridiculous,” he mutters, grabbing your hand and dragging you out of the office. “Next time I get you that strawberry milk, you’ll be there with me. Then we’ll both have that stupid quirk.” 

“Mmm, great. We can both tell each other how much we like each other while speaking dolphin.”

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[mybelovedrin]

✷ ITOSHI RIN x reader. fluff, reader is a menace and rin just can't get enough of it. warnings: pointless drabbles = my fav note: i miiiisss writing on here ! sorry if there's typos. love y'all mwah

"ugh, this lipstick is too bold. i think a simple lipliner and some red gloss will be better."

"that's literally what i suggested earlier, but okay."

you let out a quiet and playful huff at the sound of his voice from the open bathroom, while looking through your makeup for that specific shade of brown lip liner between all the multiple nude, red, and other coloured ones. your look was entirely complete, except for your lips. it was frustrating. "okay, i admit i was being a smartass at first—"

"you're always being a smartass, though."

"and since when did my husband become so sassy?" you retort quickly as you scoff, giving him a look.

"...just saying." he shrugs while his eyes casually wander down your face and figure from the door frame of the bathroom. after all these years, he still thinks he's being sneaky while looking at you as if you're his air. you hold back a smile at the obviousness of it all, continuing to search for that stupid lip liner.

then you smell the familiar cologne and feel his warmth against your back as he exits the bathroom and stands behind you, his deadpan expression from the reflection in the mirror making you feel butterflies because you're the only one who knew what he was thinking. in fact, you even knew that he'd think carefully before finally speaking quietly in your ear, his voice being sweet like honey.

"you look stunning."

"thank you, rin." you flash him a cheeky smile after you find your lipliner, and he hands you a make up wipe from one of the compartments as if it was a piece of cake to remember where all your specific make up and skincare products were.

so as you wipe off the lipstick you currently regret wearing, his warm hands find their home on your hips, squeezing gently as he rests his chin on your shoulder and observes in the mirror how you wipe your lips and begin outlining them with a brown pencil. those sharp and calculating teal eyes of his looked at your lips with great interest. from your cupid's bow to the feeling of your lips against his that he could never forget— he adored it all.

however, as you accidentally get a little too much of your berry colored lip gloss on and make a noise of frustration, he instantly handed you another make up wipe. what a sweet husband.

but when you refuse it, the confusion on his calm face is enough to make you chuckle in amusement.

"keep the make up wipe for yourself." you speak quietly, staring at him as you turn around to face him and wrap your arms loosely around his neck, your heels making it way easier for you to be face to face with him.

he gives you a very lost look.

"why would i need a—"

he knows why, even before he finishes that sentence of his. it's not like he wanted to complete it anyway. he'd die a million times to have you interrupt his sentences with your lips on him.

your targets are familiar. first his lips, then his left cheek, right cheek— chin and forehead. his pale skin was now covered in shiny red lip prints.

oh, and did he mention that he'd die a million times (once again) to see the smile on your face that you offer him after those kisses?

"it's fine now. got rid of the excess. that make up wipe is yours to use, honey." you say with a soft snicker, patting his chest lightly as you grab your purse and go downstairs, leaving him in your shared bedroom with your lip gloss all over his face and a pounding heart inside his ribcage.

rin sighs, fighting the urge to smile as he pinches the bridge of his nose, a soft groan escaping his lips as he stands there for a moment, his knees weak and heart racing from what just happened.

he stares at the make up wipe in his hand for a moment, cursing under his breath as he wipes the gloss off his skin.

you win for now. he'll get you back some other day.

[samodivaa]

Winter Soldier x Asset!Reader You just returned from a mission—you provoke him, but the tension flicks from anger to fevered desire.

Warnings - smut, smut, he hasn't felt arousal for a long time ;)

Words - 2500

❆⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❆⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❆

Soldat wraps himself in anger, with a dash of annoyance, and at the bottom of it all is an icy center of pure horror—the intensity of this forgotten sensation, not bloodlust—it is pure human lust—his metal hand tightens around your neck.

"I'm sorry. Please, let me go now, please" but the trickling sounds of your pleas makes him feel thirsty for more.

It is not lust or infatuation—this is intoxication, a craven’s craving he can't explain nor control. He looks at your eyes—dainty blend of colors, lips are rosebuds, cheeks have the color of flamboyant flowers. You are Summer, he is Winter.

"Again"

"What-t?" Your voice is bewildering, and yet mysteriously beautiful.

"Beg. Again."

You poorly try to hide your shock. This is an unprecedented turn of events. The programmed machine inside you wants to block that, to scream for help, and the human inside you wants more.

"Please, please, Soldat"

"Fuck…" he mutters.

His eyes are nearly black, the pupils dilated as he pulls away and moves backwards. Winter stays still, but you see a tremor pass through him—as if he is waging a war with himself.

Hydra always plays with his mind, lies to him, but lust is what it is, it never lies—it is real and he feels it, but his apparatus is so rusted that he doesn’t understand what is happening fully.

And it is not only the faculty of love, lust which were sterilized, but also the faculty of imagination—he never imagined that he would do something like that. Now, he involves his mind in the abuse of imagination in erotic matters—fires of lust spring up for the first time and he groans like some baffled prowling beast.

“What is it, Winter?”

He wants to sin with you, to force you to sin with him and to exult with you in sin.

“Soldat?”

He feels the lust’s presence moving irresistibly upon him, a presence subtle and murmurous as a flood filling him wholly with itself.

“I need to touch you, I need—”

A litany. An enchantment. A curse.

He explores you from a distance as he makes several steps backwaters, with his unspoken desire, with the fear that touching you would set him to flame. And you want nothing more in that moment than to prove very much the opposite.

“Do it then”

It's enough for Winter, to hear the soothing whisper of comforting words countering the panic and the frostiness of darkness in his soul.

At that, he makes a harsh, low sound. His eyes exude insinuation and you know it.

You are both alone, surrounded by darkness and silence: and in that moment of supreme tenderness, he starts to transfigure—by his monstrous way of life, this seems—beyond the limits of reality.

He tries to bid his tongue so that he might seem at ease, watching you as you shamelessly undo your dirty cargo pants and shirt.

As he stands silent, watching you undress—you are breathtakingly beautiful as you stand there in the dark, the dim lights letting your skin look ghostly pale. When you make steps towards him, he instinctively tries to make several steps backward, but the wall behind prevents it.

You come over to him and you embrace him gaily and gravely, arms holding him firmly by the waist, his eyes couldn't help, but move down at your cleavage, exposing the flawless skin—dozens of inappropriate thoughts suddenly rushes through his head when you let out a small sigh of frustration.

Seeing his face lifts to yours—serious as he feels the warm, calm rise and fall of your breast.

“Samodiva—”

You suddenly kiss Soldat, his head tilting to meet your mouth, lips warm and mobile as they play against his own in a medley of light brushes and soft nibbles. The kiss lingers, each tantalizing caress is his answer which he is too afraid to say out loud. Gentle, but your kiss becomes deliberately seductive. Settling on his lower lip, you draw it into your mouth and suck at it softly, lips, tongue and teeth working in sensuous harmony as his cock jolts to life and you move your hips closer, framing the hardness.

It is too much for him.

He closes his eyes, surrendering himself to you, body and mind, conscious of nothing in the world but the dark pressure of both your hands and softly parting lips—his flesh shrinking from what it dreads and responds to the stimulus of your touch, his long forgotten sexual needs—purely a reflex action of the nervous system.

You catch yourself staring at the sensual curve of his lips, the impressive cut of his jaw, devouring every part of him with eyes.

And then, weakness, confusion and inexperience fall from him in that moment—your eyes bright with brutish joy meets his—ferocity burns in his gaze promising something primal—your soul shriveled up as he snatches you up around the waist and sits you on the metal table nearby.

You are in his hands—you have to comply.

It is the impatience of the way he tears your panties and bra from your body that really scares you: the lust getting the better of him and you spread your legs wide, exposing your overall and the fragrance of the essences permits in the air, he can smell it.

Reaching out, he grabs your chin

“Have you done this with the others?”

His human fingers dig into the skin, forcing a whimper from your parted lips.

Holding you in place, he awaits for a response

“Yes-s” your voice is quiet, almost lost in the helpless darkness of his presence.

Soldat haltes, blue eyes frosting.

He slams his metal fist down on the table

“I forbid you” he whispers before running the tip of his tongue along your neck, tasting the sweat that has just formed.

There is a stubbornness about you that never can bear to be frightened at the will of the Winter Soldier. Your courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate you, but this time you feel helpless as fear spreads to every part of the body.

The unmistakable flare of jealousy narrows his eyes—there is that infamous control of his hovering on the edge, balancing precariously on the point of a knife, it makes your breath hitch. 

The primal lust, the sheer need to claim you, quickly finding ways to express his sacred hunger to you in animal passion. He relishes that delicious feeling of freedom, the delirium of being human, his flesh is being born again.

This demon is made for you—his dark eyes and possessiveness have you hooked, his darkness frightens, soothes, but now that darkness is lustful—half god, half hell.

Soldat is a wraithlike observer most of his life, but he takes control for the first time and there is a theatrical quality about all this—he is irreparably damaged, but with your scent filling his nostrils there seems to be a some primitive male instinct as his throat tighten with a hunger he never experienced before—it draws him in deeply, imagining that was how hot sex smells.

“Ти си моя” he says low and quiet and as vicious—his fingers, caressing your tights simultaneously, spreading them further apart.

You feel your heart beat faster, your face flush, and your ire rise, you avoid his cold stare, reeling at his words—you are mine—his hands gripping your hair firmly in a show of dominance, making you face him before Soldat quickly delves into a deep and possessive kiss, his lips are full and warm, soft against yours, but the kiss is hard and desperate.

"If Springtime crawls out of the wild mouths of flowers, then surely, Winter crawls out of mine."

He smirks against your lips when you can't hide your moans, your hands slowly snaking their way around his shoulders, pulling him closer, the intrusive need to be consumed by him.

“Be quiet”

He huffs nonchalantly, stalking closer to lick at the crook of your neck as he runs his hands along your sides, the flesh one stopping just below your breasts—but the metal one flicks your nipple with his thumb as he passes it. He rubs in a slow circular motion as he observes your reactions.

You don’t know when he moves his human hand, but his fingers down to your burning sex, separating your folds and running a thick finger over the slit. He could smell your arousal and knows he needs a taste of you—a groan tears out of his throat.

“Be quiet” you want to mock his own words, but you breathe out heavily and hard as you say them.

You thought he would have a clever reply — something to win, something to shut you up.

In a way, you guess he did.

Your hands tighten on his biceps as he inserts a second finger, your fingernails scrape into him, and the slight pain is pleasurable, knowing he is one giving you pleasure—hypnotized by your velvety moans—you are panting, mouth watering.

You keep your eyes open for as long as you can, hoping that your brainwashed, imperfect memory would capture even just half as much as his.

It suddenly occurred to him he doesn’t know your real name, he wants to call you something.

“Snezinka” His voice is deep and guttural, the word rumbling and vibrating against your neck. It caresses your skin almost sensually

“My snezinka” (snowflake) drawls in a voice too playful for the fear flooding your veins.

You moan quietly again, eyes finally fluttering close as he twists his hand just so, delving two fingers deep within your wet folds below and curling them.

You can feel him: his breath coming down on your neck in heavy, hungry pants, his fingers drawing out teasingly and forcing your hips to buck at the motion. With a hum of pleasure, he lets his fingers slide almost all the way out and his throat tightens at the feel of your channel bearing down, trying to hold on to him as he withdraws completely.

Winter reaches between your bodies and begins to unbuckle his pants. His breathing comes in louder and harder as he tries to control his emotions and movements.

His palm runs along his hardened length, stroking himself slowly—

You suddenly pull him by the straps of his harness and he needs to brace himself using the table on both sides of your body—he grunts at your aggressiveness and strength.

A tentative smile on his lips.

“Snezinka…I was not going anywhere” he taunts and presses his lips to yours.

He looks at you with a vicious smirk, as if he’d won something.

In a way, he supposes he has.

His husky voice reaches a playful tone he hadn't touched on in years, decades—he doesn’t know.

Winter holds his cock by the base of it, running the tip up and down your pussy, making sure to linger around your clit.

Your mouth opens and closes several times, your vocal chords struggle to produce words, but your lips simply move in silence, your hands winding through his hair. You wrap your legs, quivering from fear, sexual yearn at a height you never before felt, around his waist, pulling him to you as he poses and you whine, his head creeping in first before his whole penis is engulfed into your wet sex, your pussy stretching around him, he keeps his descent slow and torturous.

Painfully sweet, he moans—

feeling him impale you onto his cock, stilling in you for a moment so you could feel just how deep he is—enjoying how the metal hand grips your waist tightly.

You are not soft or feminine; you are a hard-edged and cold brainwashed machine, crowned in razor wire of hate. For him, you have always been a flower—he takes your thorns as a challenge. Winter will have you scorch with the savagery of his cruel passions and needs—until you are conditioned to bloom in his flames.

He groans, fucking into you harder now, the head of his cock hitting your cervix as your eyes, water up at the sensation of being so stuffed as he gives you more and more—him fuckin you like that flips your brain inside out and turns your cunt to pudding.

Winter leans near your ear, holding your jaw still, with flesh digits, as he speaks.

“Talk to me, snezinka, how do you feel?” he grunts and you shudder, lips pucker from the grip he has on you as you try to speak.

Gasping for breath, you writhe mindlessly in his grasp, only to find yourself easily restrained—all you can do is tighten your legs around him, trying to usher him to fuck you again.

You are annoyed at his cockyness   

That's why you sink your nails into his shoulders, scrabbling for purchase against the fabric, then fisting one hand in his hair. You pull hard on the wet locks, gasping when your violence earns you a particularly hard slam of his hips.

Sin is a lustful state—he actually likes it.

“Do it again” he commands—thrusts grow jerky.

You tug his hair again.

“Солдат-” (Soldat)

And that’s all he needs to hear before he starts ravaging what you’ve just called him—pounding into you, setting an unrelenting pace, clutching him hard as the pleasure spirals up and up.

He hisses, teeth gritting with the sole purpose of making you cum before he does.

The force of his thrusts is making the table quake, but your quiet moans of approval are so satisfying he keeps at it and you starts clenching around him—deliberately massaging his cock, orgasming wordlessly as he continues to fuck you right through it.

He hides his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent sharply as he keeps rutting hard inside of you—your cunt convulsing around him, trying to milk his cock, is making his thrusts sloppy—several incoherent thrusts lead him to come inside, a roar rumbling in his chest.

He wraps his arms around you, and you sink into his chest, marveling at how easy this feels. You both don't accept touch easily, but with him, it seems natural.

Your newfound foundation is rocky, because you make a home in each other’s skin and memory—the damage is beginning to show. You are ready to self-destruct, there is very little left to kill anyway—which makes this tragedy less and more much, much more worse.

What actually led to this situation?

You always help each other undress after the missions, but this time your mind wanderers as you remove the small glove from his metal hand—flashing between images of various memories of killed people and imagined scenarios, you wouldn't have thought of outside of this hazy consciousness—but

Wanting makes the mind restless

He blinks at you, eyes looking perfectly indifferent—and yet, delight in yours; the moment you develop an idea is the exact moment you execute it—you give the hand a squeeze before the chemical desire to taste it overpowers everything in both your mind and body and you bring the fingers to your mouth, dipping two inside

His metal hand is an erotic necessity

—you feverishly lick, drenching them in your saliva, moving your tongue along his fingers all the while.

He suddenly moves, grabbing you by the neck hardly, demanding an explanation.

[gladoswantscake]

Need You, Crave You, Love You - Dracula x Reader (DBD)

Summary: In need of help comes with a price

Warnings: Captivity/kidnapping, horror, blood, mild swearing

A/N: This take place right before you are taken by the Entity

Available on AO3

"I am no good nor evil, simply I am, and I have come to take what is mine." (Ptolemaea, Ethel Cain)

It happened so fast. One second, you struggled to see through the storm and found yourself in submerging water. You managed to escape your car after hitting the front glass multiple times before the cold water sunk you further underwater.

You swam until you felt dirt beneath your cold hands and slowly regained your balance. You took a moment to look around you. A large dark cloud illuminated by lightning with large spikelike legs emerged from the cloud close to you. Maybe you were seeing things? You turn away from the water and look for any light source within your view.

As the rain slightly lightens up, the harsh wind picks up. Strange deep whispers call out from behind you. You then turn to see fog emerge from the water and towards you. Your eyes widen, and you make haste through the wooded area.

Everything began to look the same the further you ran deep into the forest. You started to lose hope until a small light shined through the trees. A house not far from where you stood. Just a bit up the mountains.

As you ran closer to the house, your legs burned, and you lost all feeling throughout your body from the prolonged exposure to the frigid weather. Luckily, by the time you arrived, no fog nor sound was made; pure silence.

You gave the large wooden door a few sharp knocks. "Hello?!" You knock again. This time, the door slowly opens. You hesitantly poked your head inside, seeing the large and empty place only accompanied by several lit candles to light the inside. The storm isn't letting up anytime soon, and the longer you stay outside, the more you risk dying from frostbite weather.

The large door shuts behind you. It's much quieter now since you were out of the storm.

"Hello?" Your voice rang out.

The room you stood in consisted of old architect of carved dark wood and large antique paintings. It was a rather beautiful room, and whoever lived here took great care and pride in their home.

Only taking a few steps deeper into the room, a voice startles you.

"Good evening. I bid you welcome." The deep voice says.

You whip your head towards the voice. A tall man stood just a few feet away from you. "I'm sorry for walking in here. Your door was unlocked." You apologize. "I got into a bad accident from the storm. And my car is gone. It was the closest place I could find help."

His eyes never leave you as the tall man walks towards you. "An accident?" He questions.

"Y-Yes, sir." You stutter from the cold.

The man's skin was pale, just not as pale as yours. His long white hair slightly swayed with each step he took. His white facial hair was sharp-looking and neatly groomed. There was not a single flaw on his face, and his attire was odd. It wasn't something you'd see today. It looked as if his evening attire was from centuries ago but better tailored. The colors he wore were deep red, crimson, and black, which perfectly suited his figure.

"My condolences." He places his hand on his chest.

"I'd hate to disturb your evening, but do you have a phone I could borrow to call a friend? I can be on my way."

He smiles and lets out a short chuckle. "My dear, I'm afraid a phone does not exist within the walls of my home." His eyes travel down to your drenched clothing in a stalking manner.

"Rest assured, you have not disturbed my evening." He begins slowly walking around your shivering self. "Although you are an interesting guest." His voice lowers as he makes his way behind you. A hint of an accent can be heard in his voice.

"I'm sure I have been an interesting individual: Showing up drenched and injured." You made a weak laugh to bury the anxiety.

He finally circles back, facing you. "Injured?" He raises a brow.

"I honestly don't know where exactly. It might've been my shoulder when I crawled out of my car window. I'm too numb to know, but I can manage it if it's just a scratch. Do you have any bandages I can patch myself up?"

The man's lips slightly grow upwards upon hearing your injury. "Of course. Please follow." He turns his heel, and you follow him into another room. The halls were dark and slightly warm. It was much better than the outside.

"Your home is beautiful." You say. I see you put in a lot of work."

He turns his head and smiles. "I take great contentment into making my sanctuary a place of comfort."

He leads you into a brighter, lit room. The fireplace gives the room a better view of your surroundings. He guides you to a large couch to sit on.

"I am surprised you have not dwelled into fear. Mortals who've stumbled upon me would have cowered."

You watch him light a few large candles. "I don't think you're intimidating." You glance around the neatly organized room: A couple of large bookshelves and a few pieces of sitting furniture.

"Intimidating? He finishes. He strides towards you. "I am pleased to hear that." He sits down next to you, just close enough for his clothed knee to brush against yours. The rich and smokey fragrances coming from his attire made your heart flutter. "Tell me, is it my presence that's intriguing you? Making your heart thump so loud?"

You stared, not knowing what to say. It felt like your words became twisted whenever you tried to speak. The longer the man's eyes never left you, the worse your heart beats. You could feel your cheeks flare up the closer he closed the space between the two of you on the couch. His aroma was entrancing you.

He takes his hand into yours. "Tell me," His thumb traces over your veiny hand. "Is my presence causing you to feel so strained? Or perhaps you've never met a man like me?"

He could read your mind, expressions, and thoughts so well. You couldn't think of anything to reply to him.

The warm heat from the fireplace thawed your freezing body, and you now feel warm liquid travel down your forearm. You slowly look down, seeing a dark crimson liquid paint your pale arm. It looks like you did cut yourself really well.

He looks down at your arm. A good amount of blood was running down from your shoulder, where you complained earlier. A smile creeps upon his face. "My you are hurt..."

His pale, slender fingers gently wrap around your forearm, causing you to tense up due to his cold hand. His other hand collects a sample of your blood with his fingers, bringing it to his lips to taste the warm metallic flavor.

He takes a minute to savor the fresh, lukewarm blood that was exposed to his tongue. He then hums to himself, "Your blood is so pleasing to taste." He slightly leans in towards you. His cold hand remains on your forearm. You could finally see something even more off: His eyes, a bright amber color. His other hand finds its way to your face, and his fingers cup your chin.

"Such lusciousness and magnificence you have presented to me. You remind me of my previous lover." His fangs finally appear with a large grin. "I need you."

"You get the fuck away from me." You finally speak.

Without giving him a second to respond, you shove him with all you might with your free hand. The feeling of his sharp fingernails digging into your forearm caused you to yelp. Ignoring the pain, you quickly bolt out of the room.

You ran to the front door to open it, but it wouldn't budge. You cursed to yourself. You didn't have a second to think as you heard him call out for you. With no other choice, you ran as far as you could within the dark manor.

He's never had a human captivate him so much. With the isolation swallowing him whole for many years, his craving for another being became intense. Perhaps it was why the isolation made him behave the way he did. He wasn't going to kill you. No. He was determined to make you his and part of him. It'll take time for you to surrender, but he has plenty of patience.

You hid in a spare bedroom. The room was cold and dark. Thankfully, a full moon shone through the window, allowing you to see the room. You locked the bedroom door and walked up to the window. You could see the strange cloud from earlier, only closer to you now. You quietly attempt to open the stubborn old window.

You tried to lift the window a few times, but it wouldn't budge.

"No, no, no." You whine. "Open, damn it!" Anger formed into tears as you soon discovered there was no way out.

Then his voice came from the other side of the locked bedroom. The stinging pain from your forearm caused you to look down. You didn't realize how much you bled. That was why he was able to find you so quickly.

"Go away!" You cried out. You pulled your bleeding arm to your clothed chest to try to prevent yourself from accidentally making a bigger mess.

He could hear you break down into pathetic sobs from the other side. "Please don't fret, love. My intentions aren't to hurt you." He reassures.

"I just want to go home."

"I'm afraid your loud pleading cries fall on deaf ears." His hand wraps around the doorknob to twist, only to find out you locked the door. He chuckles to himself. "This will only make things difficult if you keep this door locked. All that I ask is to see you."

Momentarily, no noise came from the other side. Then, soft footsteps grew louder towards him. The lock on the door slowly clicked, followed by the door opening. You stood before him, sniveling, knowing your fate. Your puffy eyes look up at him. You frown through tears.

His brows lowered as he raised his thumb to brush a tear down your cheek. A small smile forms on his lips, big enough to display his fangs, knowing he has you in his grasp. Your soft, fragile skin and eyes remind him so much of 'her.' He's waited so long to have someone that showed any resemblance to her. Maybe God grew bored of punishing him for centuries.

He takes pity for scaring you. "I apologize for my behavior. It's just been so long since I've seen something so exquisite before me." His thumb traces your warm cheek. "You have no idea how long I've waited for you." His accent thickens.

"Please…" Your voice let out a pathetic plea to him.

"What is it that you yearn for, my dearly beloved?"

You wince as you feel his warm breath hit your ear. You could feel his lips travel to your neck, leaving feathered kisses.

His fangs teasingly gently graze your puncturable neck. He could feel your veins pulsating beneath his sharp teeth. He was greatly aroused by it. He knew better than to turn you. It would be selfish of him. But he couldn't risk the chance of losing you. He'll convince you to join him. He'll make sure of it.

"H-Home." You whisper.

"You do not feel at home? With me?"

You wanted to say no but couldn't. You feared that anything you say that didn't align with what he wanted to hear would upset him even more. "What...are you?"

He pulls away from your neck. "A vampire."

"You...you're real..."

"I'm sure you know my name from the stories you've heard about me."

His hand lowers to lift up your uninjured hand. His cold lips kiss your knuckles. He takes his time feeling his lips against your skin and taking in your faded aroma. It's been a long time since he felt the touch of another person who he craved for. He couldn't let you go.

He lowers your hand and cups your jaw. "Let me take care of you." His free hand slithers around your waist.

It felt like you were in a trance. You couldn't move or speak. Only watch him tenderly touch you as if you were an injured animal.

"Stay with me, and I will give you anything you desire." Your body is pulled closer to his. "Let me make it right."

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

The reader was always the black sheep in the village because she was quiet, introverted and didn't like social contact, she would lock herself in her room and read tons of books... Disliked by her family, she didn't get much food, and since she had a lot of siblings, her parents preferred to feed her older and stronger siblings leaving the reader visibly malnourished. One day, the reader decides to run away from home during a snowstorm, but unfortunately she loses consciousness and wakes up on Donna's property. Donna makes friends with a shy reader and discovers her sad past. Donna understands the reader and notices that they have a lot in common!!

Yesss!!!!! Thanks for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :))))))

The weird, the lady, the doll

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, insecurities…

Word count: 7,064

Summary: You wanted a better life...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours :))) I love you all!!!

Snow, all you could see around you was the color of snow. White in front of you, white behind you, on the sides, surrounding your weak figure as you made your way down an uncertain path.

Your weak legs told you that your decision had not been the right one, but your head encouraged you again and again to keep going. Your life was not going to improve by staying in the hell you called home, or rather, that your family called home.

An accident, a slip, something that wasn't planned, that's what you were in your family, the youngest of your siblings, the least of their worries. It was true that you were never worthy of such attention, why? Because you didn't even make an effort to get it.

Lonely, glued to your books, not talking to anyone, not wanting to. This is how you spent all those 20 years of your life, like a ghost, like the stories that spoke of a monster locked in a tower, a presence that had no importance, a useless girl who only took up room, and stole food.

But if your life were like in the stories, a miracle would have appeared sooner or later, a miracle that would get you out of the tower, that would make you value yourself as you deserved. The years passed, and that didn’t happen.

When you were 20 years old, your parents already thought that you were nothing but a burden, ha, as if they didn't think that way before. The food that arrived in that dark corner that was your room was becoming less and less. Your brothers needed more food, you didn't need strength to read; arguments that only emphasized more your family's wish for you not to exist, for the story that was your life to be just that, a story.

Nothing was waiting for you on the other side of the door, no one was going to rescue you from dying of hunger, no one was going to miss you. If so, why not make things easier for your family? That same afternoon you gave wings to the thought that invaded your mind daily, what would happen if you didn't exist?

You weren't looking for anything. Nothing would be a greater reward than getting out of there. You just wanted to disappear, to be guided by the wind to a place where perhaps you would stop feeling like a nuisance, ideally far from the village.

Everything about the cult, about Mother Miranda, the Lords... Everything only served so your pale skin would be blessed with a few rays of sunshine. The masses in which your parents surely asked the Black Gods that the little strength you had left be passed on to your brothers, were the only moments in which you were aware that you were part of a whole, and not a single being locked in a room.

Your desperation, the desire to live your introverted existence in solitude, without feeling like an obstacle to the happiness of others, made you so desperate that even you began to pray.

You weren't praying for the food that was taken from you, you were praying to be able to fade away, to be able to disappear from that place and wake up to something that didn't seem like a continuous nightmare. Maybe that storm was the answer to your prayers.

With that thought, perhaps illusory, that the Gods took pity on you, you took the few possessions they allowed you to have, your favorite books, and left that place, hoping to never return.

But the Black Gods were not merciful and your weak steps were lost in the storm. As you walked, your bones ached, your vision blurred. Maybe it wasn't your prayers that were heard. Maybe it was your family's.

For a moment you wanted to go back, but it was too late. The color white, a symbol of purity and goodness, surrounded your sad figure, cutting your skin as if they were blades. You didn't know where you were, or where you were going.

The darkness of the trees acted as a guide. You stopped at each one of them. The white did not stop harassing you, the pain in your legs made you stagger. You couldn't stop, but on the other hand, you wanted to. Maybe you would merge with that white. Your existence would be buried by snow, maybe that was the authentic prayer that the Black Gods were willing to fulfill.

But a wave of rage woke you up from your sad reverie, from your desire to give up. With a grunt, you continued walking, swinging dangerously across an old wooden bridge. Maybe you had already succumbed to hunger. Maybe that was the bridge to the other world. But no, the blades continued to torment you, the wind rocked the wood to scare you. It was a test of courage. Too bad you never had it.

The wood creaked beneath your feet, icy blades traveling towards your skin. It was the end of your journey, or so you thought. The end of the path made its way thanks to a coincidence that caused the color white to disperse. Maybe all was not lost. Maybe that path would take you forever out of the village.

With a jump, you climbed onto dry land, stumbling in the process, forcing your body to crawl. White continued to predominate, your audacity continued to be punished. A red spot stood out among the snow. Your leg had been injured in that last gesture of bravery. You couldn't walk. You didn't have the strength to endure the pain either. You were hungry, and cold.

With your injured hands you crawled on the ground, in a last effort to take refuge in the trunk of a tree. With a groan of pain, you dug your back into the wood and squeezed your eyes shut. Hunger roared in your gut, the cold made you shiver. The end was approaching and your head turned towards what looked like a metal fence, elegantly guarded by two stone angels. It couldn't be Heaven, it wasn't cold in Heaven.

“(Y/N)...” a voice that came from nowhere made you open your eyes. White, just white. Your breathing calmed down with the sound of what was once your older sister, the only one who loved you and who left your home when she got married, to never return.

“Katia...” you whispered with a completely broken voice, cracked by the shivering of your teeth and the stinging of your leg. You couldn't see her, but you knew she was somewhere. “Help me…”

Silence, the sound of the wind was her response.

“(Y/N), can you help me with my homework?” another sweet voice spoke in your sister's place. Oh yes, that companion of yours who was always with you before she disappeared, your first love. Yes, you could have gotten married to escape your family, but even that couldn't be normal. You were always attracted to women and that led to hitting, screaming and many hungry nights.

The books said that when you die, your whole life goes through your mind. Maybe that's what you were feeling at that moment, but you just continued to suffer.

Exhaustion hit you suddenly, blood gushed from your wound and the voices stopped. Your eyes could no longer see the white color that surrounded your dying body. They could only see your frozen hands closing in on themselves reflecting your failure in trying to have a better life.

You sighed in defeat, looking up at the sky, looking at the only thing your eyes were able to see, those snowflakes falling on you without getting into your skin. The storm had subsided, or so it seemed.

Talking was never your strong point, and you refused to say any last words. No one could hear them, or so you thought. Something in front of you caught your attention. Your vision was blurry but something stood out among the snow, something black, maybe Death itself?

That black figure would have passed through the white color, blurred. Black, just black walked towards you slowly, with a mysterious air. Maybe the grim reaper wanted you to confess your sins, but even in that situation you were not capable of doing so.

You simply denied that glance at the strange figure, closing your eyes, letting exhaustion take over you. Before you left completely, you noticed something on your shoulder, could it be the claws of death? Have a nice trip, (Y/N)...

Your head felt heavy as the darkness embraced you. You didn't feel cold anymore, just warmth, a relief from that horrible cold. Maybe it was the dark path of death. Maybe that black figure was leading you to your final judgment. But it wasn't the glow of the beyond that your half-open eyes saw, it was a dark room.

Your entire body was shaking under what looked like sheets. It didn't look like your shroud, it looked like a bed, a real one. You didn't see the dark branches of the Black Gods, there were no heavenly songs to welcome you, above you, there was only something terrifying.

A doll, a sinister doll was watching you from too close occupying your entire range of vision. Your heart raced but your muscles tensed preventing you from moving. The puppet watched you, tilting her head like a puppy, gasping in surprise when she saw you open your eyes completely.

“Oh, oh, oh... She's awake...” she hummed, making you grab the sheets in shock. You still had a hard time thinking clearly. You could only see a simple doll talking, something that shouldn't be happening.

The puppet moved a little closer to your frightened body and then got off the bed with a funny movement.

“Donna! Donna! She has woken up!” she yelled with a voice that made you grimace, almost covering your ears from the horrible impression. The doll ran towards the exit of that small room and you began to get more scared.

Quietly, alone, you sat on the bed with a groan of effort. Something tugged at your leg and you threw off the covers to find out what.

Little by little the memories came to your mind. You remembered that horrible wound you got on your leg, now hidden by a white bandage. It hurt, but it wasn't the same pain it had been... Well, you didn't know how long it had been.

Your eyes ran down your thin leg, healed by something you couldn't understand. Your gaze ran over your old clothes stained with the blood from your wounds. More bandages pulled at your skin, on your arm, on your fingers. You didn't look like you were dead, but you didn't feel alive either. Hell? It didn't seem like it. Nor did the dim darkness of that room resemble what you had read about Heaven.

So... Where were you? Who was that talking doll?

In your state of shock, you could slowly hear sounds that reminded you that you were alive: the creaking of wood, the sound of the wind hitting the windows, a terrifying and comforting atmosphere at the same time.

“Where…?” you whispered, your voice hoarse, listless, as if it had forgotten to function, as if even your body had assumed this was the end of you.

Your vague words were interrupted by other sounds, by footsteps approaching you, walking slowly towards the door. Desperate and scared, you looked for some kind of shelter, but pain, hunger and exhaustion prevented you from even considering that option.

Your breathing was nervous, your chest hurt every time it rose and fell. The creak of the door opening was like a signal that put all your senses on high alert.

That black figure, the one similar to death, slowly entered the room. It was not death, but a woman in mourning, a black dress, black veil, a shadow that walked slowly towards you.

Next to her, that terrible puppet jumping up and down, climbing onto the bed again, making you retreat sharply.

“You see? Look, look, the girl is alive,” the doll hummed in a satisfied tone.

The woman stopped next to your bed. You couldn't know exactly, but you could sense that unknown eyes were looking at you through that black veil. She was like a ghost, you couldn't even tell if that woman was really there, or if she was a figment of your imagination.

You couldn't speak, you didn't want to speak. You were scared, terrified by the puppet, inhibited by that authoritarian black figure. A part of your head caught your attention, as if it wanted to tell you something, as if by chance something was escaping you.

“Hello, hello, hello, hello,” the doll said, speaking directly to you, preventing something important from slipping through your thoughts, something that your mind wanted you to remember.

You opened your eyes wide, still scared, trying not to look at the puppet's sinister face.

“Let's see, let's see, let's see...” the doll murmured, walking to both sides of the bed. The lady still didn't take her eyes off yours. “Who are you?”

You didn't respond. You just stood contemplating the environment around you, with a strange feeling, with those thoughts that seemed to scream to be heard.

“Hello? Anyone there?” the puppet insisted, hitting your head with her wooden hands and shrugging her shoulders when, again, silence was your response. “This girl doesn't speak.”

The woman looked at the doll with a slow gesture, crossing her hands in front of her body, it seemed like she was sighing.

You, with wide open eyes, painfully brought your knees to your chest, thus hiding your fear, covering yourself from any danger. You still didn't know why, but everything that situation told you it was precisely that: danger.

“Are you mute? Deaf? What kind of problem do you have, silly girl?” the doll asked, clearly annoyed by your defensive and shy attitude.

You shook your head, hoping it was enough of a gesture for the puppet to stop harassing you with simple, but overwhelming questions.

“No? No, what?” she asked when she saw you shake your head. “Hey, you should show some gratitude to whoever saved your stupid life.”

Those words made you resent the pain, making you look again at your bandaged leg, at your healed wounds. No, there was no way it had been the puppet. That only left you one option, the lady in black.

You turned your head to look at the woman, who was breathing slowly, with an expectant pose, as if somehow she was as impatient as the doll to hear your answers.

“Have you saved my life?” you murmured in a tone so low that you feared you would have to repeat it again. Fortunately, that weak voice reached the ears of the woman who nodded slowly, with an elegant gesture.

“What do you mean with this simple you?” the doll protested, jumping on top of you, making you moan in pain from your injuries. “Show some respect, stupid mortal, do you know who you are talking to?” she rebuked you with a harsh tone. The lady didn't move and you started sweating when you realized it.

Somehow, your mind cleared, letting you know where you had seen that black figure before. The church, a priestess, Miranda, four Lords. Among them, a dark lady of dark presence. That dress, that veil. There could be no doubt, Donna Beneviento.

That authoritarian figure who sat to the right of Mother Miranda, ensuring that you, faithful villagers, remained calm. You never heard her speak, you never gave it importance.

Despite that, she was known in the village, precisely because of the evanescence of her existence. Lonely, sick, psychopathic, nothing good could be heard about her, a tormented woman, a black veil that hid the jaws of a monster ready to devour your body, to drink your blood. There was nothing you could do to prevent those images from crossing your mind when you had her that close. She didn't look like a monster. She saved your life, maybe to devour you later?

“Gods...” you murmured involuntarily, clasping your hands, closing your eyes tightly, bowing your head as a sign of respect. “La, La, La, Lady… Be, Be, Be, Beneviento…”

“Oh, so your memory has awakened, huh?” the doll joked, whose name you now remembered, Angie.

“I'm, I'm, I'm sorry... I'm not, no, no,” you stammered. Oh, how pathetic, you didn't even know what you wanted to say, if you wanted to apologize, or on the contrary beg for your life. “I, I, I, I'm sorry, I... My, my lady, I... I, I...”

“Eh, eh, eh, enough, we're not in church,” Angie complained, probably because of your meaningless babbling, one that made you tremble even more, wondering what your horrible fate would be.

“I, I'm sorry...” you murmured, clasping your hands even tighter, causing terrible pain in your wounds. With a strong smack, the doll separated them, causing you to moan in pain again.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” the puppet mocked, imitating your voice with a grace that would have been funny if it weren't for the situation you found yourself in. “Shut up now, silly.”

You obeyed, nodding profusely, letting a tear of terror and despair slide down your cheek.

“Tell me what your name is,” that voice was different, hoarse, velvety. It hadn't been the doll. It had come from the direction where Lady Beneviento was.

Your voice didn't seem to want to come out, but you forced it to. You couldn't die that way.

“My name is... (Y/N),” you murmured, trembling, with your breathing complicating the tranquility you wanted to feign.

She nodded slowly, without speaking.

“What, what am I doing here?” you dared to ask after a tense silence, one that scared you more than that doll. The lady in black looked at the puppet, which seemed to come to life with that look.

“Ahem, ahem, everyone pay attention, can you hear me in the background?” she said comically, as if she were starting some kind of show. “Okay, okay, I'm going to tell you the story of (Y/N), the silly girl who left her house in the middle of a storm. Well, well, it turns out that... Anyway, let's get to the point. That silly girl named (Y/N) appeared half dead in our territory. The end.”

You blinked after that brief explanation. That wasn't your question. The memories were slowly coming back to your mind. The question was, why had she saved you?

“I don't... I don't understand...” you whispered, running a hand over your forehead, noticing how the sweat betrayed your fear.

“What you don’t understand?” Angie asked, annoyed by your erratic behavior.

“I don't understand what I'm doing here, or where I am,” you said with a firmer tone, noticing how, surprisingly, you had an easier time speaking. It would be the adrenaline.

“You're in our house, silly girl. Donna saved you from freezing to death,” the doll explained, without meaning to do so, of course, crossing her arms. Your gaze was once again direct to the lady in black, to that powerful and dangerous Lord.

“Why?” you asked automatically. No, she couldn't take pity on a stupid villager like you. It didn't make sense. The dark figure shrugged, making your body nervous.

“Do I seem to know it?” Angie said, making the same gesture as her owner. “I guess she felt sorry for you.”

You nodded, wanting to thank her in a discreet way. Deep down you knew you weren't safe.

“Are you hungry?” Again, again that hoarse voice whispering through that black fabric. You shook your head, faking it in the worst way possible, as your stomach gave you away by growling indiscreetly.

Donna nodded slowly again, turning and walking towards the door, sparing one last look at the puppet, who stood up in a kind of military salute.

“At your command, ma'am, the girl will not move from here, ma'am,” she said comically, leaning over you, pretending she was watching you.

After a while of silence, under the doll's uncomfortable gaze, the door opened again. The lady carried in her arms a small tray with a steaming plate that caught your attention instantly. You hadn't eaten for more than two days.

“Look how nice, she brings you dinner in bed, then you'll complain about the service,” Angie joked, moving away from you so the lady could leave that bowl of soup in front of you, handing you a spoon.

You looked at it eagerly, but your instincts forced you not to sink the spoon into the plate, to keep yourself safe from any trap.

“But what are you doing, silly? Eat,” Angie snapped, moving your hand to guide the cutlery.

You hesitated, looking at the lady waiting expectantly at your side. Her breathing was the only thing that didn't make her look like a ghost. After a moment, you lifted a spoonful to your mouth, feeling the comforting warmth of that soup and its delicious flavor.

You devoured that dish eagerly, under the watchful gaze of the doll and lady, unconscious of their presence due to hunger.

“Wow, wow, we were hungry, huh?” the doll mocked, looking at the already empty plate.

“Angie, leave,” that soft, low, almost inaudible voice said. The doll obeyed instantly, leaving you alone. The fear inside you increased considerably.

The lady moved the tray away on a nearby table and pulled a chair to the side of your bed, sitting elegantly, looking at you, you didn't know how, you couldn't tell.

Your body automatically shrunk, moving as far away from Donna as possible, not wanting to be close to her, expecting the worst. It never came, just a sigh after an eternity of silence.

“Why did you want to die?” the lady asked, breaking you out of your fear, making you turn your eyes towards her, making you shrink even more into yourself, shaking your head. “I don't like to talk either, but I think it's nice to answer when someone asks you a question, don't you think?”

“I didn't want to die,” you whispered, you understood that phrase as a veiled threat.

“You have left your house in the middle of a storm, you have crossed the bridge, you have entered my territory. I guess you know what happens when someone does that,” she said with that melodic voice, with that accent that was unknown to you.

“Yes, my lady,” you answered tiredly, with your heartbeat sounding louder than your own voice.

“Mm, then, why?” she asked again. The tone of her voice revealed that it was not comfortable for her to communicate with you at all. You almost preferred the doll's irreverence to that somber voice.

“Why haven't you killed me like the others?” you responded, gaining confidence, taking advantage of the weakness that you also had, an extreme shyness and no desire to socialize.

“Is that what you wanted?” she asked back, with a more aggressive tone.

“No,” you answered in a dry tone, looking away, hissing at the throbbing pain in your leg.

“Then speak. What were you doing in my territory?” she asked again, getting nervous, playing with her hands surely preventing her nerves from ruining this attempt at conversation.

“I got lost,” you whispered, looking away again, remembering the color white, the cold, the pain, the hunger...

“You got lost,” she repeated, with a dark voice, as if she didn't believe your words.

“I just wanted to... Escape...” you finally said, gripping the sheets tightly. “…To leave this damn village.”

“Oh, and why is that?” she wanted to know, relaxing the movement of her hands.

“Because...” you said, shutting up instantly, surpassing your ability to communicate clearly, lying on the bed and covering yourself with the sheets, hoping that this dangerous woman would take the hint.

A sigh preceded the sound of the chair moving, the feeling of her arms picking up the empty tray, the sound of her heels moving away from you, the slamming of the door, leaving you in the most absolute but comfortable solitude.

Sleep and fatigue had been stronger than your survival instinct, perhaps a few hours of sleep would help you clear your mind.

“What is this, silly?” the doll asked, rummaging through your old backpack.

The day had started strange. When you woke up, you had breakfast served on your nightstand. You didn't see the lady all morning, but, fortunately or unfortunately, the doll began to keep you company.

“Those are my books,” you whispered, snatching the object from her in a defensive manner. Those were your only friends, your only companions.

“Oh. Do you like to read?” Angie asked, with that sinister curiosity.

You nodded, shielding your things from those cheeky wooden hands.

“Donna likes to read too,” Angie said, with a listless voice, reaching into your backpack again. “Oh, oh, what is this?” she said, taking out a small doll, your small doll, the one that your sister Katia gave you when you were little, the one that served as a reminder that your sister really existed, and was not a creation of your head when you felt so alone.

“Give me that,” you protested, stretching your arms to reach the doll. Angie was faster than you, and she dodged you with a mocking laugh.

“No, no, take it from me if you can,” she taunted, dancing comically out of your reach, your beloved doll held in a way that made you burn with rage.

“Basta, Angie,” a voice that came through the door hissed, Donna. The doll stopped teasing and the lady in black bent down to pick up the doll and look at it curiously, sitting back down in the chair next to you.

You flinched again, still scared by her presence.

“Mm,” the lady murmured, observing that doll closely. “Double stitched dress, fog gray tone. Two days of manufacturing, pale color. If I'm not mistaken, it has to be...” she whispered, to herself, folding the doll's dress, noticing a number written on the porcelain. “Yes, number 345.”

After saying those numbers, her hands reached out to you, returning you to your dear companion, which you took with trembling hands and a frown.

“It's funny, I made that doll more than 15 years ago,” she commented, relaxing in the chair, without taking that mysterious look off of you.

“You... Did you make this doll?” you asked with a hoarse voice, looking at the porcelain face, one worn by time. The lady nodded slowly, sighing, as if she too was nervous. You didn't understand why.

“Yes,” she replied coldly, crossing her arms. “It was a commission from a certain Nikolai Dinovic, for her little daughter Katia. Do those names sound familiar to you? Or are you a little thief?”

“I'm not a thief,” you protested carelessly. You could be anything, but you never stopped being honest, not even when you were starving. “Katia was my sister.”

“Your sister,” the lady repeated, moving, uncomfortable again, nervous.

You nodded again, confused by this strange attitude.

“I have always been lucky to have a good memory, (Y/N). I'm afraid I didn't know the Dinovic family had another daughter,” she said with an inquisitive, distrustful voice.

You were not surprised by that information at all.

“I guess so,” you sighed, squeezing the doll in your hands.

“Are you some kind of impersonator? Have you come to kill me?” she asked suddenly, with a gruff voice, clenching her fists tightly, until her knuckles turned the color of snow.

“No, no,” you said, scared by that reaction.

“How do you explain that I don't know anything about your existence then? Speak,” she said with a demanding tone, surely suppressing the urge to suffocate you.

“Not even I'm sure I really exist,” you confessed with a low voice, with fearful sweat soaking your forehead again.

“Sciocchezze...” the lady murmured, with that same somber tone. “Explain yourself before I lose my patience.”

Your desire to flee from that place contrasted with the fear you had. You wouldn't gain a better life by confessing your miserable existence, but you wouldn't lose more than what you had at the time, a roof over your head from the cold.

“I'm not surprised you don't know anything about me, no one does,” you said in a low tone, looking away from her. “I was never treated like a member of the family.”

“Mm,” Donna murmured, giving you pause to continue.

“My... My brothers are the strongest in the village, or so they say, but I... I'm no good for anything,” you said, noticing how your eyes began to water. “Since I was little I was misunderstood. I didn't want to talk to anyone… I didn't love anyone other than my sister Katia. When she left I… I closed more into myself…. I... I will never be what they expect.”

“So what do they expect?” she asked, with a dark tone, but a bit softer. You shrugged, playing with the doll in your hand.

“I suppose someone who doesn't spend the day reading books, someone who is capable of getting married, or at least not being so...”

“Weird,” the lady finished, making you sob and wipe your tears. “I see, that's why you escaped.”

You could only nod.

“Mm, very well, weird girl, you can stay here until you recover. If you want to leave before... Well, I'm not going to stop you, but that will mean death for you and you don't want that, or so you told me,” the lady commented, getting up from the chair, picking up the book that you had on the table, taking a quick look at it before abandoning you again.

The days passed slowly.

Your leg was getting better and better, you even had the strength to walk. Donna fed you, she kept you strong, you didn't know why, but you stopped wondering. With each of the trays of food that she brought you, there was an extra gift, a book, each time a different one. A kind and unexpected gesture, but it didn't surprise you. After all, she had saved your life. That was the strangest thing of all.

With your spirits still low, but with more desire to live than ever, you began to feel more and more comfortable. The lady's visits were limited to mealtimes, but the words that came out of her mouth were more and more frequent. You assumed that once your identity was known, you were no longer a threat. You understood that feeling, you thought the same way.

 Did you really have as many things in common as you began to think?

“Get up, weird girl, you're coming with me,” the lady said one day, leaning out of your door, interrupting one of your quiet moments of reading.

You, trembling at what that order might imply, obeyed, leaning on an old crutch to help you walk. You never really got to see that house, just the top floor. Your clumsy walk down the stairs made you notice a detail that you had overlooked: that portrait, the portrait of a beautiful woman, with cold eyes, with that puppet in her arms. Your mouth opened slightly, as if to ask the lady if it was her.

You regretted doing so, continuing your descent, without taking your eyes off that cold gaze.

Walking in silence, you went further down, to the basement, to a sinister room that looked like a kind of workshop, her workshop.

“Sit down,” the lady ordered you, pointing to a chair abruptly, as if she herself wasn't sure what she was doing. You nodded, walking slowly and obeying that direct order. “Do you know how to sew, weird girl?”

“I…” you stammered as she sat down next to you, leaning closer to an old sewing machine. “A, a little.”

“Va bene... I guess that will do,” she commented, looking at some pieces of fabric and a needle, which she handed you roughly. “I want you to sew those tissues. I know it's a simple thing, but I waste too much time doing it and... Well, since you're here, sleeping and eating for free, at least you'll be useful to me.”

You, embarrassed by the harsh truth of those words, looked at the pattern book that Donna left on the table and nodded, threading the needle with trembling hands.

The two of you sewed in silence, a heavy silence, interrupted by your nervous breathing, by the noises of that old machine.

“Ouch...” you protested, when the needle sank into your flesh instead of the fabric. Without meaning to, you had diverted your gaze to the visible part of her face. You had been hypnotized for some reason.

That moan caught the attention of the lady, who abruptly grabbed your hand to look at your wound with a tired sigh.

“You clumsy girl,” she murmured in a discreet, but slightly unpleasant voice, which made you shrink in the chair.

“I'm sorry,” you said with a broken voice, while the softness of her hands caressed yours, putting them in a position that prevented you from sticking the needle into yourself again.

The trembling of your hands didn't go unnoticed by Donna, who snorted with a nervous laugh, turning away from you instantly and shaking her head.

“You have no idea...” she sighed, returning to her wrists, with a tone of mockery, or annoyance that made you freeze in the chair. “You think you're weird, huh? How did you say... A misunderstood girl?”

“I...” you stammered, trying not to tear the fabric out of your nervousness, not understanding that question so out of context.

“You're stupid, (Y/N),” Donna growled, stopping sewing, piercing your chest with one of those mysterious looks.

That made your pent-up anger come out in the form of a nervous gasp.

“Why are you telling those things to me?!” you shouted, standing up abruptly, offended by the contempt the lady was making of your miserable life.

“You don't know what it's like to be alone in this world, to have your entire family despise you, to live alone and malnourished because it seemed like a waste of time and food to my stupid parents. How can someone who doesn't know what it's like to lose everything, to not believe in her own existence make fun of me?” you continued.

“Wow, it seems like you want to talk now, weird girl, but I advise you to tone it down a bit,” she said, mockingly, crossing her arms in a threatening manner.

“Don't laugh at me...” you hissed, risking your fragile existence again. You forgot who you were talking to. “What do you know about my life?”

“I know enough,” she responded dryly, abruptly “Poor helpless girl who is alone in this world, who thinks she is special because she likes to read... You have no idea what suffering is. You are a whiny and capricious girl who has left home because she didn't like being the weakest in her family.”

“You don't know what it's like to be ignored by your own family! To be the black sheep of the village! To go hungry because your life is not important to the people who are supposed to love you!”

“Oh, I don’t know?” she said, defiantly, getting up from the chair, facing you.

“No, you don’t” you responded furiously, not understanding this very different treatment, far from that strange kindness from the beginning.

“Do you know something, (Y/N)? I think you're wrong about me,” Donna murmured, her hands on her hips, relaxing her tone mysteriously.

“You are wrong about me too,” you responded defiantly, with a confidence that you thought did not exist.

“Idiota,” she said before sitting down again.

“I'm not an idiot!” you screamed furiously, making your screams echo off the stone walls of the old workshop.

“Aren’t you? Che cosa siete?” she asked, with that dark tone that made you shiver.

“I'm... I'm... (Y/N),” you said with a guttural voice, just as dark as hers. “I may not be a strong or brave girl. I may not like people, all people ignore me but…”

“But,” she interrupted.

“But it's because they don't know that I'm really better than them...”

“Oh.”

“Yes, I... I may be weird, but at least I'm not stupidly ignorant, at least I refuse to follow the path that is expected of me, a path of no return, where my life will end just like my sister's. No, I never wanted that for myself, I want to be... I just want to be... Free.”

“Mm, it wasn't that hard to believe in yourself, right?” Donna murmured, returning to her sewing, leaving you glued to the floor. “You know what? I guess you and me aren't so different after all.”

“You must be kidding,” you murmured, surprised, but with your eyes on the floor, letting yourself fall back into the chair.

“Are you calling me a liar?” she rebuked you with that terrifying abruptness.

You shook your head, overwhelmed, wanting to disappear from that place.

“You say you don't know what it's like to be alone...” she said in a lower tone, almost a whisper. “I have been alone all my life. My parents died when I was ten years old, I never had friends. I never talked to anyone. Do you think you're unlucky? That's because you've never known what it feels like to have everyone you approach trembling with fear.”

“I don't...” you said, surprised by that confession, thus understanding the lady's attitude.

“Stai zitto and keep sewing. I’m tired of hearing your voice.”

“I’m tired of being with you,” you growled, making the lady turn towards you, but continue sewing moments later.

Your relationship may have been tense, with those small problems that her actions revealed, but deep down, you were starting to feel a little... Well, you didn't know, you didn't know why her presence was increasingly appreciated by you.

“Why you don’t you leave? You can walk now,” the lady commented, pretending that she was ignoring you.

“I was hoping you would say that,” you said, ironic as ever, outgoing as you had never been.

“Okay, leave, then.”

“Fine,” you said, leaving the sewing supplies on the table and getting up awkwardly from the chair. “Thanks for everything.”

“You're welcome, weird girl,” Donna murmured, with trembling hands, with a voice that didn’t express the passivity her words intended.

“I'm not a weird girl,” you said, turning around awkwardly with the help of the crutch.

“That's what you said,” Donna said, getting up from the chair and walking slowly towards you.

“I don't think that way anymore,” you confirmed, after her insults made you see the reality of your existence, only you had not yet realized that it was thanks to Donna and her erratic attitude. Maybe it hadn't been a coincidence.

“Well, I'm glad to hear it,” she commented, amused, joining her hands in front of her body, like the first day you were in that mansion.

“I... Really, thank you, for saving my life,” you repeated in a calmer tone. “And for, well, for… For that.”

“For what?” she asked, tilting her head comically, pretending she didn't know what you were talking about.

“I know you don't think those horrible things you've said to me,” you whispered, also getting a little closer.

“You are weird, but observant, (Y/N),” she murmured with a slightly mocking tone, but without stopping walking towards you. “I really hope you can find your place out there. At least you can do it.”

“I don't understand you, Donna,” you said, shaking your head, confused by the melancholy that her words emanated.

“What you don’t understand?” she asked, already close, too close to you.

“You are supposed to be scary, terrifying but... These days have been... well, totally different from what I expected. First, you save my life, you feed me, you offer me shelter... Then, you see that I like to read and you bring me a different book every day. You didn't have to do it and still, you did it, and on top of that you help me to overcome my complexes.”

“I may have simply seen something of myself in you, (Y/N). Or maybe I'm just as crazy in the head as they say,” Donna whispered slowly, extending her hand towards yours, making the trembling of your body return in a slightly stranger way.

“No, I don't think so,” you said, letting her hand hold yours. “I don't think you are what people say.”

“No?” she asked, moving away from you a bit, letting your hand fall and bringing hers to her face, to her black veil, slowly removing it, thus revealing her true face. “What do you think about this?”

You looked at her, your eyes roaming over her features, her undeniable beauty, that scar that seemed to be the cause of her shame. You then had another revelation, you had the sensation that your leg was weakening again, as if it had not completely healed.

“It seems to me...” you murmured, involuntarily getting closer, remembering those cold eyes from the portrait on the stairs.

“A monster, right?” she said, her eye shining.

“No... I, I don't think I want to leave.”

“I don't want you to leave,” she whispered, also approaching, raising her hands to your face while yours traveled to her waist.

“I won't leave,” you said, closing your eyes, moving closer to her lips, unable to contain the desire for her to be your first kiss, also your last.

“Stay with me...” Donna said, before daring to close the distance between you, placing her lips on yours, confirming the clumsiness of the inexperience of her actions, the clumsiness of yours, the romanticism of those new caresses for both of us, of that feeling that had been slowly blooming for a long time, in a way so subtle and imperceptible that only with that kiss you could understand.

“I want you to be my weird girl...” she murmured into your lips, not wanting to stop kissing you, caressing you, praising you with that affection so unknown, and so desired for you.

“I will be whatever you want, only with you...”

[gb-patch]

Hi! I saw your ask about skin tones and honestly, that is very much a barebones excuse to not include skintones in your game. You act as though adding skintones to a sprite would be a complete hand-drawn new asset when it would quite literally be filling in a pre drawn base for both Opal and the mc. Not only that but you potentially have thousands of mc outfits you promised for specific tier havers on the kickstarter. And then for 250,000 dollars, you're telling me we'll get more colors but not even 2 or 4 skintones when there are games with Less funding who have more skintones? Especially considering OL:B&A had the exact same amount of skintones and I could count all the afro centric hairstyles in that game on my two hands. I rather have more skintones than just pale, peach, olive, tan, brown and dark brown (most of which screams a 2000s foundation line of tones) than have more hair or clothing colors. I'm sorry, I love your games, I really do but that's an extremely lazy and abhorrent response from you and I am extremely disappointed.

"Hi. I just saw the post about you not adding in more skintones. I really hope this doesn't come across as rude or demanding but I find your reasoning for not being able to add them...lackluster at best. With all due respect, you set this goal for 250k, over three times the original goal you set for the kickstarter, the idea that somehow you can promise an additional set of darker colours for the clothes, accesories hair and eyes alongside the additional MC pieces people are going to request but not an additional skintone because of Opal seems a little ridiculous. I'm not an experienced artist but I do know how art files tend to work and I imagine adding additional colours to Opal's base design wouldn't be an extreme undertaking. In fact, by contrast, the work to add more colours to the clothes and hairs seems much more labourous considering the amount of them and the fact that some of the clothes have subcolours.

Again, I do hope I don't come accross as rude but I just feel like this announcement was highly dissapointing, especially considering the fact that the additional colours are currently the biggest goal for the kickstarter at the moment" There were two replies, so I put them together. I hope that's alright.

I understand. It would be bad and make no sense if that didn’t happen. I can say that this has nothing to do with funding. I'm not gonna attach more skin tones to a stretch goal, that’s not fair. It’ll be done whenever it can be regardless of what happens with the Kickstarter.

The other colors for hair and such is something I confirmed can be done by our programmer ahead of time using a color picker system in coding.

The situation as it stands today for Opal is that I personally don't have the skills to recolor her myself, the artist we have is in a situation where it would be unkind to increase how much work they have to do (it'd be easier if even less work could be on them), and while another artist could be hired- that hasn't happened at this point. So, saying it "could happen but maybe not" is cautious development process. It’s how it went with both the Cove Patreon Bonus Moments, where I pretended for months that it may or may not happen while working on it behind the scenes because I wasn’t sure how long I’d need to finish it and was worried it could be delayed for long stretches of time.

Being realistic, it is virtually a 100% certainly that before the game comes out, the skin tones will be expanded. There is no good reason why it wouldn’t. I was waiting until things got to a better point in production before coming out to officially say that it’s happening.

And I could’ve said it’s extremely likely but we’re not able to do it quite yet and avoided making anyone feel hurt. I wish my way of handling it hadn’t made the people who believed in our games sad. The reason why I didn’t is that I just can’t help but be averse to making promises I can’t do/the team can’t do and so have to rely on something else working out at some point in the future, even if it is entirely likely that it will.

That’s because I know that these things will make a lot of people happy. I want the excitement and any praise that might come to not happen until the goal has been achieved or is on the way to being achieved for sure. To a degree it’s helpful for players to have confidence in what the company is promoting, but it’s mainly to help with my own habit of catastrophizing. I tend to believe bad things could happen and I’ll let people down even when it’s so unlikely it’s not worth considering. I consider it anyway. And so, you get this kind of long-term hedging before the feature people hoped for suddenly appears. Even now my compulsion is to add a caveat that “there’s still a chance something (I don’t even know what) could happen and it won’t be added so don’t thank me yet” despite me already coming out with the truth that there’s every intention to have it added. I’m sorry to have disappointed you and made you feel disregarded by doing this. Hopefully when the skin options are expanded people will be able to enjoy the game a lot more than how it is with the current demo. And thanks for taking the time to let me know what you thought rather than giving up on the project entirely.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

We bleed tonight II

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n thank you so much to @brekkershadowsinger for beta reading this for me! Who am I without you.🤍

warnings: mentions of past trauma

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Azriel's life was falling apart as he rushed up the stairs. He couldn't stop. He had to move. He had to keep going. If he was to miss a step and tremble down, he was never going to stand up again. Move, move, go, the spymaster muttered to himself. The walls started to cave in on him. His chest suddenly felt as tight as the chains around your wrists. Your wrists. At that minute, Azriel wanted the tightness around them to hurt, but now he couldn't help the worry. Couldn't help the regret. Azriel didn't mean it. Or did he?

"Azriel", a voice rang out from behind the spymaster, but Azirel didn't turn around—he couldn't. He couldn't because he was feeling ashamed. He felt as if he had failed Rhys. Failed his court. He was the protector. He had to stop thinking like that before they grew roots and shared what they had all built throughout the years together. But he didn't. For the first time in his life, Azriel missed a threat. "I saw the tint before I… did nothing and missed it", Azriel choked out, hand coming to clap his own throat as he braced himself on the wall. His wings sagged behind him as he sank to the floor. "Azriel", the high lord repeated, kneeling before his spymaster. Before his brother. Yet not recognizing him. Azriel's distant demeanor was just as unfamiliar to him.

"What were you doing to get the towels so dirty?", you were seated in Azriel's leather chair, spinning around as you munched on an apple. "Touched up my hair", "It looks like someone had some serious diarrhea in our bathroom", you let out an offended gasp. "I'm sorry, are you saying that my hair looks like shite, spymaster?", you leaned onto his table, narrowing your eyes. Azriel stepped closer, "That is not true, but you are a messy one. So small but so messy", Azriel leaned to your level just as you let out a huff. "You're full of insults this morning, lover bug", "Not true again, however, I would love to see your natural hair". Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn't lose the smile. This conversation had occurred many times before. The first time it happened, you had gone so pale that Azriel thought you were going to faint on the spot. Then he managed to learn that you just hated your hair color. Then that you hated it because it reminded you too much of who you had been. It had stayed at that for a long time now. Whenever the conversation flowed to this, you always got defensive, so Azriel chose to drop it. And now he wishes he hadn't. If only he hadn't, he would have figured this out way sooner.

"Azriel", it had almost turned into a mantra on Rhys's lips. He had no clue how to pull Azriel out of his spiraling head. Stuffed with thoughts that were drowning him slowly. Dunkig him deeper and deeper. "I fucking missed it, Rhys. She slept in my bed", Azriel muttered, pulling at the roots of his hair. Rhys clasped his brother's shoulder, trying to meet his eyes. The sound of your laugh filled Azriel's mind; his hands clasped over his eyes instantly.

"What are you looking at", you muttered, still sleepy. White sheets the only thing covering your body. Azriel inched closer, leaving feather-like kisses on your exposed arms. "You, I'm looking at you", Azriel murmured against your skin, and you let out yet another chuckle. Azriel soaked up the warmth of your skin. You were always so warm. At nights, when he felt like he was drowning, it was your warmth that pulled him out. Warming his frosty heart. Wrapping him up from all the freezing darkness that he loved to surround himself with. His sunshine. His light. "Why are you being so sweet?", your fingers pushed through Azriel's messy hair, "Because I love you." His body had stilled when the realization of the words that had slipped through his lips hit him. Your big eyes gape at him now.

In a perfect world, Azriel would have disappeared between his shadows, but then a little smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Say it again", you ordered him quietly. Azriel watched you for a heartbeat. Your hopeful eyes had been glazed with a shine that glimmered in the morning sun. As if his words had just broken a curse. As if you had never imagined anyone saying those words to you. "I love you. All of you. Had for a while now", Azriel admitted right as your arms and legs wrapped around his strong torso, bringing him closer to you. A little sob echoed as you pressed yourself closer to your lover. "I love you, I love you so much", you had muttered. Muttered and meant it. Azriel, you knew deep down that you did. Because he felt it. He felt the love. He felt you.

"Azriel, for mother's sake, breath", Rhys's voice ripped Azriel out of the memory. The spymaster drew in a harsh breath in. Yet his lungs seemed to reject oxygen. "She could have killed us all… She", "AZRIEL", Rhys roared this time, "Brother, look at me. What the fuck is happening?", But when Azriel did look up, there was no resemblance of the worrier Rhys knew. No, right before him sat a scared and broken boy. The boy that Rhys and Cassian had dragged out of the dark basement and built up into a man.

Your tears had dried. Sitting with your head still resting on the cell wall, you gazed blankly at the rat that had come out in search of any food scraps. Oddly, it didn't seem foreign. The majority of your childhood, as it was, was spent in places worse than this. You're a disgrace. Your mother should have lost you before you even started to form within her womb. You closed your eyes. Trying to escape the voice that never stopped hunting you.

You knew that you should have handled so many things differently. Velaris wasn't a place where you were meant to stay. You came here with a mission. A task you were meant to carry out and leave. No harm was intended. A promise to fulfill. And be gone after. Nothing but a light autumn breeze. But then Azriel came around, and selfishly, you wanted to stay. You wanted to feel. Wanted to finally have someone who saw you. Who wanted you. Who was ready to start a war for you. Who looked at you. Who listened. Who would never harm you. Until tonight… You pressed your palms over your eyes as another wave of tears came.

"Even if you showed me your darkest secrets, I would stay", Azriel had said to you as you sat under the stars, warped up in each other's arms. You should have said it back then. Should have explained. Because Azriel valued honesty. Mother, trust was key to any relationship. But you couldn't find it in you. It plagued you. As if you were marked by the devil itself. With a tag that you wished you could have ripped off. You didn't want it. It wasn't who you were. You knew what it meant in other courts. Autumn's rat. Your lover's words rang in your ears. No longer his girl. No longer his light. A rat. An ache clasps around your heart. You knew that Azriel was never going to forgive you. And could you forgive him? For tonight. Could you forgive the fact that he believed them? The people who had run you down for decades. Who had stepped on you. But he didn't know. You never told him. A cracking sound made your head quickly dart up as you grasped the cold metal bars. Let it be Azriel, you thought to yourself; let it be him; let me look at him one more time, please.

"You're not thinking straight", Rhys was still kneeling in front of his spymaster, "What happened in Autumn, Azriel?". The high lord's voice wasn't demanding, but he knew this was some sick, twisted joke that Azriel got pulled into. "Because, brother, you just shackled the woman you love in a cell. Let that thought sink in", Rhys said calmly. Cassian grunted from beside him, arms crossed over his chest. If not for Rhys's mind-to-mind request to be with them here, Cassian would be in the dungeons with you. He didn't find it in himself to believe that you had done something wrong, let alone conspired to make a move to spy on Azriel.

"They…", Azriel rasped out, but the speed at which his mind was turning made it so hard for him to pick the right words. "There are papers full of information that she had given to Beron about our moves". Rhys looked up at Cassian, who was already shaking his head, "Let me guess. It was also Beron who so kindly gave it all to you", Azriel didn't even need to nod his head for the two males to know the answer. Now that it has been put in perspective, it did feel stupid. Beron, of all the high lords, knew how to rile people up.

"He knew so much about her, Rhys. He just kept on pulling things one after another. He knew where her birthmark was", Rhys closed his eyes at Azriel's words. The spymaster caught onto the action straight away. "Rhys", "He knew because she grew up with that sadist", a cold shiver ran down Azriel's back. You weren't just from Autumn court. You didn't just work for the man. You were a Vanserra. No, that couldn't be true. I hated what I was, Azriel; I don't want to be that person anymore. You had told him so many times. Every single flinch, every time you zoned out while looking at the fire, every night you woke up drenched in sweat gripping Azriel's hand, every single scar that painted your skin now made sense. You were hunted by him. Beron was the man you looked for in the dark shadows, shivering. Everyone knew how Autumn's high lord was and how his kids were brought up and treated. The fact that you didn't exist in Autumn family's list was clear evidence of how they viewed you.

"It's his vendetta against her. Her existence is what he hates", Rhys continued, "You should have told me", Azriel whined. Scraping to get up. The only thought was now about you and how he had dragged you around the way your father had probably dragged you around for years. "I found out by accident. It was her story to tell, Az. She was going to tell you, but she was scared you were going to view her differently", Azriel cringed at his brother's words. View you differently. He had proven your fears to be true. He had done what you had feared. He had let you down. Azriel looked down at his hands. The scared palms that you had kissed so many times. The palms that you always nestled closer to when he caressed your cheeks. Now he hated them more than ever before. Those hands had hurt you. The thought of the tight grip that he had on you made him feel sick. He was meant to protect you. Keep you safe. What had he done? What was he going to do now? "Let's start by getting her out of there Rhys said, as if reading his spymaster's mind, and Azriel only nodded.

You shook your head as the figure crept closer to you. Wrapping the chains around your body. And when the strand of red hair slipped from under the hood, you couldn't help the shriek of fear that escaped your lips. No, there was no way he found a way in here. There was no way that Azriel or anyone would allow him free access to the night court. You knew that you should have pulled yourself together. Don't show it; lift your head; don't show him that he got under your skin. But the man pulled the hood from his head. A scared face glanced right at you. His eyes pierced your soul.

"Lucien", you muttered so quietly, afraid that this was a dream and if you talked too loudly, he was going to fade away. He opened his mouth to speak, but not a single word came out. He stepped closer and pressed his hands onto the bars, his eyes never leaving you. "Your scent", he muttered finally, "You always seemed so familiar. Like I knew you somehow". Your bottom lip trembled again as you crawled closer to him. "Why are you here? How did you…", if you got framed by Beron. Mother only knew what he was going to do to Lucien. Was he going to be dragged into this as well?

"Eris", the male said, "Eris heard what happened in Autumn and sent me a letter". A tear ran down your cheek at the sound of your brother's name. Spoken so bitterly in this court, but if only they all knew how much he was doing behind closed doors. He was the reason you were here. He was the one who told you to look for Lucien. He was the one who sneaked into your cell back in Autumn, warming you through the night. Who offered to beat you himself so you would escape the real blow from his father's hands. Who did everything he could to keep you safe to keep you alive. Eris was the reason you were breathing now.

"You", Lucien pushed his hand into the cell, twisting the strand of your ginger hair around his fingers. "A sister", he let out a choked chuckle. Your chained hand reached for his. "Mother was pregnant with me when Eris got out to the border". At least that was what Eris had told you. And Lucien was almost always a part of the stories told to you. "Father locked her up after that. I never got to see her again", Lucien added, and you nodded your head. "Because of me, because of us", you trailed off the last part. "What does that mean?", his face suddenly was laced with confusion. You hesitated for a moment. In the position you were in now, you had no idea what was to come next. And this and now might have been the only time that you had with him. The only time to tell him "Beron is not our father, Lucien. Helion is", his face paled, and he backed away slightly. Bracing himself on the cell bars, his brain rushed through every detail that he could think of. "I know it sounds insane…", you started, but he was quick to cut you off, "Stand back". Worry clouded your eyes. Was he going to turn away from you as well? Was he going to leave you behind? Pretend that it never happened? "I don't want to hurt you; stand back", he said once again. You obeyed, moving to the other side of the cell while still watching him.

The walk to the dungeons never felt so long to Azriel. But now he dreaded it. Dreaded seeing the consequences of his actions. Because a part of him knew you were never going to forgive him. Yet he clung to the hope, still clung to the hope that if he explained… He was ready to crawl, to beg for a chance to fix it. Losing you would crush him. Something in his chest tightened at the thought of that. No, he was going to make it all right. No matter what it took, he was going to make it all okay.

Yet, his newly found hope got crushed as quickly as it blossomed. It was empty. The door to the cell was ripped open. Patches of burned-out fabric were splattered inside. The spymaster stepped forward. "Azriel", the high lord had called out for what felt like a thousand times that night, but the spymaster only lifted his hand to silence him. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear a single word. Had you fled? Melted the chains off your hands. Ripped the cell open. There was no way. Then he caught onto the scent—someone else's scent that hadn't been here before. Lucien. Lucien had come to your aid. Or was he bringing you back to Beron? No, he wouldn't. The emissary could be brutal in a fight, but not with the people he loved. Where to? Was he going to be able to find you? To tell you what he wanted to say?

Azriel sank to the floor when the realization of what he had done hit him again. You've been running for so long, and the moment you found your safe haven, Azriel ripped it away from you. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks right as the glistening object caught the spymaster's attention. He reached out to it without a second thought. A necklace. Your necklace. A gift Azriel had given you. The shadow singer wrapped the small pendant in his fist. Mother only knew how much he wanted to roar.

"I will never take it off", you promised, looking down at the blue sapphire, "I want you to have a piece of me with you always", he had said, "Territorial and so Fea-male like, but you're lucky because I love you". Your eyes had been so full of love that night as you reached up to kiss him. You were his back then. Back then, Azriel was sure that he was never going to do anything to hurt you. He knew what this was. Your silent goodbye. Your way of letting him go. Your way of telling him that what he had done had ripped a void between you two. That he had done things you weren't willing to forgive him for. Azriel pressed the palm with the pendant to his chest. A part of him still felt your presence there. Yet there was nothing Azriel could do besides let his heart bleed tonight.

[formulapookie]

💛💛

Under the cut to read on Tumblr, here to read on Ao3 ch1; ch2; ch3; ch4

Les fleurs du mal ch.5 rosquez, 2.1k words

It’s nine in the morning of a beautiful Sunday, he finally got all the truth Uccio for God knows what reason had chosen to change, corrupt, modify for him to see a distorted version of reality.

The telemetry, that shit was just made up, by a jealous? angry? Uccio, who chose to ruin the one good relationship in forever like that, like it had just been a flash, instead of the sun in his life.

He wanted to call Marc, hell no drive until Cervera and say he was sorry, that he had been an asshole, a terrible person, but to please forgive him because he had been shielded from the reality and couldn’t see.

That now tho he sees the love Marc always reserved for him, he sees how much Marc is willing to sacrifice for them, for the love they share.

There’s a voice note in his notifications, along with two missed calls, from Marc.

And a text from Lorenzo.

“Vale?”

“Mh?”

They’re laying in bed, at Vale’s house, softly surrounded by pearly colored sheets, the sound of the town filling the outside world.

“Do you ever think about like, the future?”

“In general or us?”

“Both”

“Well of course amore, I think of my racing career and more titles and of the time when I’ll inevitably have to retire.

And I think about us, free from the media attention, in a beautiful house near the see.

No neighbours, just us, and you are sunbathing naked next our pool and then I-“

Marc blushes, hiding his face more in the crook of Vale’s neck

“What amore? It wouldn’t be the first time I see you naked eh. I think I saw you pretty clearly last night”

“Vale! This was supposed to be romantic!”

“Is it not romantic? Making love to you in a house we share?”

“I - yeah it is”

“See? And you? You think about the future?”

“Yeah. I see us in a house in the middle of the countryside tho, with animals.

Dogs, a lot of dogs, and your strange red cat too”

“Rossano is not strange!”

“He looks at me funny whenever I’m here.

But anyway, a cute house in the countryside, just the two of us, it’s peaceful”

“But? I feel like there’s a but”

“But I also think about the sport and the danger and - Vale are you scared of death? I am terrified by it. It’s just - one day you just cease to be and I cannot think the universe is so cruel to do this”

“Amore, of course i’m scared of it, and it. In our sport it can happen. It took me years to get over the fact Marco was gone. But life ends in death no matter what we do, we have to live it at our fullest still”

“Im scared thought, I don’t like the idea of it. It’s cold you think? When you”

“I don’t know. It could be. Or it could be warm like drifting asleep with a blanket on and just - sleep”

For Marc it’s cold when he dies.

Freezing even, and so so lonely.

When Roser finds him, curled beside his bed, clutching in his arms the helmet signed by that man, it’s like being shot in the heart.

She tries to wake him, tries to call him, but he’s cold.

Unmoving.

Still like the moment she finds herself in.

Marc is holding onto that one piece of his heart like he’s still alive, the strong grip seemingly coming from a strong person.

But when she looks at him all she can see is her little boy, her son.

Pale and tired and sad.

He looks like he’s having a bad dream, the unsettling kind of dreams where you don’t precisely know where you are and can’t get out.

There’s petals on the ground.

Yellow. 

So much yellow and she just wants to burn it all away.

She cries more, calling for Marc again, trying to get him back.

But Marc can’t hear her, the only sounds in the room are Roser’s sobs and the repetitive buzz of Marc’s phone.

When Marc wakes up in the middle

of the night he’s cold, shivering.

The fever is taking over, he’s hallucinating again.

He reaches out for Vale, why is he not in bed? 

Oh right, he’s still not back yet.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because they have time.

The scratch in the back of his throat seems to be less excruciating too, like it’s being kept at bay.

Well this just means Vale is close right? 

He’s coming, finally he’s coming home to tell him he still loves him, and - and the roots will go away the same way they arrived.

“Oh I need to set the room up, Vale has to see my collection has improved, yes, he needs to see it”

Marc unpacks the two boxes Roser had stuffed full, carefully taking out the items in them.

The cap and the picture first, he places them on the shelf next to his bed, close, so close the cap covers half the picture, the half where Marc is.

Then it’s the bikes turn.

Slowly, methodically, precisely, Marc takes them out the box one by one, placing them in the same exact order he had bought them.

He sees Alex in his room, he’s not happy.

“Marc come on stop you look ridiculous”

“Ah Alex stop it, you’ve just never been in love, when you’ll be you’ll get it”

He’s standing on his bed, mattress dipping under his rapidly decreasing weight.

“You see, Vale is coming and the room has to be nice for him, I want it to be more beautiful than ever, he deserves the best”

Marc is smiling, like a kid on his birthday, waiting to blow the candles.

“Oh he’ll want the 2004 Yamaha to be the most visible for sure, he loves that bike God how he loves it”

He keeps talking to a non existing Alex, while he feels colder and colder.

“I better put on a hoodie, don’t want to catch a cold before Vale arrives for sure”

He goes pick up the one hoodie Vale left there, in his home.

It still smells like him.

He sits on the bed, legs crossed with his phone beside him, facing the door.

He stays there for minutes, maybe an hour even.

There’s no sudden buzzing of the phone, no sound of a car parking outside, no knocking on the door signaling Vale is there.

Well not yet, maybe he just doesn’t like to travel with the dark.

Yeah it - it must be that.

Because it’s either that or.

Or Vale isn’t coming.

Not now, not in a million years he’s gonna spend tidying up his room to welcome Vale back in it.

When the fever lets go of him and he sees clearly again it hurts.

Physically, mentally, emotionally it all hurts like it’s been crushed by tons and tons of rocks thrown on top of him.

Hot big tears fall from his eyes, follow the now slim outline of his cheekbones, and collect under Marc’s chin.

“He is coming. He is coming. I know he’s coming”

He tries to convince himself of this, even with the hallucination gone, he gets up and sets up the room.

It has to look exactly like it did when Vale came here last time, little bikes in their precise fragile order.

The last thing he takes out the boxes is the helmet.

Signed, a little note left for him by Vale, unmistakable messy handwriting on the clean visor.

He takes his phone, it’s stupid, childish but he can’t do otherwise.

He calls him.

Twenty, twenty five seconds of his phone ringing. No answer.

He tries again. And once again there’s no answer on the other side.

He opens their chat, it’s still on hold since the last text Vale sent.

“Good luck for the race babychamp”

He presses the button to send the voice note, the first few seconds just of silence.

“Vale. It’s me. I - please Vale it hurts so much, I can’t breathe I need you to come here quick I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry for what I did, all of it, I’m sorry I didn’t want you to lose, I didn’t want to do anything against you. I never - I never went to him, I would never cheat on you, I only ever had you please believe me Vale. Vale I love you. I’m home and, and it hurts so much. Please I need to see you. Please. I need to feel your hugs again. I’m cold Vale so cold”

The voice note sends, but there’s no blue ticks to signal it’s been read.

Marc climbs off the bed, his phone beside him, holding the helmet between his arms like it’s the most prized possession of his, he fears it may scratch, or get ruined if he accidentally bumps into the shelf he usually laid it on.

All his words now barely a whisper, he’s trying to stay anchored to reality by clutching at that damn helmet, it’s almost sunrise, almost sunrise and there’s no sign of Vale.

He abandoned him.

Vale abandoned him.

He truly hates him, he truly wants Marc to not represent a menace at all.

That’s fine. Vale will be fine without him too, he was fine before meeting him, there’s no need for Marc to exist in Vale’s life.

Maybe he’s gonna be a weight less, he will just go away, like he came in.

A breeze.

Marc can feel himself getting colder, and the petals in his throat now make it impossible to breathe.

He vomits them rather than coughing, a sea of yellow hollowness making its way out of his body, the everlasting presence of Valentino beside him even right now.

“you promised it was going to be warm like falling asleep with a blanket, but it’s cold, it’s so cold”

He’s still waiting there, looking at the door like a dog waiting for his owner does.

Argo had waited for Ulysses for years before he came back, and had died right in his arms.

But Marc knows his Ulysses won’t arrive, not even to hold him as he leaves behind the ugly and hurt of the mortal world.

He’s an abandoned dog. Even if he was loyal. He’s been abandoned.

He cries on the helmet, the last tears he can still produce, before his life abandons him too, the last breath used to hope, to call Vale’s name.

When Roser finally looks at the ID of the caller on her son’s phone she is angry.

She wants to smash that phone against a wall, make it shut up once and for all.

“Vale💛💙” identifies the person calling, the rage she feels is unexplainable through words.

She doesn’t answer. He doesn’t deserve to know from her what happened to her sweet boy, he will forever live with the guilt of having killed him. 

She only manages to call Alex and their father two hours later. 

She tells them to come there, that Marc has gone to sleep the night but hasn’t woken up now.

When Alex barges in he’s red in the face, crying and cursing.

He runs to the room they used to share, and sees how Marc has set it up once again, memories of Vale on all the shelves.

He also sees the many yellow petals littering the ground of the bedroom, a dark feeling taking residence in his chest.

“Marc? Marc it’s me, it’s Alex, I know you can hear me, you’re just sleeping, but you have to wake up, mom is getting worried. You need to wake up Marc please, I don’t know what to do without you”

“Alex he’s not-“

“HE’S ALIVE HE’S JUST - he’s just making a joke mom he - he can’t be dead mom he can’t be”

“Alex come here”

“No. No he - it’s not right. It’s not right he shouldn’t be, it shouldn’t end like this, he promised me we would’ve been together on the podium one day, he promised”

Roser has to drag Alex away from Marc, he doesn’t want to let go, he wants to save him.

“Alex. Look at me. You have to think of what Marc wanted ok?”

“Marc wanted to live! He wanted to race and win and - he wanted so many things! He’s scared of death, terrified of being alone! AND HE WAS ALONE!”

“But he wanted you to live too, he wanted you to be there on track, to be here with us. Please don’t - don’t make me lose you too Alex”

“No no i’m not going anywhere mom I promise. I’m not going away, sorry sorry sorry mom I’m staying here”

“Can you? I can’t call anyone to tell”

“Yeah yeah i I’ll uh ill call people”

“Be kind with yourself, as kind as your brother was with you ok?”

“Ok”

They think about removing everything from the room.

Putting it back in boxes.

But Marc’s last wish was probably for the room to be like this, and they couldn’t go against his wish.

[thegoldfishkid13]

Transformed Jasper Hale x reader

A/n: Please feel free to send me requests for characters :)

Warning: Blood mentioned, death kinda, swearing?, Rosalie being softish

Words count: 794

Type: Sorta angsty with a dabble fluff

Masterlist

  I lay on the ground in agony, pieces of glass scattered around me. The vampire, not one I know, is standing above me wiping the blood from his mouth. My blood! The pain suddenly hit causing me to groan, a fire sensation shot through my body. The vampire bent down to touch my face, I tried to pull away but I couldn’t. He leaned down and whispered in my ear. 

   I couldn’t understand what he said, the pain was unbearable. All I want is for the pain to stop. Another agonizing shot of pain runs through my body.

  “Please…” I begged for him to make the pain stop, to do something. He shook his head no.

  “ Sorry sweetheart, but a lesson needs to be taught.” Confusion filled my brain. ‘ Why was I being punished?’ ‘Did Jasper get into trouble and not tell me?’ While questions raced through my head another vampire joined him in the room. She looked down at me and smirked, she motioned something and then they both jumped out of the window. I layed on the floor still, I couldn’t move or more pain would shoot through my body. It felt like I layed there for hours on end, in reality it was 30 minutes. I heard the front door of my house open and then shut. Someone was yelling my name. 

  I tried to scream for help but all that was able to be released was a strangled cry. Footsteps grew quickly and louder, he wasn’t alone, someone was with him. My bedroom door flew open with so much force that it almost blew it off the hinges. They rushed over to my side. I opened my eyes and looked at who was standing there, it was Alice, Jasper and Carlisle.

  “Make it stop please, It hurts!” I beg. Carlisle was quick to get down by my side and the others followed, he turns my head and see the bite mark, which was slowly healing.

  “ We are too late, she will transform soon.” He spoke “The venom has already entered her blood stream and started to take over. The best thing we can do is stay with her.” His voice was calm and serious.

  “There has to be something we can do, right?” Jasper spoke, Carlisle shook his head no, nothing could be done. I close my eyes again, too weak to speak. I felt a cold hand grip mine and I heard footsteps leave the room, most likely giving me and Jasper space. Cold lips connected with my forehead.

  “I’m sorry darlin’, I love you and now we can be together forever, nothing will bring us apart.” His voice shook, if he could cry he would. A strangled groan leaves my mouth and that’s the last thing I remember. 

   I woke up in the Cullen family home. I could tell that it was Jasper's room by the dark sage green walls, the color we picked together. I get up and look in the mirror, to see that I was changed into a black dress, I gasp. My eyes are red and my skin is cold and pale. I open the door and walk down the stairs to the living room where everyone was sitting. Most looked solem and others looked worried. Alice was the first one to notice me standing there. 

  “Y/n? You’re finally awake.” She said, excitement filled her voice. Everyone turned and looked at me, I just stood there and nodded, not knowing what to say. Jasper rose from his place on the couch and rushed over to me. He wrapped me in an almost bone crushing hug. 

   “Oh darlin’” Was all he said. I hugged him back, squeezing him, rocking us back and forth. Everyone got up and joined the hug, each saying they were glad that I’m okay and everything.

  “What even happened?” I asked. I already knew the answer but it would be comforting to be told.

  “ You were transformed into a vampire and now you're one of us.''Alice said, her voice was giddy and excited.

“You have so much to learn, come one.” Alice grabbed my hand and drugged me out of the house and into the woods. I tried to protest but it’s Alice and she doesn’t listen. Edward stayed inside with Bella, who still had a bandage around her wrist from some sort of accident I’m guessing. Rosalie and Emmet were standing with us. 

  “Y/n I know I haven’t been the nicest to you and I apologize.” Rosalie spoke, this shocked me.

  “ Thank you Rosalie, it means alot.” I said and gave her a wide grin, Emmet gave her a hug and mumbled something causing me to let out a small giggle. Maybe transforming was for the best.

[lemony-snickers]

@kingkonoha - ficti-gram for you!

to: @kingkonoha from: @akamikazae message: She was amongst one of my first moots- her blog is such a warm and welcoming space--she is a so kind, supportive and a wonderful writer. So happy lemony ficti-gram <33 characters: neji hyuga/fem!reader prompt: sweet & sour / homemade

Neji stares, quite obviously unsure what to make of the scene. His eyes slide away from yours, tracking a glob of something slimy-looking and orange as it drips sluggishly from the edge of the counter.

"Welcome... home?" You shouldn't be asking a question, but somehow you are.

There was a time when the embarrassment you feel burning its way through your body would have been the worst feeling you could imagine.

But you are not a child anymore. You have seen war and death. Have watched tragedy unfurl in your hands like the petals of a spring blossom.

So, you think, this should be nothing. An inconsequential blip across the map of your existence. Because all that you have survived was so much worse. You are stronger for it, you tell yourself

And yet, now, you wonder if perhaps this blip will be your undoing.

"I can explain," you say. But you can't. Who could?

It looks as if a sticky orange monster has exploded in your kitchen, its insides globbed onto every surface, every part of you. You wonder how you will ever get the stuff out of your hair without shearing it down to your scalp.

The thought makes you wince.

"What happened?" Neji's voice is smooth and calm, a still pond to all your frazzled, manic whitewater.

"I was baking," you say, wincing again when you add, "but I guess I did something wrong."

Neji hums in agreement, pale eyes scanning the scene, scutinizing each detail. You bite your lip, feel the prickle of tears behind your eyes.

You know you will never be the sort of wife the Hyuga clan accepts, even for a member of the branch family (though they claim all that heirarchical garbage has long since been put to rest, you see the way the elders still look down at your husband and you internally curse them for it).

You don't come from a prominent clan, you had no dowry to offer when the two of you wed. All outdated ideals and customs, you know that, but it still stings a little when members of the clan make cutting remarks under their breath or disguise their distaste with half-compliments.

So you know you will never be an ideal Hyuga bride.

But you had thought you could do this, at least. Thought you could manage to make Neji a proper meal. A hearty curry. Sweet rice cakes for dessert.

But somewhere along the way, something went utterly, totally, horrifically awry.

Neji takes a careful step into the kitchen, avoiding a patch of rice flour on the floor, and peers into the pan before you. He sniffs and you notice the way his mouth turns down minutely at the corners, his distaste evident even as he tries to hide it.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, and you hate that the sound is so small, so obviously teetering on the edge of a sob.

Neji looks at you evenly, but you dart your eyes to the side, avoiding his intense gaze. You love his eyes--love everything about him--but you can't look at him now, the shame of your failure too fresh.

Your husband inhales slowly through his nose and back out again, and you wait for him to scold you gently, as he has before when you push yourself too hard in your training or take to heart some snide remark from one of his clanspeople.

You are staring at the wall when you hear him move, cataloguing the exact pattern of the culinary travesty staining the carefully chosen wallpaper when you recognize the clink of a bowl, the scrape of chopsticks pulled from a drawner.

You whip around to find Neji gripping a piece of something vaguely bell pepper-shaped--though not, you grimace, bell pepper-colored--between his chopsticks.

"Neji, you don't have--"

He pops the object in his mouth and chews, slowly. Thoughtfully. You watch as a small muscle in his temple twitches, as if the Byakugan is about to activate.

"Mmm," he hums, the sound strained slightly.

You all but melt, the vision of your husband eating your terrible cooking just to make you feel better almost too much to handle.

"It's... sweet?" he says, another errant question that should be a statement. "And... sour, too, a little."

You bite back a laugh as Neji takes a second bite, disguising an obvious gagging sound with another exaggerated, "Mmm."

You feel the tears threaten again, but this time it isn't because of shame or embarrsment, it's from love. From knowing that even if you will never be a perfect wife, Neji is a perfect husband.

You walk across the room to place a kiss against his twitching temple, giggling a little, "Come on," you say, "let's go out for dinner tonight."

Neji sighs, visibly relieved, "Are you sure?"

You nod enthusiastically, tugging him toward the door. He hesitates, though, brow furrowing. "Perhaps," he says carefully, "you should shower first?"

Not really a question, either, because there's no doubt you shouldn't be in public covered in whatever sticky sweet rice curry monstrosity still clings to you. You smile, nodding, and head toward the bathroom, dragging a blushing Neji along behind you.

[astrecium]

Scaramouche with a reader who plays the violin! (it can be gn or amab, whatever you prefer or simply not mention the gender, I would like it to be in AU modern)

It's about how Scaramouche fell in love with the reader, and with his music. Like those cliches, but the difference is that Scaramouche approaches the music club (he was passing by to go home) since he had already finished classes

You probably know that after school people who are in a club stay later at school, so Scaramouche passes by the music club, the place was quiet as he walked until he started to hear the sound of a violin, and Out of curiosity, he went to where it came from and realized it was from the music club. He approached and peeked through the half-open door and saw the reader, alone in the music club, playing classical music!

I suppose that at that moment, Scaramouche had a small crush on this scene... and he stayed for a few more seconds, well he would have stayed until the song was finished but the reader's eyes met Scaramouche's and the reader stopped playing to the half. Scaramouche, internally embarrassed, immediately reacts and runs away.

and it would be the beginning of Scaramouche not forgetting that moment and unconsciously looking for the boy he saw in that music club.

A lullaby i heard somewhere !

c. scaramouche x reader

g. Fluff

cw. No pronoums mentioned for the reader sorry, stalkish scara(?), modern au, this is my first request i am overjoyed, i hope you like it !!

Scaramouche never liked school or schoolars. They are noisy, arrogant and dumb.

Leaving school was always the best time of the day to him, he was always the first one to pick his things up, eager to get out this place.

And now he was doing exactly that, walking through the corridors and going home. Thats when somethimg caught his attention, you.

The light sound of music was calming, he wanted to listen to more. And before he could realize it, he was already walking to the place the sound is it got louder, and then he was at the music club. He wasn't surprised.

Slowly peeking from the door, his eyes instantly getting glued on you. The way your hands moved so smoothly, and you looked so calm while doing it. He kept staring for a long time. Analyzing you slowly, as if staring at an old piece of art he just found.

Thats when the violin stopped, and you saw him. You kept holding the violin, but not playing it. It took him a while to realize he got caught.

He quickly ran away. The red was painted slightly to his face, the people where a bit shocked he took a while to leave school when he did. And this night, he didnt think on much. He thought about his homework, and you. Who are you? Do you have the same classes as him, maybe? Maybe he can meet you and know you better. Maybe he can hear you play.

Nah, he will hear you play again someday.

The next day of school was based on his midnight thoughts. Scaramouche looked everywhere around the classroom, looking for you. And to his sadness, you werent there.

Maybe he'll just wait until class its over again. And he did.

After five hours hours of anxiety and suffering, he sighs and gets up, picking up his bag. He did not walk towards the exit. He walked to the music club. This time he wont let you see him.

Walking silently but quickly to the music club, he hid behind the wall, taking a small look at you. This time you were training a new music. The way you quickly managed to adapt to the song and so perfectly play it shocked him. Every time he saw you he just got a stronger desire to meet you, to talk to you.

He could look at you for hours.. And he did. He didnt even notice you were already leaving, and you found him. He couldn't help but take a while to leave, again. You looked so pretty. He could do basically anything to you. Maybe even take care of your hands if it hurt after playing. Maybe- But what was he thinking! You found him!

He turned to leave and ran away, his cheeks that were once pale now the color of a apple.

It happened again. And again. And again. Everyday youbwould meet the same boy looking at you. Until someday he entered the music club himself and went to you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"I want you to go out with me."

SORRYYYYY this is bad

[devrreader]

even though i think cardigan is the most taylor swift sizzy coded song, i also find maroon veeery fitting. it’s also my favorite taylor song in general so i might be biased lmao but yeah! thought i’d do this :p

sizzy and maroon by taylor swift song analysis <3 lyrics here

the first verse reminds me of when they were dating in city of lost souls. i always thought that the vinyl shelf could be easily associated with simon's apartment because he would have lots of vinyls. and with how much time he and izzy were spending together, they fit into the "like you were my closest friend" box. and simon lived with his roommate, jordan, at this point. “your roommate’s cheap ass screw top rosé”: that scene in cols where jordan offers izzy his (cheap) tequila and she starts going on a rant on how she drunkenly realizes how much she likes simon. also, with the whole sebastian deal going on, they were together every day, "i see you every day now."

i think the second verse would be more fitting with the tales from the shadowhunters academy timeline. with taylor hinting at a conflict/fight, this would be simon and izzy during the first half of the book, where, quoting, "Every time she showed up on campus, they fought; every time, he was sorry to see her go." during their very first fight isabelle was almost crying, "sobbing with your head in your hands". i also have found two other interesting (?) associations. "carnations you had thought were roses, that's us." in city of heavenly fire, when the whole tmi gang had visions while entering the demon realm, simon felt odd throughout all of his. his mother sends him flowers, he initially sees hydrangeas, and finds it weird. then his, i'm assuming, conscience, makes him see roses (which, fun note, are also izzy’s favorite flowers). and it happens again, when he tells clary (physically present in the vision) that he loves her, he doesn't tell it to clary. he tells it to isabelle. "It snapped me out of the vision, when I said your name. Because I knew the vision was wrong. It wasn't what I really wanted." and then, "the rubies that i gave up" would be him "giving up" on his relationship with isabelle (ruby necklace) at the start of tftsa because he felt that he wasn't good enough for her.

now, the bridge is definitely isabelle. it's isabelle after simon sacrificed his memories and she realizes she doesn't even know how to move on. "It's even worse than if he were dead. If he were dead, I could grieve […] I should be happy. But I'm not happy." she continuously wakes up alone knowing what they had and that it doesn’t exist anymore, (at least, that’s what she thought.)

the chorus. it’s important to note how taylor writes “chose” in the first chorus and “lost” in the second. after they started dating, izzy kept choosing simon every time. chose to forgive him after the maia thing. chose to spend time with him. chose to stick with him in whatever plan the mission required. chose him over and over again even after she effectively lost him in cohf. and i think she realized she lost him in the first few chapters of tftsa, after they danced in new york at the wedding in the epilogue.

then red/maroon is a recurring color in their whole relationship. blood, roses, lipstick, rubies, bar lights, hearts. “the blood rushed into my cheeks” izzy’s cheeks were always betraying her, even when she wanted to look tough. rereading some scenes she was really blushing all the time when around simon it was almost hilarious. “the mark they saw on my collarbone” she still has the vampire bite scar on her neck, and the moment she got it was probably one of the most important ones in her (and their) development. “the rust that grew between telephones” im assuming izzy still had his number memorized on her phone during the gap between tftsa-cohf and it was useless. simon remained unreachable. “the lips i used to call home so scarlet” when they reconcile during pale kings and princes, simon realized the home he’d been looking for for months was really just izzy. izzy with the scarlet lips <3. “Losing himself to Izzy—could it be that this was the only way to really find himself? Could it be that this, here, was home?”

maroon (the color) is used as a metaphor for the rush of memories, memories both simon and izzy had, even in different ways. the sky being maroon is seeing those memories clearly even with eyes closed. and it’s definitely something both of them went through, during the end of cohf-first tftsa chapters.

i really wanted this to be longer but tumblr wouldn’t let me lol. enjoy me going insane in real time ! <3

[drchenquill]

Character profile tag!

Thank you for the tag @the-golden-comet , @sableglass , @finickyfelix and @paeliae-occasionally ! I'm sorry it took me so long, I just couldn't decide who to take for this game. I'll just go with my baby boy Leon.

Name: Leon Martens

Nickname: "Waschlappen" by his late grandma. (It's German and it means sissy, wimp and so on.) It's an insult, but she used it as nickname, often refering to him like that while talking to other people, making it sound like a cute "family inside joke".

Kind of being: Human

Age: 23

Gender: Male

Appearance: fluffy honey-blonde hair with dark drown eyes. Very pale, almost sickly looking skin. He mostly wears cardigans to feel comfortable. His calloused hands look frail like everything on him to be honest. He is rather thin and weak looking. He is a frail man.

Occupation: Art teacher

Family members: None (all deceased. It wasn't a big family)

Pets: None

Best friends: he would say none, but Kiki has taken that spot very fast.

Describe his/her room: So, a bit of context. He moved into a shabby apartment but mid story was forced to move again into a not-as-shabby apartment. I'll describe his old room because his current room isn't his, it's Kilians.

Quoting him: "My bedroom has a large window that looks out onto the street. Normally I would draw the curtains, which didn't happen this time. That's why I can see the first shy rays of sunlight creeping into the day. The apartment I'm currently renting consists of five rooms. The bedroom with a double bed that takes up far too much space, thanks in part to the wardrobe that will collapse on me with just a small earthquake and free me, a bathroom that barely has room for a bathtub, a living room furnished with a beige couch that I doubt was the original color, a small TV that I'm afraid to turn on and, last but not least, the small kitchen where I recently tried to make a coffee with shaky hands and the flame of the stove almost burned my face."

Way of speaking: Polite, tries to never raise his voice.

Physical characteristics (posture, gestures, attitude): He avoids eye contact and often walks with his head down. When he's stressed, his right hand tends to cramp, so you may see him subtly massaging it. He also tends to have twitching hands when he feels the need to draw something to calm down. He is developing a hunchback by always walking with a hunched posture to subconsciously make himself smaller.

Items in his/her back pocket/ purse: A small pocketsized sketchbook with a tiny pencil (he draws to calm himself down.) And his phone and wallet.

Hobbies: Drawing.

Favorite sports: None.

Abilities/Talents/Powers: Drawing

Relationships (how he/she is with other people): He tries not to interact with other people, but when he does, he tends to not hold eye contact for too long. He is rather submissive, not wanting to anger anyone.

Fears: Being looked at, making mistakes, angering other people, people thinking he is insane.

Fault: He is very paranoid and does not trust at all. He always thinks the worst and often doesn't give the other person a chance to explain. He can be very petty.

Good points: He is very gentle with children. He loves children because he feels safe around them.

What he/she wants more than anything else: To be left alone and to get rid of the crushing guilt he feels after surviving the car accident that killed his parents.

~~~

Tagging with no pressure @theink-stainedfolk , @inseasofgreen , @katenewmanwrites , @kaeru483 , @happypup-kitcat24 and open tag~