#the heart shaped shades are to hide their tears

[paperwizards]

How about the new episode huh.

@hellofromthehallowoods

[phant0mth1ef]

i kissed the scars on her skin, i still think you’re beautiful.

-

can be read as part 3 to this boy’s too young to be singing the blues, or as a standalone :3!

-

empty. your hospital room was empty. void of all life. the sheets were as if nobody had slept there in years, the window shades were put back to their normal, idle position, and all the decorations that class a had put up for you were now gone.

but he was still directed to the room where you were supposed to reside. he stood at the doorway, his jaw open as he stared inside, trying to look for any signs of life. because why else would they send him here if you weren’t there? you were still alive. right?

he was worried, to say the least, until he heard quiet muffled sounds coming from behind him, you were standing, your iv was right next to you as you looked up at the boy with half-lidded eyes.

“hi katsuki.” you yawned.

“you spent all that time asleep and you’re still tired?!” there was the snarkiness and attitude you knew and loved.

“exhausted really. come in.” you motioned for the boy to follow you as you made your way to your bed, sitting down and patting the space next to you.

“why’s it look like a grey’s anatomy scene in here?” he was always so blunt, even if you were currently in the worst shape possible.

“didn’t wanna get too comfortable. i don’t plan on living in here any longer than i have to.” something was off. you didn’t have that stupid happy go lucky smile on your face.

“my quirk. they took my quirk.” you looked down as the tears welled in your eyes, trying to smile but it was quickly broken.

you never knew what to do with your hands, so you just played with your fingers whenever you were scared.

“that’s what you’re so upset about?! you almost died.” even when you’re feeling down he still manages to scold you.

“i know but,” you sniffled.

“i just-. i really wanted to become a hero with you katsuki.” the boy was never one for emotions, choosing to hide them rather than showcase them.

but in that moment, he slowly felt his hard exterior crumbling as he swore his heart begun to break, you had meant every word you said to him, your tears were real tears.

“tch. you’re real dense, ya know that?! you’re already a hero dumbass. you fought in that stupid war. you earned the right to be called a hero.” he looked away from you, not meeting your eyes because he refused to let you know he was crying.

until you heard him sniffle, and you pretended not to laugh even though your own eyes were filled to the brim with tears.

“you cryin’ katsuki?” a laugh had slipped out as he angrily snapped his head back to face you.

“hah?! no! it’s just stuffy in here.” it was hard to watch him pretending to be tough while he had a tear falling from his eye.

“s’okay to cry, y’know.” you leaned your head on his shoulder, and he turned at your sudden action.

then proceeded to put his head on your head, making mitsuki nearly jump at her son’s sudden actions, and yet she was quick enough to grab her camera, quickly snapping a photo.

the same photo that bakugou had looked back on after eri had successfully rewinded your body to the time when your quirk was still a part of you.

the same photo that was on display at your wedding, along with about a gazillion childhood pictures of you both, you both had been in the background of many pictures despite never knowing each other, it was as if an invisible string had tied your souls together.

and sure enough, the photo was hung in your shared home, along with another picture of you both as pro heroes, your children walking by it every day on their way to school.

[invisible-lint]

We Lay Here

Cassian x Reader

Summary: Cassian goes down in battle. Yo try to save him, but end up falling with him

Warnings: angst. cannon typical violence

Word Count: 1,067

You race across the battlefield ignoring the smell of blood and clash of steel. Your legs ache, heart pounding in your throat, breath panting through your lips. You're ready to collapse, your soft body not used to this kind of exertion, but you need to find him. You give the bond a tug, relief flooding your veins when you feel him tug back. 

You had felt it through the bond, felt it in your soul when he had gone down. You knew he needed a healer and fast. You stop running, scanning the field for the male you love, screaming his name. You let loose a shriek and start running again when an arrow goes whizzing past your face, the fletching grazing the soft skin of your cheek. 

You didn't care how stupid and reckless it was to run onto the field unharmed, untrained, you would not, could not, lose him. 

You search for the shape of his wings, a glimpse of the familiar shade red of his siphons, but there's so much red, so much blood. You scream for him again, and this time you hear him call back for you in response. You change direction, dashing towards the sound.

You see an enemy stalking towards him, ready to make a killing blow and you act without thinking, grabbing a sword from a dead male. As he  prepares to strike your mate, you stab him from behind, both your hands shaking where they grip the sword. You pull it out and slash across his throat before tossing it away as if it had suddenly grown heated, scalding you. 

You finish your mad dash to your mate, dropping to your knees at his side, brushing hair away from his face, stomach churning at how pale he looks. “Cassian…” He looks at you, hazel eyes filled with shock. 

“Hey there, Sweetheart. Battle over already?” 

“Not exactly…”

“Please tell me you didn't run across a battlefield because I got hurt.”

“...I didn't run across a battlefield because you got hurt.” He lets out a sigh, trying to hide how painful the action is. 

“It's bad, isn't it?” You chew your lip, your usual bedside manner gone when your mate is the one laying on the ground injured in front of you.

“I've gotta move you Cass. I can't stay here to heal you.” He nods, preparing himself for the pain that's about to follow. You stand, hooking your arms under his shoulders, pulling him backwards towards safety. He clenches his jaw, breathing out a hiss of pain. 

“I know, Baby. I know it hurts. I've got you.” You can only move a few feet with the heavy male before you have to stop, tears streaming down your face, feeling his pain through the mating bond. You pull him a few more feet before you stop, laying him back on the ground. At this rate, he’ll bleed out before you make it. You cup his cheek, his eyelids fluttering shut as he leans into your touch. “Cass, I need you to keep your eyes open for me so I know you're still conscious, okay? I'm not going to be able to move you fast enough. So I'm going to heal you enough to buy myself some time, okay?” He shakes his head, eyes flying open, looking at you with panic. 

“No, leave me. You have to leave me and get somewhere safe.” You ignore him, pulling tools out from the pouch at your hip and cutting the leather away from the gaping wound on his stomach. You wince. It's even worse than you originally thought. 

He knows he's going to die. Knew he was the moment he fell. He's just glad that if this is how it's going to end he got to see your face one last time. He grabs your wrist, stopping you. “I don't think there's anything you can do, Sweetheart.” You sob, tears streaking the grime on your face. You lean down to kiss him, hating the taste of blood on his lips. He kisses back, tangling his fingers in your hair, ignoring the pain it sends through the wound. You pull back, looking over him, desperate to do something, anything. 

The two of you are so wrapped up in each other that you don't notice the male coming up behind you. You cry out when he stabs you, screaming when he pulls his sword out with a twist, collapsing onto Cassian's chest. He's just conscious enough for his heart to seize in horror at the weight of your body on his, the warmth of your blood soaking him. With his last conscious thought, he wraps his arms around you, holding you to him as he draws his final breath.

You try to tug on the bond, sobbing when there's no response. The anguish you feel at the crumbling bond dwarfs the pain of your wound. It's a relief that you're fading fast, following him out of this world, your blood mingling with his. It's almost morbidly romantic, dying together, and you can understand why Rhys and Feyre made their pact.

If Azriel was worried when he couldn't find Cassian after the battle, he was nearly panicked when he couldn't find you either. You took your duties as a healer more seriously than anything, often having stayed in the healing tents until you nearly passed out. No, something had to be wrong. He asks another healer about you and they say they saw you head towards the battlefield. He curses. He finds Rhys and the two of them search together, dread snaking into their guts at what they’ll find. 

It's Azriel who finds the two of you, calling out to Rhys. The two of you look peaceful, despite the chaos of the battlefield that surrounds you. Azriel kneels down next to the two of you, uncertain if it's your blood or the blood of his brother soaking his knees, brushing hair back from your face. You had always hated the way hair would fall loose from your braid and get in your eyes. 

It's Rhys who speaks first, looking at the way Cassian is holding you to him, even in death. “We should put them on a pyre together. It almost seems cruel to separate them now.” 

And so they do,you still wrapped in Cassian's arms, your family, now two members smaller, huddled together, sobbing, as they light your shared pyre. 

A/N: The idea came to me and I wrote like a possessed gremlin, literally cranking this out in like an hour and felt the need to post it before bed. I am a little sorry for this one, I got myself in the feels a bit, listening to In a Week as I wrote it.

I should have a masterlist up soon!

Divider is by @tsunami-of-tears

[iwaasfairy]

ETCHED IN RED | VERMILLION Part 2

tw. dubcon/noncon, yandere, bullying, age gap, power imbalance, implied stalking wordcount. 1k

read part 1 here or see the valentine's masterlist

gojo satoru x reader

It’s been a while since you’ve left the countryside for Tokyo. It’s been even longer since you had the displeasure of being locked up in a room with the people who stood by while your life — well, you want to believe you can leave old grudges lie. It’s been half a decade, and people change. As you wade through the group of people, mostly old classmates and their partners, you regret coming alone.

Your cold hands play with the flute of champagne, before you look up again.

He’s yet to take his eyes off of you.

White hair and those blinding, paradise blue eyes… apart from maybe one extra line next to his eyes, he still looks the exact same. You’re very aware you do not. You made a purposeful effort to remove anything that made you you the second you left Tokyo. But it doesn’t really surprise you all that much to see that he still recognises you. Gojo’s might just be surprised to see that you came at all. If you were smarter, you wouldn’t have.

It’s been long enough that you could’ve ignored the invite. Could’ve pretended like you didn’t know the class of cheery misfits, that you never got it at all. But Yuuta had sounded apologetic, and maybe somewhere deep down you wanted to believe that everything had changed. That you’d arrive and you wouldn’t feel the same helplessness you felt. Maybe seeing one of your beloved friend’s memorial pictures would mend things, and you could let go of the strings still pulling you back.

Being that it isn’t just a reunion, but a memorial too; there’s very little music to fill the space. It leaves everything awfully raw and exposed. Your shift the glass from holding, to placing, to holding again. Flutter your nervous fingers along the stem, as you flip through the picturebooks they’ve left on the table, alongside the framed picture of her. Before she was Yuuta’s flame, she was your friend— came to Tokyo Jujutsu High on the same train as you. You flip through some of the yearbook until you find a picture that makes you swallow tighter.

It’s you and her, Makki, Panda, Inumaki. And of course Gojo, white hair hanging loosely over his shades, his arms around Yuuta’s shoulders. You remember the day it was taken. You remember the way you’d brushed away your spilled tears and had puffed your chest out like none of it had any effect on you, and how you’d watched Yuuta ignore you through the gap in the door. While Satoru embarrassed you, humiliated you, threatened to ruin you. The more vile stuff had come only later; but you can’t help but think that if anyone had said something, none of it would have happened in the first place.

You wouldn’t have had to hide like a rat under the floorboards.

His scent spooks you before he can even make his presence known, has you bumping into the table of entrées when you turn. Your eyes meet his through the tinted glass, but it doesn’t take away from the intensity that stares back. A tad bit too wide to be comforting, a little too wild to feel familiar. You’re pinned like a bug under his towering shape, and though he smiles, you don’t feel it. Gojo Satoru’s even more unsettling than you gave him credit for. Something about distance making the heart grow fonder. “Hardly believe my eyes,” he chuckles, “I didn’t hear you’d swing by. It’s been a few years…”

You nod back, certain the smile doesn’t reach. “I quit, you can’t expect me to come by every few weeks. You’re all busy, and I decided our line of work wasn’t for me, so…”

He chuckles at that, and runs long fingers through his hair. “Even though we’re so understaffed?”

“Because we’re understaffed. Too many familiar faces.” If he catches your underhanded dig, he doesn’t show it. But Gojo was always good at hiding whatever was bothering him. “It’s good to see Miwa, Inumaki and Makki again.” Your eyes flick over his shoulder to another familiar face standing among their circle, but can’t make yourself say a nice word about him either. A few years ago you would’ve added him to the list too. But here, you can’t call him a friend. “Panda and the staff too.”

“You look really different. Wouldn’t surprise me if the staff didn’t recognise you.” He eyes you down for a few moments, before taking your drink out of your hands and downing it. Not even a question, he just takes. Like he can still scare you into owning every part of you. “But I guess if anyone was going to quit, it would’ve been you or Yuuta. Must’ve been hard after the funeral.”

It shouldn’t surprise you that he’s managing to twist your fondness back onto you. However much it hurt, that wasn’t the straw. No, it’s always been Satoru. He’s the reason you left. He already knows this. You don’t expect the picture-perfect smile he’s giving you to slip any time soon. “It was. Especially because I didn’t really have any support.” You glare at him just barely, before picking your now empty glass back up. “Following your lead and all.” It doesn’t bring you the resolution you hoped it’d bring. 

Even when you watch him chew his tongue for a response, or when his eyes sink down your chest to your hands clasped around the flute. To the glittering stone on your finger. For once, he raises his eyebrows too high, eyes searching. Maybe he expected the threat of violence to stop you for longer. “Got married in your time away?” He’s quick to school his expression back, and if it wasn’t for the forced jerk of his mouth corners, you could believe he’d actually be happy for you.

“Engaged,” you force out. It’s the truth. It’s just that as soon as it’s out, you wish it right back. There’s something wrong with his eyes. “It’s been good catching up.” You would add some false pleasantries after, but Gojo would just take it as an invitation. “I’m going to talk to Miwa, haven’t seen her in years.” A hand wraps around your shoulder when you try to slip past him, gripping too tight. With one long step he almost forced you into the wall. His smart tongue presses against his teeth, before he softens his grip and lets you go.

“You look beautiful, baby. Missed your pretty eyes staring up at me like that.” You turn over your shoulder to glance at him instinctively, just long enough to watch the Cheshire grin slip onto his lips. Before he winks, and strides past you back towards the group — stopping only to brush his mouth past the shell of your ear when he dips. “Can’t wait to catch up. It’s been a long five years, hasn’t it?”

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2024. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[hwaightme]

Burning

(masterlist) (taglist)

🔥 pairing: best friend!mingi x gn!reader 🔥 genre: fluff, healing, friends to lovers, slice of life 🔥 summary: down winding roads, through the golden fields and into the shimmering night, you and mingi embark on a journey to live and love once again 🔥 wordcount: 5.5k 🔥 warnings/tags: editing??, language, indie film style, loosely inspired by murakami's 'barn burning' + youth mv, injuries/scabs, band aids/treatment, escapism, restarts, running away, love through hardship, healing, implied trauma, food/eating, reflecting on the past, mingi would do anything for you, arson 🔥 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🔥 a/n: happy birthday to @byuntrash101!! my most wonderful cat, i love you, thank you for every moment and here is to many more <3 hugs to everyone, all reblogs, notes and comments appreciated! 🔥 playlist: the last stop of our pain - hanroro, the setting sun - the poles, bye - car the garden, summer night - jeon jinhee, 14:30 - damons year, silence - sunwoojunga, so life goes on - heo hoy kyung, dear my all - mingginyu

You looked down at your hands, spreading the fingers out and relaxing them again, watching the movement of every line and wrinkle. Band aids bent and took on the shape you commanded; the one in an off-white shade after having taken on the brunt of the physical burdens, - a ring that was wrapped around the middle finger of your right hand was frayed at the edge, having had to through the test of the elements and of haphazard lugging of items in and out of the white car on which you were sitting. The other, skin toned, sturdy and strictly not letting anything dare infect you, hugged the side of the same hand and spread a little to your palm. The markings of a person who ‘could’, and a person who ‘did’. 

Gaze travelling downwards led you to a leather bracelet with a silver charm - a simple accessory, but one that held years of history, meaning and memories that tied you to the original owner. You were never one for big celebrations, having gotten used to treating every day the same as the rest - a uniform, dark reality where you were nothing but a little cog. The only mission you had ever had before this moment was to keep on turning. This bracelet was a promise, and a hope for a new beginning. 

Golden fields and a warm grey sky blending into a hazy blend of yellowish green and burnt sienna. A tired breeze that had long lost its fight reminded you that you could still feel, running through your hair, dancing across your skin. The sweater you had borrowed was much too loose at the shoulders, and thus offered little to no protection from the elements. Nonetheless, the comfort it offered, along with the aroma that had permanently intertwined with the threads of the cotton fabric brought more than enough warmth to your heart, and caused a blush to rise on your cheeks. It was a considerable contrast to your still slightly tear-stained, exhausted eyes around which the signs of last night’s terrors were still remaining. But even then, the despair that had come with the sensation had been washed away by a caring thumb, a loving hand, a single impression that solidified that you were never going to be alone.

You moved to run a finger across the plasters, curious as to how the cuts beneath were healing. Little scars of a warrior. You had fought for your way and for your life and for your right to smile and breathe and enjoy the earthly wonders. The last days before your final decision to escape were somewhat of a whirlwind, tainted by persistent insomnia, demons that haunted you day and night and the yelling of far too many people, projects and parasitic ponderings. Even the things that had been under your control grew minds of their own and searched for ways to destroy you, be it in hiding a mistake in a word, an error in a table or a fiendish administrative problem. Those days were a countdown, until in one last effort to survive, you cried out for salvation and admitted that it was all too much. And in that chaotic flood that was threatening to swallow you whole, one person had been waiting, and before you knew it, you were safe, had someone cheering for you, sharing your anguish.

“Hey don’t do that. We don’t have any band aids left and I’m not about to go Rambo mode and go picking grass to wrap you up,” you turned to follow the sounds of the low, raspy voice, smiling softly as you met your friend’s mildly concerned expression. Black hair, softly tousled; you barely could restrain yourself from reaching out and ruffling those locks. Beauty marks like stars on that wonderful, charming face. Slightly parted lips that appeared to be holding back sagas and everlasting tales. Lips that you could watch move forever.

“It’s fine, Mingi, I was just checking.”

“That was some intense checking you’re doing, refrain from it,” he retorted and crossed his arms while pinching the sleeves of his black knit sweater so as to not let them slide up.

“Says the person who keeps picking at their face like no tomorrow. Without bandages, mind you. At this rate-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ll sort myself out, alright?” Mingi winced as his tongue darted to the scabbed over gash on the side of his mouth, making you exhale sharply, bemused. You could sense him taking his words back with a shake of the head. One step back, another, and in a quiet mumble he added: “...at the next rest stop we’ll fuel up the truck, fuel ourselves and maybe get a proper first aid kit.”

“Sounds good.”

Turning one of the many rings on his fingers, your friend could not hold your gaze and resorted to studying the ornate silver patterns and precious embedded stones. It had been the same when he had first offered this way out for you. A man, supposedly tall and impressive in physique, but appearing so small as he stumbled over his words, one idea pouring and drowning another out until they connected like a puzzle and formulated a vision that was somewhat concrete. Though, even if there was no final agreement in his mind, you would have agreed anyway. All that mattered was that each sentence carried a ‘we’. And with that, you were more than happy.

Was it long ago that you had met him? It felt like eternity. You could not imagine any other life, at least not one where you had a chance at happiness. Sure, you had your fights and squabbles. It would be a big lie if you were to say everything was sunshine and rainbows. Both snappy and hot headed at times, you had each said a fair share of things you did not want to say. But it was the awareness and growing from mistakes that had led you to where you were now. You had both walked through some dark times, and ended up in the golden hour, surrounded by an equally glowing expanse of flora, reaping what you two had sowed.

“What are you looking at me like that for?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t get it, I know I have the thing on my cheek but… hate to break it to you, you don’t have healing powers,” ever so logical, Mingi was, once again, trying to establish a chain of thought. You had gotten better at explaining your thinking out loud, as did he, but in times where you were particularly wistful, words escaped you.

“I don’t know…”

“As if I do. Are you hungry?”

“I’m not a cat-”

“Then why?” he chuckled, lips automatically stretching into a toothy grin as you chuckled.

“‘Cause I can.”

“Okay then,” a breath escaped you as you stared at his hand, suddenly falling to meet the car’s surface and looked up to see him leaning over, staring intently at you. Through you. Like he could read you. Any courage you had disappeared, and you shook your head in defeat.

“Fine, fine,” how could someone put into words the feeling of wanting to picture an individual in everything and everyone? 

How could you say that even in the grass that surrounded you, in the long winding roads, in the cloudy skies you were glad to be able to see Mingi. It had been a lifetime indeed. A lifetime of seeing him without realising it, a lifetime of looking forward to being together with him and falling apart when you weren’t, and now, when you were side by side with only the sun, moon and empty fields to bear witness, you were scared to blink. Like all this time would disappear. Priceless seconds. Mingi was merciful enough to note a tinge of nervousness, and backed away. It was obvious enough that he did not quite let your reaction go, but neither you nor him were ever ones to push further than necessary and beyond the other’s personal limits. 

“Right, time to get going if we want to make it to the barn by midnight.”

“Okay.”

“Want to ride in the back or-”

“With you,” you did not mean to sound so ambiguous, but thankfully as Mingi was busy opening the door to the driver’s seat, he did not catch on, or courteously did not pry.

“Ah, you’re right. It’ll be getting cold pretty quickly, won’t it?” 

As if you were not wrapped up and huddled in the bunch of blankets, backpacks and crocheted pillows just last night when you were parked at the last rest stop, silently accepting your friend’s reassurance as you mourned a past you were not going to miss. He knew what you were going through, and so he stuck beside you instead of heading for those plasters when he technically could have. 

“A few hours won’t change these little cuts, but they can change you, and I’d rather be here so you’re not alone.”

The phrase resonated in your heart as you took your place beside Mingi, staring out at the windshield. With a quick glance to your left you could just catch his reflection in the glass, and with another tilt, the man himself. His plush lips, the beautiful curve of his nose, how the black-framed glasses that he had fished out of the cupholder between you suited him so well. Focused, he turned the key until a satisfying rumble consumed the vehicle, signifying its awakening. On instinct, Mingi’s arms flew to their respective positions, and he drove out of the improvised parking spot back out to the infinite line of cement - the one sign of civilization that had the ability to assure you that you were indeed going in the right direction. Since Mingi was familiar with this part of the country, however, you would not have minded even a sudden, more wild change in the scenery. 

Choosing to not surf the radio stations in search of something remotely tolerable, you drove to the sound of your musings and let the last of the grey haze wash over you before the sun that was concealed by the thick cloud would inevitably fall into a slumber. For the first time in a while, you could enjoy the quiet without it being interrupted by a cacophony of inner qualms and disturbing rage. You could catch the occasional note from Mingi’s humming - a habit of his that you had grown to love. Every time, it was something unexpected. Be it a tune he was making up on the spot or one that you were familiar with, you never tired of how his thoughts travelled, and were delighted by the soundtrack which he was subconsciously crafting for the life you just so happened to share. Serendipity, writing a future that Mingi was taking you towards.

The idea he had proposed might have been radical, but it was the only one that made sense. Besides, it was not going to cause any harm. At the end of the day, the property belonged to a distant relative, said relative had no use for it, so… the conclusion and final decision basically made itself. The act to mark an entry into being your new self had to be grand, a lot more grand than what you had already done, and Mingi, being a creative mind, of course could be trusted to invent a performance of the century. Just for you.

A dreamlike day turned into an equally surreal evening as you halted at the gas station attached to the last rest stop of your adventure, with Mingi’s call dragging you out of your thoughts. You confirmed to him that you were fine with a quick smile and followed him out of the trusty Dodge. Patiently, you idled about as Mingi unscrewed the opening to the fuel tank and reached for one of the nozzles, rolling a stray piece of gravel under your shoes. Crickets, a myriad of crickets hidden under the cover of nighttime launched into a crescendo of their trill song, so much so that the buzz of the fluorescent lamp that illuminated the lonely station was almost completely drowned out. A light touch on your upper arm alerted you that Mingi was done, and you promptly followed him to the convenience store.

As though by newly found habit, he gravitated towards the bright red canisters lined up by the register, while you gave him a wary glance before ambling towards the ready to eat meals. Soon enough, Mingi joined you, satisfied by his quick perusal, and with a basket in his hand. Without a word, he picked up your favourite snack and was about to toss it in:

“This one, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

It never failed to be amusing how, despite the innumerable occasions when you two had eaten together, Mingi still liked to check with you that your favourite foods were, in fact, still your favourite foods. You had to admit that it was very endearing and comforting to you. Without even considering it, he always gave you room for change, in every way you could imagine. Or maybe you were exaggerating and letting your fantasies speak for themselves. You could not help but dart your eyes at Mingi when he turned his back to you, spotting the two beaded necklaces you had made for him some time ago still being a part of his usual outfit. And so, you wondered, how large was the room for transformation? What could this brand new future of yours include?

“Ah… wait… band aids… should we get that… What was it? Antiseptic-”

“You said a whole kit.”

“Right. Let’s go try and find it… wait what if they don’t stock one?” eyebrows weighed down with doubt, Mingi looked at you like he was about to apologise. You sighed, moving to run a hand down his back. The gesture startled Mingi, but he did not stop you, instead choosing to wait it out and see your intentions. You noticed him lightly biting his lower lip as he stared back at you, perplexed.

“We’ll find the essentials then. It’s not like we are disappearing from society for the rest of time, yeah?”

“Yeah…” had he continued, you swore he would have expressed his wish for what you had joked about to be the case. Luckily, you were pleasantly surprised by the wide selection of items to pick from, and left confident in the remainder of your trip.

In the fluorescence of the small store, and then inside of the parked car as you devoured your pre-made dinner, you were suspended in pure bliss. To your right was your partner in everything, friend or however your silly racing heart wanted to call him. Above you, the stars - a vista worth driving further out from the rest stop for. Propped up on the cushions, this was your definition of heavenly and healing. Colours had regained their vibrancy, and finally, you were no longer too fatigued to notice the intricacy of things that had previously passed you by. Who could have guessed that the packaging of the sandwiches you used to buy before work to throw in the office fridge had changed? And apparently a bit of time ago, too? What else have you been missing? For certain, you had been missing out on times like this, where you could hold a comfortable pause with Mingi, simply enjoying each other’s company while digging into your meals. It was astonishing to think how many breakfasts, lunches and dinners that you could have had with the one person who always believed in you were ripped away from you by obligation and unwanted routine. Not for longer. 

“Mingi.”

“Hm?” he hummed while chewing, eyes widened as he turned towards you. Quickly enough, he swallowed the bite, and waited for you to continue.

“I’m glad… that we can be here like this.”

“Oh… I…” at a loss for words, he let himself swim in your spontaneous confession.

“I am just… happy. Very happy. Thank you. Thank you for being the one who I can trust, thank you for sticking with me through complete and utter chaos, thank you for being you,” the words came naturally, buried under layers of hurt that needed time to evaporate. But now, the ritualistic expedition was wondrous in combating your inner demons, and in turn, let you speak for yourself, for your own feelings rather than those of illusory authority that had previously spoken for and was in charge of your every action, whether you were aware of it or not.

“No biggie. Things get in the way sometimes, but we’re here now, aren’t we?”

“Yes, that we are.”

“It’s going to get even easier soon, just you wait.”

A hand in midair, waiting for you to lift yours and meet it. Confused, you did so automatically, yelping when Mingi moved it closer to himself, and in a swift motion planted a soft, almost shy kiss on the back. He was careful to not put any pressure on the cuts which he had just re-cleaned and covered, along with the miniature wounds that only found themselves under the stinging alcohol solution, but kept on holding onto you, debating whether you would let him stay like this to his heart’s content, or if you would pull away. The tips of his digits reached the bracelet, and you could imagine a thrum of kindred energy reconnecting the item and the man. Shock prevented you from acting rashly, and so you simply read the fire in Mingi’s sparkling eyes, your favourite blaze that helped you out of a chasm, one that you would protect with your entire being until the world collapsed on you. And even then, you would stand up and try again.

Relief was evident in his features, from the curling of his lips to the relaxing of his shoulders. Clearly, an unfathomable pressure was lifted from his exhausted body. Every mile travelled, you were making revelations, it seemed. Venturing into the unknown, you were not quite sure who you were looking at anymore. Of course, you were confident in his name, in his presence, in his significance, but the many roles which he played in your years on this tiny planet left you struggling for words. Who was Mingi to you? Who were you to Mingi? Long gone were the days where you two had been moderately content with a distant and rapidly cooling friendship separated by glass and busy schedules. You were close. So close, that if the recklessness of acting on instinct caught up with you, you would get burned. 

Burning, like your hand despite Mingi having let it float in solitude some time ago to stand up and hop out of the back of the pickup truck. Set ablaze like your heart and soul that were feverishly awaiting a shining dawn. Your tired eyes could only watch your one wish turn the key in the ignition again, determined to help you start over. Could he be your sun? If you were to say anything more than a hollow whisper to the moon, would you fall away and lose him? You were about to bring the fingers of your left hand to run over the other, but you stopped, remembering Mingi’s comedically stern words. Instead, you imagined him pressing his lips against it again, heat rising to your cheeks upon recollection. A quick glance to the driver’s seat, and you could swear you caught the ghost of a smirk dancing across your so-called friend’s face, but chose not to comment so as to not spark a conversation you knew you would not be able to continue. 

“We’ll be there soon. There’s a neat shortcut we can take so it shouldn’t take us more than an hour.”

You nodded, trusting his judgement. Your thoughts were elsewhere, anyways and could not offer many suggestions in terms of the journey. These parts were foreign to you, and your decision-making here was as good as whenever you had a professional point to prove or a dream to follow; both flew out of your hands to be smited. At least in the case of the meandering roads, you had Mingi to shield you, letting you wander in your own mindscape for as long as you needed. The mind was a mysterious place, traversing memories both from years ago and ones that documented your most recent escapades much the same, though, maybe now they were all in brighter hues. The last of what was tying you down was packed and stashed right behind you and Mingi, both in the tiny space between the seats and the back of the cabin as well as in the exposed trunk outside. The monochrome madness stuffed into rucksacks, swaddled in sheets like a crying infant manifesting your prayers for the noise of a prior existence to cease demanding your attention. You were ready to let it all turn to ash, and be reborn.

It was fascinating how quick Mingi was to jump into action. Part of you wondered whether it was due to the times you had helped him, and he wished to somehow repay you. Or was this a genuine devotion? As the road turned into an unruly dirt path, you were certain it was the latter.

‘It’s our journey. I might not know everything that’s going on behind your forehead, and you would not know that about me, but the least we can do is stick through the worst storms.’

The grumbling of the engine turned into a roar as Mingi’s heavy combat boot pushed down even stronger on the accelerator. When people spent enough time together, they were bound to become more and more similar; such was the case with you and him. Parts had been exchanged, parts blended, and it was hard to think of a picture where there was a lack of the other’s presence in some form. Be it in behaviour or in little bits of jewellery. Mingi was driving selfishly, because he was driving for you and for the few breaths of air you had remaining in your lungs after holding up boulders of others’ opportunities at the cost of your own passions. There was experience, there was development, but there was also a need for self-preservation and a necessity to stop for the sake of health and mental clarity, and Mingi was not about to lose you. 

“D’ya want to roll the window down? You…” used to do that when you and him were teens. He did not have to say it. No matter the weather, even if for a few seconds, you wanted to be one with the air, a flightless bird that finally got a chance to glide with the wind, pleasantly lost in the elements. Maybe one day you could return to that same carefree nature. You shook your head.

“It’s a little cold outside.”

“How about this…” while slowing down a little to not lose control of the car, Mingi reached around and behind his seat, fishing for something. Finally, having found what he was looking for, he flashed a triumphant grin and produced his dark grey denim jacket, letting it land on your lap.

You raised an eyebrow, unsure of what your friend was implying. But as soon as the first hint of a breeze hit you and you saw the window start its slow descent under Mingi’s command, a chuckle escaped you. So it was not a question after all, but an encouragement, perhaps even a challenge. Giving in, you pulled the jacket over yourself like a blanket, and stared at the all-knowing constellations that decorated the cosmic expanse - the best reminder of just how small you really were, and to what priceless insignificance your troubles amounted to. In the grand scheme of things, nothing really mattered, and so, you did not see anything as ‘too out of pocket’ anymore. Might as well enjoy life instead of letting it race past you for once.

It was a mystery to you when you fell asleep; you could only recall the ghostly pale silver and ashen blue that spread over the wheat fields and another serene, barely audible serenade hummed by Mingi. But just as quickly as you had drifted into a dreamless slumber, you jolted awake at the sound of your name being repeated once, twice by your best friend. Momentarily lost, you waited for your vision to focus before following the sounds of the truck door clicking shut and of rubber soles hitting gravel by fumbling for the handle. As soon as you opened the salon, you were embraced in full by the omnipresent hum of wildlife and distant rustle of leaves and tall grass, the field at which you stopped having been long abandoned and left barren, with only dirt to present as a fruit of labour.

Stepping onto the soft earth, you could feel the cool dampness beneath your shoes, a tactile reminder of the quiet countryside that surrounded you as far as the eye could see. Mingi, his presence like a comforting shield in the stillness of the night, paused in his search for the tools he had packed. A profound hush settled over the landscape, prompting you to tilt your head and look on further, to spot the target barely a couple hundred metres away. So this was it. The promised sacrifice. The place where the past could finally quit holding on to you and tearing you apart. The abandoned barn loomed ahead like a relic from another universe and a time long gone.

The moonlight painted the barn in ethereal shades, casting a melancholic beauty upon its worn facade. Mingi's eyes held the weight of a thousand untold stories and observations, and in the quiet exchange of glances, you detected a shared understanding – a recognition that you had the right, and more than deserved to forgive yourself, and throw away the hurt you had accumulated over the years with a light heart. He stood beside you, holding onto the sacks that you had stuffed full of items that haunted you, mutely berated you and induced agonising ruminations. Papers, trinkets, utter garbage that you had never been able to throw out on your own, all collected like nightmare capsules and you were more than elated to bid them farewell.

He had not yet taken off his glasses, eager to move onwards and upwards. One of these days you might muster up the courage to tell Mingi just how handsome he was in whatever style he chose, but that was a mission for a more courageous you. From tonight into the myriad of tomorrows. Your partner in self-revolution stretched his arms towards you, gingerly passing the hefty items over and waiting for you to get a better grip. To think that there were clouds of buzzing paranoia and dread attached to either one - suffocating, persistent.

While regarding Mingi’s tranquil resolve, you discovered a sliver of a near-boyish excitement, so characteristic of him before growing pains had changed your relationship and all that came with it, that your heart ached, and a prickly sensation made itself known on the back of your hand where he had left a solitary peck. And yet, he still was not giving up on you. From the pocket of his jeans - appearing to take on the shade of a washed out chrome under the shining skies, Mingi produced a box of matches, and upon leaning closer to the truck, grasped the handle of a stick protruding from a miniature canister. More than enough to carry out the impending transformation. Mingi’s stunning orbs met yours, and without words, he conveyed a mixture of determination and sorrow, a silent promise and cheer for the grand finale.

"Here’s to letting go, and to holding on to the things that make us right," he uttered, his voice carrying the power of a truth that echoed in the night air.

“Then… I’ll be right back.”

“I will be here. Cousin said everything’s unlocked. Put things in places where the fire’ll reach.”

One step. Another. Walk turning into run, you chased after who you wished to become and propelled yourself with unprecedented pride. You could do this. With one quick push the door to the barn creaked open, and you made haste in lining the walls with who you used to be. You could taste ash on your tongue and see the fire in your pupils even though you were consumed by pitch black; here, you had the final say. Upon throwing the sacks into whatever direction, you felt your way back out, and returned to Mingi who, apparently, had the time to reposition the car a little to have the back be facing the barn. With a mischievous grin he greeted you, and pulled you into a quick embrace before giving you a matchstick and the box and leading the two of you to the structure one last time.

This had been an agreement between you - you were the one to light the first flame, and he was the one to do the rest. Though this was a journey of healing, he did not wish for you to delude yourself into a guilt-ridden state. Mingi could bear the brunt of that for you and wear it like a badge of honour. As though patrolling the grounds, he went in a circle around the barn, leaving behind the acrid stench of splattered gasoline. Suddenly, the act felt more and more real. A yelp caught in your throat as Mingi shoved the empty canister inside through a loose wooden board, now only holding onto the unlit torch. Gazed at you, awaiting the monumental execution. 

Trembling just a little, on the third try you managed to light the match, and stepped to the building full of your painful memories. the flames danced in the blackness like whispers of farewell. As you approached the ancient barn with Mingi in toe, the match's glow illuminated the grains of wood that had weathered countless storms. The night seemed to draw its breath, as though it sensed the profound act about to unfold. Outstretching the judgement between your fingers, you hesitated for a fleeting moment. The gravity of the act hung heavy – the acknowledgment that setting fire to the past was a painful necessity for new beginnings. Nevertheless, you were certain. The barn, with its history that you will never learn, became a symbol of surrender, resilience and perseverance. Holding your breath, you dropped the match, but when the result did not satisfy you, you sensed a wave of rage. You wanted more, you needed it all gone from sight and experience. 

“Mingi.”

“Hm?”

“The torch, please.”

“Oh?”

“Please.”

With a silent understanding, Mingi raised the torch, the flames licking eagerly at its edges, and passed it to you. The blade that would slash through it all. The full stop at the end of this turbulent chapter. As you touched the fire to the barn, a crackling symphony echoed through the night. The dry wood, with the base generously coated in gasoline caught quickly, and soon the barn was ablaze, a kaleidoscope of oranges, reds, and yellows against the backdrop of the moonlit fields.

The flames danced with an insatiable hunger, consuming the old wood with a fervour that mirrored the intensity of emotions in the hearts of the witnesses. Shadows flickered and danced on the ground, casting ephemeral images of what once was, each crackle of the fire a poignant reminder of the release happening before your eyes. Mingi turned to you, his eyes reflecting the blaze that mirrored the intensity of his and your emotions. In that poignant moment, the warmth of the fire contrasted with the chill in the night air, echoing the bittersweet nature of letting go.

"We are making room for something new," he whispered before pulling you into a long-awaited kiss, as searing and filled with longing as the soaring flames that illuminated your bodies. The crackling fire served as a cathartic release, and in its glow, you saw promise. As soon as you parted, the two of you rushed to the truck, climbing to take the front seats to admire the masterpiece, not daring to sit apart, holding onto each other through it all.

As the fire continued its dance, the night bore witness to the act of relinquishing the old, a solemn ritual that paved the way to more and more. Together, you and Mingi stood amidst the mesmerising spectacle, your hearts intertwined with the rhythm of the burning, ready to step into the unknown and shape a destiny yet to unfold.

🔥 perma-taglist: @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @starrysvn @shakalakaboomboo @uwuheeseungie @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @innsomniacshinestar @foxinnie8 @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @nebulousbookshelf @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @jaehunnyy @kitten4sannie @maddkitt @ren-junwrld @pyeonghongrie-main @marsstarxhwa @pocketjoong-reads @yeooclock @yeonjunnie @asjkdk @lucky-cat-cafe @northerngalxy @my-loves-my-life @http-gyu

thank you for reading. please do consider leaving a reblog if you enjoyed!

[dnpanimationstudioclone]

Meet Valentino🦋☠️

Meet my take on Valentino! This one took the longest for me to get around to.

Made him a Monarch Butterfly!🦋 I love the whole reverse Predator and Prey thing going on with him and Angel so what if he was a creature that would normally be considered Prey, if it didn’t have its own trick up its sleeve. Poison! ☠️ plus butterflies are often depicted as sweet and pretty, which would really lean into how he puts on a sweet face to hide his true colors.😈Though who’s to say he even is that(wink😉). Made his wings a warm gradient, added some sparkle ✨ and allude subtly to a split heart with the lines and dots💔 @the-burd-lord also pointed out they give off tears💧😢

Gave him a more bug like head, mouth, eyes and only has three fingers.

Gave him heart bent stripes like Angel Dust(@a-sterling-rose shared a cool idea that an overlord can change their contracted souls) wanted it to allude to bee stripes(bees love flowers and make sweet things) and other…striped insects.

Leaned with 70’s, DISCO !!!!!!!🕺🪩💃 Bell bottoms, matching top, PLATFORMS! The whole works! I figure it fits with his timeline a lot and with what he’s usually wearing. Plus he’s def into the club scene.

Replaced his top hat with a heart shaped fedora hat! Adorned it with all kinds of different flowers!!!!! Stuff like roses, Bleeding hearts, milkweed and the big flower he’s wearing is meant to allude to the Cattleya Orchid(Colombias national flower and symbolizes fertility and virility) roses are also very popular there! They even have a holiday around flowers called the “festival of the flowers”!🌼🌹.

For his sleeves wanted to allude to another Colombia flower “devils breath” highly toxic flower and in the same toxic family as the “Angels Trumpet”. Also a street term for the dangerous drug, scopolamine which is derived from the seeds of Borrachero trees, primarily found in South America like Colombia! 🇨🇴

Kept the heart buckle belt his og had but made it hollow. Hollow heart.

Gave him a cane that’s also a disco heart 🪩❤️which may not be able to squeeze out toxic gas and other tricks.

For his color scheme, @the-burd-lord suggested I'd go with RGB theme, colors on display screen(Vox is the leader and a screen) Ngl I was conflicted what colors to go with for the vees(Primary, Red blue purple etc). But then I realized when u mix those colors u get those other colors and then I decided to give the Vees two main color themes for each. One for show, the other their true colors! Val likes to use tropical warm welcoming colors(gold luxury), def still uses red for its sensual vibes….but those kinda colors are also color of many dangerous insects…warning colors⚠️‼️☣️☢️☠️☠️☠️

Made his Heart shades butterfly wing shaped like @lovesart23 did with her Val! Seriously LOVE IT!!!!!!!.

Added a heart on his chain with his initial. Was a gift from Angel Dust💔

Also wears black and white since he’s already very colorful and to appear clean with the white…the darkness often hiding under. Has some green for the leaves and thorns(every rose has its thorns) like how Velvette still wears gold colors for accesory!🍃🌿

My Valentino’s Colombian 🇨🇴 back in the 70’s a lot was happening with Drug trade(Cocaine trade) plus it’s in the warmer area of South America, where many butterflies can be found🦋🦋🦋Monarchs migrate to the south! Also great place for flowers🌹🪻🌸🌺🌷🌻🌼💐🪷

with the flowers also lowkey trying to allude with 60’s-70’s Flower power(he def likes to seem all peace and love) was also the time of the psychedelic era😵‍💫U know he def got that stuff.

Rewrite🦋☠️

Compared to OG he’s def more sly and smooth talking, often Make him ironically the more level headed of the V’s. Have him be able to keep a cool head more, try to covert his true nature, keep things under control. Play into how he likes to try a more pragmatic approach, relying on manipulation and pacifying first before getting violent if he feels like he’s not in control. They say u attract more flies with honey than vinegar afterall. he’s able to put on the charm and sweetness well enough. You do NOT want to get on his scary side…He relies a lot on manipulation but when push comes to shove, he can mess you UP☠️!!!!!!!

Leaning with the poison theme way more!☠️💊🧪.

He doesn’t just do Adult Entertainment, but also a huge drug supplier for Hell, especially for Angel💊. It’s been implied and supposed scrapped ideas and concepts have shown him feeding Angels drug addiction.

Have him be Angels main supplier and often uses his addiction to keep him under his wings, depend on him, likes to feed into it despite how much harm it does for him. He’s basically the embodiment of toxicity/addiction, things that can poison people, can become dangerous addictions and mess people up. He’s basically one of Angel’s most dangerous addictions, the toxic abusive boss/partner☠️

I honestly want him to want NOTHING with Vox’s whole revenge plan with Alastor and his new project…until he also realizes the Princess not only actually wants to help Angel but that Angel ACTUALLY might want to try to QUIT! Than he gets more involved with Vox’s schemes.

Gets his main poison from a special flower from Hell. Similar to how Monarchs get their poison from a certain plant(milkweed) as well as play into how Butterflies feed on nectar🌺🌸 perhaps has the flowers growing all throughout his studio…especially around and maybe even in Angel’s dressing room…

What do u think? How would u redesign Val if u wanted to? I’d love to know💖 I’ve also made the 🌈Hazbin Gang🌈 and his fellow VV’s, Vox & Velvette📺🧶

Oh one more thing…He’s not actually a monarch butterfly. Here’s some totally unrelated pics of wasps(one like the executioner wasp that can be found in warm places, like monarchs, spider wasps(not friendly to spiders) and….some more parasitic types)Warnign scary wasp pics) @the-burd-lord suggested the mandibles for his face(broken heart 💔)

[allloudontheeasternfront]

Everything at Once Part 5

Dieter Hellstrom x Original Fem Character

Btw this is very short! (Part 6 will be up soon as well!!!)

Sorry that this is later and shittier than expected. I had some personal issues to take care of and I kind of straight up procrastinated lmao. Hopefully y'all like it :)))

Warnings: antisemitism, cursing, some implied angst and smut, Dieter is a sad boi, Hans is meanie lol. Again, I do not support Nazis in any shape or form. This is just for the Inglourious Basterds fandom stuff.

.

A few days past and Camille still hasn't heard from Dieter.

Did he forget about her?

Was he hurt?

Did he leave her?

Awful and heartwrenching thoughts clouded Camille's brain. She sat on her rocking chair with a book in her hand, and a self-crocheted blanket on her lap.

Fuck... she thought. Why do I keep thinking about him?

Her mind was flooded with the passion he shared the other night. What would happen if he kept going? Would he be nice?

Her mind then went to the emblems and symbols that scattered that man's uniform. What if he found out? What would he do?

The thought of what Nazis were capable of made her world stop.

Her throat went as dry as sand and tears prickled in her eyes.

Feeling worthless and hopeless, she curled herself in a ball on the chair and weeped.

Why does my first love have to my enemy? She thought.

Eventually the sun would set, people would sleep peacefully and the world would stop turning.

The same evening, Dieter was sat in his god forsaken Gestapo office, going over all the shitty personnel paperwork Hans has so gratefully gifted him.

Asshole.

The personnel paperwork included the Jews and Communists living in the arrondissement in the last ten years that Dieter needs to find and eventually arrest.

Angrily, Dieter flipped over one person's file so roughly it cut the middle of his thumb and index finger.

"Shittttt!" Dieter exclaimed putting the wound to his mouth.

His eyes fell to the paperwork.

The face seemed familiar.

Though in black and white, the long curly hair was a lighter shade, the skin pale, dark lips, light eyes...light doe eyes...

His mind panicked.

Riddled with anxiety, he looked at the person's name...

No.

It cant be.

Robichaux. Camille.

Age 21.

Hair- blonde

Eyes- blue

le septième, Paris.

Owner of Boulangerie François

Jew.

No communist allegations to date.

Father- in custody

Mother- deceased

Unknown family members - possible hiding/ deceased

Other information unavailable.

Dieter's heart was beating out of his chest at a rapid speed. If it was possible, his skin became paler. Nausea and anxiety filled his body.

His thin fingers traced the picture of the young baker... tears threatening to spill.

Stupid waitress...

A part of him wanted to prove himself to Landa. To prove he isnt some dickhead officer who is capable of being promoted. To prove he isnt some desk jockey.

But a very real part of him sunk heavily in his heart, wanted to hide Camille..to shield her from world. Make her safe.

He looked at the giant swatiska flag in the corner of the room. It mocked him. It displayed nothing but hatred and cowardness.

What can I do to protect her?

I am nothing but a uniform controlled by a pompous asshole.

Footsteps woke Dieter out of his saddened daydream. He stood up straight with his arm raised in a salute welcoming his higher up.

Landa...

"So...how is paperwork going along, Dieter old boy?" Hans asked smarmy. "Dont tell you fell asleep again?"

It was one time...

"Negative sir. The missing citizens have been traced." Dieter replied emotionless.

Hans walked over slowly to his desk and saw Camille's documents on full display. He picked it up and sighed.

"Our little baker girl, eh? Who knew he was a dirty jew? Her cafe was so clean." Hans said condescendingly.

Dieter tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

Hans looked at him dead in the face.

"Find her tomorrow."

"But Sir..."

"Do not undermine my authority Hellstrom. I gave you an order."

Dieter sighed...

"Do you understand?" The evil stone cold look on Hans's face was chilling.

"Ja, Standartenführer."

"Gut. Keep working. You're not off until you're done." Hand left the room.

Dieter collapsed in his chair with a loud sigh escaping his lips.

He took Camille's documents in his hands and scared at her face. Studying it.

"I'm sorry..."

He downed his glass of whiskey in one go.

He drifted off to the night were Camille was under him, completely submitted. Dirty thoughts clouded his brain space. Her quiet sighs, her soft skin below his fingers, her eyes looking into his...his uniform pants got tight all of a sudden.

He looked at the documents once more. His eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

What if I lie to Landa...everyone lies to the prick so why cant I?

A plan was now in progress for Hellstrom.

He folded up Camilles paper and secretly stuck them in this coat pocket. He grabbed the main "Jew" paper and found her name.

After rummaging through his drawers he found white ink. Carefully and surely erasing Camilles name until there was nothing but a clear white line above the black ink. He blew on the paper to dry for safe measurement. Dieter smiled at himself, feeling accomplished.

But a real feel of crippling guilt creeped in him...

To be continued...

@whore4waltz @rurivu @xoxocillian @fridaycanbesadsometimes @racheljo47 @whitechoc135 @officerh4t @blueberrypancakesworld @hanslandasstrudel @gentlemenashortviewbacktothepast

(Lemme know if u wanna be tagged.)

[elderberries-and-honey]

After inheriting the Bloomsburg fortune, mountains of paperwork and signing legal forms, Lawrence and Winifred decided to sell the farm and move to Ireland permanently. And with the help of Captain Murphy and Marmee in Queenstown, they found what they believed would be the perfect home to raise their family in.  

Day after day, they packed away their away belongings and planned to sell the rest, a daily reminder that they were really moving forward with this plan. Both of them were more than ready to take this next step in their lives together, but naturally, saying goodbye was the hardest part - to their loved ones and their home.

Breaking the news to Valerie was the most difficult of all. She was the closest thing Lawrence had to a mother after his own had passed away and he knew she would be most resistant of all.

"But why? Are you not happy with your life here?" She asked, sarcasm hidden within the question. Valerie was 'old-fashioned' in some of her beliefs, and she couldn't wrap her mind around how much Lawrence had been struggling lately.

He tried to be gentle with her, explaining how lousy he had been feeling and how much he longed for less working hours. "You've heard about the railroad strikes, haven't you? The world is changing, Val. Everyone is exhausted, and I have to try and make my own way. For me, for my family!"

They bickered back and forth for a good long while, Valerie finding a counter for every argument Lawrence tried to make. But he made sure to hold his ground, showing her that there was no changing his mind, and it was useless to try. And he hoped that maybe, just maybe, she would understand someday that he was right to leave.

“Oh, my boy, it will break my heart to see you go.” She told him, only realising how true it was when she said the words out loud. “But I know your mother would be proud.” 

He was not prepared to see her weep, as she was always quick to hide her pain with a drink or a quick-witted joke. He pulled her into his arms, holding her steady before whispering, “Thank you for everything, Valerie.”

Lawrence wasn't the only who was struggling to say goodbye. Winifred had been agonizing over leaving the place where their daughter had been laid to rest eternally.

A few days before they were set to board the ship that would take them to begin their new life, Winifred made her way to the cemetery preparing for a tearful farewell.

But as she sat in the grass amongst the bramble and worn headstones, she appreciated the stillness and quiet of the graveyard. When they had first buried Flora there, Lawrence had planted a few flowers that would grow back each Spring, living on past the years their daughter never would.

At first, Winifred couldn't stand the thought of it, but on that day, she found herself admiring their colorful petals, grateful for her husband's wisdom in knowing how much it would mean later on.

The grief that had once been all-consuming had slowly become background noise and taken a new shape in her life. As she sat there now, warm wind blowing through her hair, and the summer sun kissing her cheeks, she knew that it was her daughter’s presence surrounding her. She would carry the feeling inside her heart forever, no matter how far away they ventured.

On their last night in the house, they gathered their family around to watch the sunset over the hills of Wales’ countryside one last time, the sky brilliant shades of vibrant oranges and pale pinks over their heads. There was a melancholy feeling amongst them, a sad sweetness lingering there. It seemed symbolic, to watch the sun bid them farewell, and the moon guide them into the night, similar to how they felt heading towards the unknown. 

But, there was no fear in their uncertainty of the future, only hope. After all, they had each other, and that was truly all that mattered.

next / previous / first

[acaaai-t]

resurface, my love

00. eyes on you

[fem! reader x villain! scaramouche]

cw: mentions of bombs, terrorists attacks, dead bodies, a tiny sprinkle of both fluff and angst, kissing scene, mild cursing

Where did it all start?

When did all this happen?

Why you?

…

Scaramouche is pretty.

Yet his prettiness doesn’t match up with his aggravating personality. It was no wonder why he was always seen alone by himself.

In a way, you pitied him. Maybe that’s what drove your 8 year old self to approach the lone boy.

Grasping your boxed lunch in your tiny hands, you hopped onto the available seat next to the purple hair boy and set your bento down. He gave you a weird look, but said nothing.

You clasped your hands together and muttered a quick thank you before opening your lunch, revealing a row of egg and ham sandwiches neatly tucked against each other.

You picked up a sandwich and offered it to him. “Want one?”

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “I don’t like ham,” he said.

“Where’s your lunch? Won’t you be hungry?”

“I don’t bring lunch, and no, I won’t get hungry,” he grumbled, annoyed by your questions.

You rolled your eyes and stuffed a bite of the sandwich into your mouth. “Whatever,” you muttered.

The next day, you brought in two separate lunches, each wrapped up in a different color cloth— one in royal purple, one in a sage green. When lunchtime finally came around, you immediately set out to find Scaramouche.

It took a bit of searching, but eventually you found the grumpy little boy hiding up on a tree secluded from others.

“Hey!” you shouted, waving to the small figure sitting on the tree.

No reply.

“Hey I brought you lunch!” you tried again, yet it was as if he was purposefully ignoring your presence.

“Oh whatever, I’ll just leave it here,” you said, setting down the purple bento by the base of the tree. “Just make sure to return the lunchbox to me by the end of the day.”

And with that, you ran off, nearly tripping over the sticks that litter the grass.

Scaramouche kept his eyes trained on your figure as you run off, all until you disappear under the blinding sunlight. It was only then did he slowly climbed down from the tree to retrieve the lunch you left him.

He hesitated. Nobody had ever treated him this nicely before, there must be a catch to this. There’s always a catch. His grip on the lunchbox tightened.

It would be a pity to let the food go to waste, but what if it’s all a trap? he stood there, his thoughts running wild. His self-consciousness— and his stomach, called for him to accept the food, yet another part of him screamed for him to throw it away.

In the end he gave in and took a seat under the shade of the tree, the cloth already unwrapped and folded neatly to the side. A slip of paper sat upon the bento— a note from you.

“HI. I wasn’t sure what you liked, but I did put some of my favorites in there. Enjoy your lunch :D”

He set the note aside and opened his lunch. His heart skipped a beat and his face flushed a light shade of pink.

You had made him a bento lunch art. Never in his life did he ever received something like this. It was so childish and so embarrassing.

It was a bunch of miniature rice pandas scattered about with egg rolls acting as flowers. Diced strawberries drizzled with dark chocolate sit in a small plastic container in the corner. There were tiny sausages sculpted in the shape of a octopus right next to the pandas. Sliced cucumbers laid aptly to the side, paired with two cherry tomatoes cut in half.

He nearly teared up. Despite how the art looked like it was made not by your parents but by yourself, he realized that nobody had ever put so much effort into him before.

He almost didn’t want to ruin it.

When classes had finally end, you skipped back to your seat with your friends still chattering as they followed. There sitting on your desk was your other bento box, neatly wrapped in the royal purple cloth. Laying on top of the bento was a folded piece of paper. You picked up the note.

A small thanks was hastily scribbled on with terrible handwriting. You smiled.

From then on it became a routine.

Everyday you would come in to school with an extra lunchbox to give to him, and everyday after school he would return the empty lunchbox back to you. Sometimes you’ll find a snack with a note, sometimes it’ll be a keychain.

Scaramouche never approached you directly to give his thanks, but you felt that an empty lunchbox and his small gifts was already more than enough.

This habit continued all the way through elementary and into your last year of high school. By then your collection of keychains had significantly grew. From a cat keychain to a air conditioner keychain— whatever it may be, there’s a chance that Scaramouche had gifted it to you already.

“Yoi look at what he gave me this time,” you giggled, dangling a badly drawn George Washington keychain in your hands.

Yoimiya stared at the keyring, dumbfounded. “That… how did he even find that? No, where did he even find that?”

You laughed. “He has his ways.”

Fire. Screams.

The sound of the late bell echoed through halls. You found yourself running around different classrooms, searching for Scaramouche.

“Where did Scara go?” you muttered angrily.

“Oh Scaramouche? He left early today,” your seatmate, Lumine, said.

“Already? He hasn’t given me my lunchbox yet…”

…

Where did your title as a hero come from?

“Hurry this way!” your voice hushed, urgency laced within.

Another explosion rocked the entire building, and you stumbled, just barely catching yourself. Your felt the grip on your hand slackened. Fear took a hold of your heart when your hand closed around nothing but the ashy air.

Immediately you turned back, adrenaline coursing through you as you search amongst the rubble and corpses. A faint glint of a jewelry caught your eyes. Nearly tripping over yourself, you scrambled over, taking a hold of the little girls hand once again before running for the exit. You didn’t dare look back, for you knew what awaits you. The walls collapsing one after another as the roaring flames blazes through.

A fiery death.

Shredded newspaper littered your room. Remnants of articles lay in the corner of your room in a pile of ash. Angry slashes marked the walls. Clothes a-strewn, curtain torn apart— the window shattered and boarded up. Noises of a news report filled the silence of your room, its voices blurring into static.

It mimicked your feelings.

A torrent of unquelled fury, one that screamed, raged.

A terrorist attack.

That was what the media called it. It was still unsure who was behind this attack despite the many claims as to who had done it. Proofs in form of photographs or surveillance videos of said suspect were all either too blurry to fully depict or it was just really badly edited.

During the attack, you had stayed behind while the bombs shook the building and the fire raged. And you ran, covered in ash and debris, carrying a unconscious girl in all the while leading a group of survivors— all the way until the promise of a safe haven was in sight.

Perhaps that rescue was what gave you the title as a hero, although for you— you didn’t deserve all that fame and glory.

In fact you hated it.

It was the media’s fault.

They had painted you as a hero, yet they had washed Scaramouche as the one that was behind the attacks. It was because of them that the public now flamed him as a villain.

They had painted an innocent bystander in red all because they needed a scapegoat, someone to shift the blame to because the police couldn’t do their damn job properly.

Had you known this would’ve been the outcome, you would’ve never cared for the lives still ghosting the halls.

Had you known, you would’ve just let them burn.

“Eye witnesses claimed that it was this… boy, who had done such atrocious acts. Any word on it, Ma—”

Click.

“It was terrifying… the look in his eyes. It.. was murderous, like he wanted everyone to burn. If it wasn’t for her, I would’ve have been able to escape…” her voice broke off into a sob. You switched the channel again.

“WANTED ALIVE—”

You threw the remote control at the television in a fit of rage, the screen immediately going blank. You didn’t care. It only adds on to your canvas of unfolding bitterness.

Your phone rang again. A string of calls and messages you chose to ignore. It’d been days since you’ve stepped out from your house, let alone answer any of the calls and messages.

A loud abrupt knock to your door jolt you out from your trance. You draped a light blanket over yourself and went to answer the door.

There standing in all his former and glory, was none other than Scaramouche himself.

Your breath hitched and the blanket slipped.

“Hey idiot,” he smiled, something he claimed to reserve only for you. “Mind letting me in?”

…

You pushed the piles of dirty dishes from the counter into the sink, not caring whether it breaks or not. The once quiet house was filled with the noises of dishes clanking against each other and Scaramouche— who was rummaging through the pile of buildup items.

“Quite the mess you’ve got,” he muses, holding up a piece of a broken mug.

“Where the hell have you been? I was worried sick,” you said, filling up a tea kettle with water.

“Hiding,” he simply replied.

“You didn’t attack the school, so why would you take the blame for it?” you slammed the kettle down onto the stovetop.

Scaramouche shrugged and plopped down on your couch.

“Now everyone is after you,” you continued, turning to face him. “And they even expect me to find you and bring you to the police.”

“They can’t find me, they won’t be able to,” Scaramouche said. “I’d say I’ve been hiding pretty well for these past few days.”

“And you didn’t even tell me? I was worried sick—” your voice broke off, hot tears welling up in the corner of your eyes.

Scaramouche could only sigh as he got off the couch. He came up to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, his body leaning against yours. “I’m sorry,” he said, resting his chin on your head.

A tear slipped.

“Don’t cry,” he mumbled.

You broke, pushing your full weight against Scaramouche as sobs racked through your body. He brought a hand up to your head, gently tussling through your hair— the only source of comfort he could bring for now.

Why me?

Why him?

“I hate you,” you said, your fists weakly hitting his chest. “I hate you so much…”

He swiped a tear away. It was futile. The storm had already begun. “Hey…”

You sniffed, wiping the tears off your face.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

You looked up, his purple eyes meeting yours. His thumb brushed against your lips, his face impossibly close to you. You could see every angle of his face, all the flawless imperfections he tries to hide. A light shade of pink dusted his cheeks.

“May I?”

All it took was a small nod from you for him to capture your lips in a kiss. A slow passionate kiss. Time slowed down. You felt the blood rush up to your head, your heart pounding against your chest.

His lips was soft, you noted, and slightly tasted like chocolate— could it be from the chapstick you gifted him before? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. It was only you and him and that was enough. You closed your eyes and deepened the kiss, lacing your arms around his neck.

It was electrifying— your back arching against the counter and him pressed on top of you.

It felt so wrong yet so right at the same time.

He was the first to break the kiss. You already missed the taste of his lips against yours.

“It’ll be okay, I’ll be back. I promise,” he murmured.

In the kitchen, just two to-be graduates, confessing their unspoken feelings not through words, but with their action. Feelings that amassed over the years, finally spilled.

“You promise?”

It was on that faithful night that your relationship with him blossomed into something more intimate.

“I promise.”

It was also on that faithful night that he left.

He’d disappeared, no words— he left nothing.

Not a single trace.

You had foreseen this coming, yet you didn’t realize how much it hurts to have him gone. More often than not, you found yourself unconsciously making an extra bento box for him. More often than not, will you take out everything he had ever given you and stare at it for the hours to come.

The painful pang in your heart was a constant reminder that he’s gone.

He’s gone.

Perhaps his disappearance was what encouraged you to major in criminology and criminal justice after you graduated. It was your fuel of both determination and delusions.

Years passed by in a flash, and before you could even process everything that had happened, you found yourself with a position as a detective in Tenryo Detective Firm.

Yet even after all those years, you haven’t seen or heard from Scaramouche. The last time the two of you had ever interacted was when nearly four years ago, when he had promised you that he’ll be back. And even despite the fact that you’ve been waiting for his presence for year on end, your feelings for him never wavered. You still firmly held onto the promise he had made you, after all Scaramouche is a man that never goes back on his words.

Even if you had to keep waiting. But that’s okay— you’re patient.

“Hey hero, got anything?” Heizou asked, poking his head into your office.

You groaned— both at the stupid nickname and the frustration building up. “Heizou stop with that ugly name, and no, haven’t gotten anything yet. I swear, I’m going to bash my head into the wall.”

“Ahah, I don’t think Sara would like that our hero tries to kill herself. Besides, I’ve got good news. You just got a small tip about the case you’re working on.”

You immediately sat upright in your chair. “What?! When? How come I was just informed of this?”

“The tip just came in, come on, Sara’s telling you to check it out it,” Heizou said, disappearing as he turned away.

You got up from your chair and flung your jacket over your shoulder. “Hold on wait for me! Heizou!”

Hero.

That nickname always brought up unpleasant memories.

Hero.

Solving cases, catching criminals, helping people. It’s what you’ve been doing ever since you graduated, long before the Tenryo Detective Firm took you in.

Could you even be considered a hero?

Gaining a position in this type of job was what allowed you to figure who the real arsonist was behind that attack. But even after the truth had come to light, it was by far, still too late. The damage had already been done, the paint cannot be washed away.

A light breeze from your office window blew at your orderly pile of documents, a couple pages fluttering to the side just as the door closed behind you with a loud slam, your voice screaming for Heizou quickly fading away.

It was silent in your office.

Two sparrows flew to perch on your windowsill, their loud chirps indefinitely breaking the silence. They weren’t staying for long before they flew off— perhaps something had spooked them.

A figure emerged out from the shadows. They scanned their surroundings around for any onlookers, and when they’d made sure that was nobody, they slowly approached your window. With quick and precise movements, they unlatched the window screen lock and slipped in unnoticed.

“I’m in, what now?”

“Get all the documents regarding him.”

“On it.”

They moved with ease, gliding around as they searched through shelves, drawers, anywhere for the required documents. A locked drawer in the corner of your office caught their eyes, and it wasn’t long before the lock was popped off— revealing the stack of documents you’d classified as “IMPORTANT.”

A quick sift through the papers confirmed his needs. “Think I may have found it.”

“Good, did you gather information regarding her too?”

“Hold on, let me check… yeah I think I’ve got that too.”

“Okay, now get out of there. She’s coming back.”

“One moment…”

They carefully stored the documents into their bag and began fiddling with the lock before latching it back onto the drawer. To avoid arousing any suspicion, they had also arranged the room to the way it was exactly how it was before. Books were pushed back into the shelves, the documents on your desk were neatly stacked, thick folders filled with random case documents were inserted back into their original drawers.

Your voice traveling down alerted them. Giving the office one last look, they opened the window and hastily jumped out.

A tiny pin with their insignia fell onto the floor with a quiet clink.

The window dropped shut just as you pushed open the door with Heizou trailing right behind you.

“What kind of tip was that?” you exclaimed. “That was a utter waste of time.”

Heizou shook his head and sighed. “Twisted sense of humor, hate them.”

You plopped down on your chair and spun around. “Riddle this, riddle that. Now I have to stay up to decipher that stupid code. If it’s some dumb message like, ‘I like ice-cream,’ I’m gonna strangle someone.”

“I’ll just leave it on your desk,” Heizou hummed. “I have another case I need to catch. Heard they’ve got a new lead.”

“Finally a new lead for you,” you rolled your eyes. “It’s been weeks.”

“I better come back with a closed case.”

“Come back?” you echoed. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Yeah, they found the new lead in the city of Watasumi, so they’re asking me to travel there to further investigate it,” he replied. “I’m going to pack my bags, see you next week!”

“Have fun! Don’t die.”

“I’ll try not to,” Heizou grinned. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

You reached for the small slip of paper Heizou had left on the corner of your desk. Scribbled on it was a string of random code. By no means was this discovery unfamiliar to you. Throughout your career, you’ve dealt with far too many undeciphered codes. And you’ve managed to break through it each time.

This looks easy.

You turned on your monitor and set to work immediately.

When the sun had dipped far below the horizon, when the glow of the moonlight shone into your office— you were still clacking away on your computer, muttering nonsense to yourself as you racked your brain trying to break the code.

The clocked ticked on.

“If delta means this… then hexa should be this… oh shit that’s what it means? Wouldn’t that also change the way hexa is translated? Oh my god… do I really need that again?… fuck I do.”

Groaning loudly, you pushed your chair over to where your locked cabinet is. Your keys clinked against each other as you pushed a small silver key into the lock hole— where all your important files were supposed to be stored.

All the files regarding the disappearance of Scaramouche— and all the documents you’ve written about the various code you’ve solved.

Gone.

Where the fuck did it go?

You stood up, panic prickling at you.

“I didn’t misplaced it right?” you muttered to yourself.

So you searched. Every shelf, every corner, every nook and cranny. You took out folders packed full of other documents and sorted through each one individually, yet even after all the endeavor put into it, you just couldn’t find it.

Dawn was quickly approaching.

You sat back down on your chair— sinking into the plush and took in slow deep breaths in an effort to calm your erratic heartbeat.

Maybe a co-worker took it. But they couldn’t had the keys to it…

You blanked out, lost in your thoughts. A sudden minor detail caught your eyes. You frowned.

When did I close the window?

You got up from your chair, only then a sudden flash of red on your monitor screen recaptured your attention. You sat back down and turned to face the screen, but it seemingly returned back to normal… no, something was wrong.

Your contents had changed, for a canvas of white had replaced the endless amount of tabs you’d opened beforehand. Slowly, words began to format, each letter slowly appearing.

The first rays of the morning sun peeked through your window, consuming the shadows of your office. It was quiet, the only source of sound being your quickened breathing.

Your stomach dropped. You stared at the screen, the cold grasp of fear slowly worming its way into your heart.

It’s over, the eyes watches— it knows.

The clock stopped ticking. The slip of paper on your desk, long forgotten.

series m.list || next

synopsis— [✩]

— you, the hero, disappears overnight, and the only person who looks is the villain. Not your friends, not your family, not the news reporter or any of the people who claimed to love you. Just him, Scaramouche, the very same person who claimed to hate you.

notes— [✩]

— this chapter was meant to be a quick run through from the beginning of you and Scara’s relationship to the “end.” hopefully this hero x villain dynamic makes sense lol 🙏 (the ending kinda sucked ngl)

taglist— [✩`·CLOSED]

@akairaindrops @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @elernity @shayewrites @angel-suicides @magica-ren @kyouzki @nana-bri @avxntxrine @bleedingwhiteroses222 @rainingduringsummer @darthvada @dan9a-00 @omgblade-starrail @kichiyoshi @inufinuf @vvyeislazzy

[sweetrottenendings]

"The Truth of Us"

Lawrence Oleander x GN AFAB!Reader NSF/W

TWs/Tags: Dead Dove, Blood, Wound opening(/fingering kinda), pretty tame ngl but it's Lawrence so be warned lol

Idk how I feel but I'm still gettin used to it lols writing smut is confusing

Lawrence has always been obsessed with your body- it's been clear since he took you and proceeded to fondle your spine, groping each vertebrae. He’s smitten with your heart especially, the way it pumps blood throughout you, the sounds it makes when he listens close enough. Those hands of his often press against where it would be on your chest, rambling about how desperately he wants to grab it- feel the wet organ squirm as he tears it out. You used to think he actually would, he honestly might have at the beginning- but he’s come to love you too much. The connection you two share is one he will never find again in life or death, there’s no way he can let that go just yet.

He lets out a shaky breath, tracing the pattern of a heart (the actual organ, not the cutesy shape we associate with it) with trembling fingers. “It would be so delicate.” He whispers. “I wish I could just reach into you and squeeze.” Although quiet, he no longer stutters when he speaks to you- coming to feel some confidence, considering the power he holds over you. Warmth floods your gut as he fawns, a sick lust bubbling in your soul. He’s really made you into a sick freak, hasn’t he? Anything to make life with him better, you suppose.

You let out a sigh as his hands reach to grip at your waist, rubbing the flesh between his fingers and pressing hard enough to bruise. His cheeks are a gentle shade of pink when he leans in to kiss you with chapped lips and you allow yourself to soften into it. He’s never really become good at kissing, his motions are always uncoordinated and sloppy with the occasional clashing of teeth- but that’s how you like it. The truths of his love fumble out with those kisses in which he can never bring himself to hide them, he’s so smitten that he can only meld his lips into yours like that of a schoolboy with his first partner. 

A hand reaches back up to that spot on your chest, he digs his nails into it and rubs at the marks.

“Would your heart taste sweet?” He muses, slightly breathless. “I can just imagine it- fuck I need it so bad-” A sweet whimper spills from him, his eyebrows furrowing as he imagines the taste of the wet, squishy organ on his tongue. You shiver at his words, imagining it yourself too. Although logically it isn’t possible- the idea of watching him take large bites out of your heart makes the budding arousal throb harder. The closest thing you can get right now is the awkward meshing of your tongues, you swirl them together causing drool to pool down your chins. Sticky, messy- everything Lawrence isn't but sometimes, he'll indulge with you. He just adores you so dearly in his fucked up little brain.

He pins your hands above your head (the hands you proved yourself worthy of keeping, thankfully) in a swift movement. With deeply blushed cheeks and lidded eyes he pants, chest heaving with each intake of breath. He's oh so beautiful, in all of who he is and it makes you so needy. Your legs are nudged apart with his knees so they lay gently around his waist. The aching length of his cock grinds into your core through each other's clothes and he whimpers at the contact, while you let out a breathy sigh.

“Mmph- I wish I could tear you open” He lets out a shaky sigh. “and just, lick every organ you've got.” The gory, lewd image causes his grip on you to tighten. You desperately lift your head up for another kiss, always so desperate to feel his lips on yours. He only indulges you with a peck before lifting the shirt you wear– the only clothing you really have besides underwear. Lawrence likes the vulnerability of it, but gets too flustered if you're completely nude, so it's a compromise.

As he lets go of your wrists you reach out to him, wanting him to follow suit in terms of nudity. He hesitates, he always does, still insecure in his body despite how much you love it.

“Please Law…” You whine, as sweetly as you can. “wanna see you, please?” 

He lets out an exasperated sigh, like you're a child asking for a second sweet, and lifts his shirt over his head. His skin has that slightly grey tinge, like it's had the life sapped from it (which technically it has.) and you stare at him in awe. You'll never get tired of seeing him- just as he'll never get tired of seeing you.

A hand goes to your left breast, grabbing what he can of the soft flesh and kneading it causing you to moan softly. He used to hate when you made any sound, frightened by having a partner that's responsive, but over time he's come to enjoy it. However you can't be too loud, it still irritates him- keep the volume just right and he'll be throbbing within you. “So soft…” He coos, gazing gently at you. “always so soft, squishy, fragile.” He giggles, leaning his face to yours, you feel his breath fan your lips.

“My fragile little flower, you wilt so easily don't you?” He asks with a hum, but he doesn't want an answer. He pinches the already hardened bud that is your nipple between his fingers roughly. It makes you squirm in pain, which makes him shiver in delight. The hand not in use slowly travels down your body, groping any flesh he can get his hands on. Your stomach, waist, hips- he grabs every part of you excitedly before sliding down to your panties where he feels the soaked patch you left. He groans, “Always so wet and needy.” A finger slowly begins to rub where your clit would be in little circles, and he relishes the small moans you let out. 

“You really are a flower, huh? So pretty, fragile and desperate for attention at every given moment~” He sighs wistfully, “And so dumb, no brains at all.” Although you feel ashamed, the mockery makes you throb with need. There's something about being so pathetic that you're compared to a plant that you enjoy- maybe it's the idea of needing to rely on him, forever. 

Both of his hands move to the waistband of your underwear, slowly peeling them down so he can see the way your slick leaves a little string between you and the fabric. His nails scratch you as he removes them, leaving little marks along his path. You try to cover your face out of embarrassment but a hand to your throat stops the motion.

“Don't you dare.” His voice comes out in a growl, filled with rage at the mere prospect of hiding from him. “Keep your eyes on me.” 

Without warning he's suddenly knuckles deep with two fingers in your pussy and you let out a gasp. He fingers you aggressively, nails occasionally scraping on the sensitive flesh of your inner walls. It hurts, it hurts so good. It makes you writhe and arch your back, squealing at the sensation when he curls his fingers to hit that spongy spot inside of you. 

“Law-” You gasp, words coming out between harsh breaths. “Need to- can I- please-”

He scowls, covering your mouth and quickening the pace of his fingers. “Be quiet.” 

He removes the hand and takes advantage of the space your arched back has made. He reaches around to it- the wound that encapsulates everything the two of you are. He prods at the wound on your spine, and digs his fingers into it until it splits- you scream. It hurts so fucking bad- and it makes you cum all over his fingers. The pain, the pleasure- Lawrence. It's just too much, and makes you a convulsing, trembling mess.

“You can never keep quiet can you?” He taunts, voice filled with rage which you can't tell if it's genuine or fake. “Always so loud, maybe I should cut your tongue and shut you up.” Your heart pumps with fear, but you know he'd never do it. Not now, when he's developed an affection for your voice that he didn't have before.

He withdraws his fingers from your cunt, covered with your cum and a few droplets of blood. The fingers go into his mouth and he swirls his tongue around them, savouring the taste in silence before hitching your legs onto his shoulders. The tip of his aching, leaking cock drags along your slit, coating it in the remnants of your orgasm. He moans at the sensation, prodding your clit with his tip and bucking into it slightly. You whine at the teasing, and he grips your jaw harshly. 

“Quiet.” You finally listen to him, managing to gather yourself enough to lower your sounds into near whispers. He visibly relaxes at this, smiling at your obedience. “Good, my sweet flower.”

His cock is sheathed into you with one fluid motion, pressed so deeply it nearly kisses your cervix.

“Warm- you’re always so warm-” He drawls, little bits of drool dripping from his lips. The warmth of your body has always made him break, it’s the only warm body he’s ever fucked- ever will fuck. You bite your lower lip to prevent from yelping, drawing blood which Lawrence lowers his tongue to so he can lick it up. He moans at how your blood tastes, and reaches back around to your open spinal wound to get more. You hadn't noticed due to all the sensations but there was a lot of blood- you’d be okay, but it wouldn't seem like it at a first glance. He dips his fingers into it, prodding as close to the vertebrae as he can. Your eyes water and you have to force yourself not to scream. Then bringing his fingers back to his lips. He laps at your blood like it's the sweetest treat he could ever find (It probably is.) and he lets out a languid moan as he practically fingers his own mouth.

“Fuck, I could just-” A shuddering breath, and muffled speaking. “I could just drink you dry.” He finally begins to thrust, fingers still deep in his mouth. It’s immediately fast, hard, aggressive- every strong emotion Lawrence can muster comes out when he fucks you. The confidence he’s found over time has made him a violent man to fuck, just like his violence in day to day life. Tears stream freely down your cheeks as you desperately try to keep your moans quiet, cute whines slipping out that he smiles at. You’re overstimulated, your senses are flooded and there's no escape because all there is is Lawrence. 

His dingy bed creaks with every thrust, the squeaks of the springs ringing in your ears in a way that makes you squirm. It’s an awful sound, but you'll put up with it if it means you get to see him like this. Lost in pleasure, lost in you and lapping your blood like it's a drug. Quickly another knot builds and you curl your toes in a desperate attempt to not fall apart just yet. The way you tighten around his cock makes him whine and fuck you faster, his hips stuttering as he comes closer to the edge. You want to cum with him, so you'll hold back as long as you can.

“Fuck- haah- ‘m close,” He groans, blue eyes staring deeply into your own eyes. “G-gonna cum, you’re gonna t-take it all yeah?” He begins to stutter as he gets closer, voice betraying the confidence he portrays. You nod desperately, “Yes! Please Lawrence- fuck!-” A squeal erupts from your throat as you cum, unable to hold back any longer. Although loud, he doesn't seem to mind it this time as the feeling of your orgasm sends him into his own. His body presses close against yours as he spills into you, pumping every drop of his seed as deep as he can. “T-that’s it- take it all-” Hot breath fans your face as he speaks, his eyes locked deep into yours. Blue is all you see, sinking you deep into his soul. (If he still has one.)

You both slowly relax after the post-orgasmic bliss settles. His body falls to lay on top of you, arms wrapped around you as he traces his fingers up to play with your spine once more. It’s not sexual now, instead it's like comfort to him. Feeling your flesh, your bones, the delicate curve of your spine. It hurts, but you instead focus on the comfort that is snuggling into his sweaty chest. He’ll fix you up later, give you some tea to make you relax. 

Maybe this is what you were made for.

[strayflowersstarsandlove]

𝙴𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚆𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚝 - a Han Jisung short au!fanfic

PART 6

💫PART 7💫

Another sleepless night. Another day. Another bleary morning where you slip into your routine. Go to work, come back home, heat up some ultra processed canned meal, another groundhog day feeling like a crazy person over the radio silence on Han's side.

It's 6.30 pm and you're restless. You barely pick at the spaghetti in your bowl and dial up the same number once again, it goes to voicemail, predictably. Shit. Fuck. You groan and spring to your feet.

This has to end, you can't go on like this. It's not something you've ever thought you'd ever do but here you are, turning on the ignition and speeding down the road, headed to Han's apartment. He has to talk to you. He has to face this. Your heart needs to be put to a rest or else you're going to implode.

You spend the whole 35 minuets drive mentally preparing for the moment you'll see him, going over and over your speech as it frantically forms in your head with every mile you drive. As soon as you pull up to his driveway your mouth goes dry. Every single thought in your head disappears and you're just climbing out of your car and waking up to his door by pure inertia, your brain empty, your instincts kicking in, driven by mere impulsiveness.

You ring the bell a few times, impatiently knock on his door as well, silently praying no other resident will walk up on you looking like a dishevelled lunatic who didn't even bother changing out of her fuzzy pink sweats and battered Uggs boots. No answer. You helplessly look around the hallway. Looking for God knows what kind of signal he might have left.

For all you know he might be hiding inside, refusing to acknowledge you cause he's being a coward. "Han Jisung please open this fucking door", you exclaim once, frustratedly knocking a few more times, to no avail. You try to press your ear to the hard, reinforced surface of the door, trying to listen to any noise that might be coming from the inside. But you hear nothing.

Eyeing the little pass code activated electronic lock on the side, the wild, deranged thought of punching in a random code flashes in your mind but you immediately hold yourself back from even trying to hover your hand above the touch pad.

An old lady with a lovely bouquet of pink flowers and a white crocheted cat shaped bag walks past you, she smiles politely at you and greets you briefly, and you try your best to look casual, bowing slightly to her in greeting, "are you waiting for your friend, darling?", she asks curiously, stopping before her door, "y-yeah, he lives here, we were supposed to meet a few minutes ago but I guess he might be... napping?", you blurt out, a deep shaded of pink creeping up your cheeks.

The nice lady purses her lips and taps her chin cutely, lively eyes lighting up in realisation once she gives the door to Han's apartment a quick glance over," ah! The nice young man with the the bright smile! What a lovely boy he is, I think he left a few days ago with another handsome fellow, he had a little packet of cat food with him, he even gave it to my little darling, Mee", she elaborates, opening the door to her apartment, a white fluffy cat with green eyes peeking out from the door frame.

You weren't going to get a speeding ticket on a regular thursday night but your foot did push down dangerously hard onto your gas pedal more than once. Minho didn't even live that far from Han but the urge you felt rushing through your veins made you drive there almost too exceedingly fast.

With sweaty palms and wobbly legs, you climb out of the car and walk up to the doorbell, ringing twice: this is the moment, you think. Here goes nothing, he's either going to yell at you for basically stalking him or break down into tears cause he realised he missed you. Though that might just be your sleep deprived brain talking.

Minho curses under his breath and scrambles to the door, his face falling the second he sees you standing there behind the gate, eyes bloodshot and watery, your whole demeanor so subdued and miserable: "y/n? What are you doing here?", he doesn't wait for your answer, instead he just opens the gate with a click of a button on his front door video intercom and then quickly walks up to you.

It's not properly disappointment the emotion you're feeling right now but it's still somewhat resembling the feeling of being let down, even though you know you did it all on yourself, this isn't a movie or a novel, happy endings just don't write themselves like that.

Minho approaches you cautiously, concern written all over his face, big eyes poring into yours as he nears your trembling body: "is he here? Please tell me he's here and he's okay", is all you can say before the floodgates open and you're overcome with rugged breaths and loud cries.

The dark haired boy hesitates, he reaches out to pat your hair gently, his voice soft and whispery, "it's alright, y/n, it's alright", he coos, "he is here. He's basically been camping here for the past week and a half. He's sleeping right now. I can't even access my own bed room cause he moved himself in there and won't get out", he tries, slipping a soft giggle in his words.

Meager relief, at least you know he's not completely shutting everyone out. You knew Han well enough to know he knew how to keep a grudge when upset but mostly, you knew he sometimes despised his head enough to get lost in it and let it swallow him up to the point where he didn't let anyone in.

Minho's perceptiveness pleasantly surprises you when he motions for you to give him a little side hug, like he knew you needed that, even though he's not that into physical closeness like that, "I've been looking after him, he's eating his meals and getting all the sleep. I know you're wondering if he's beating himself up over what he did: he is. He hasn't been very kind to himself, I'm sure if he feels bad you must feel ten times worse. For what is worth, I'm sorry, little one", he says calmly, using his fingers to dab away at tears still pooling in the corners of your eyes.

You nod quietly and sniffle, "I-thank you. He-he's been ignoring me for days I thought he was... I thought he was mad at me and mad at himself and maybe not doing so good and I'm-I'm going insane, Min. I need him. I need to talk to him and I need to talk to Felix and I can't do either and it feels like I'm loosing it", you ramble, feeling the sting of the fresh unshed tears beading beneath your lashes.

Minho nods in understanding and pats your head, "he's not mad at you. He never was. You know how he can be sometimes, a little too impulsive. He's been agonizing over you for so long he just combusted that night. I might have suggested to him to act fast if he cared enough about you and about his sanity the most, I had no idea he would straight up confess and break the news over Yongbokie, that wasn't his place to do that, but I believe he did so cause he's genuinely, madly in love with you, he was really on his last resort".

He's is in love with you. It's not even the first time you hear that, Han said it himself. Yet the weight of those words still crushes your soul in the best way possible. It makes your heart pound so hard in your chest it physically hurts. What about Felix though. His spirit would certainly be destroyed if he knew about any of this.

You ponder on your words for a second, your eyes focusing in the distance first, on the bedroom window in the front part of the house where you know Han is sleeping. "I feel like... I feel like I've been blind this whole time, and now there's too many colors and the lights are too bright and I can't see clear. I want to say I'm in love with him too, but I can't shake the heaviness from my heart, cause Felix is my best friend... no offense", "none taken", Minho chuckles, rubbing your arm slightly.

"You'll be okay, you'll figure it out. If the both of your are serious enough about your feelings for each other and the mutual respect for our blue haired angel, you'll find a way to coexist with that heaviness. But you need to face it together".

A few more days go by. They all kind of merge one into another. You try to send Felix funny memes and have basic conversations here and there but it feels like play pretend all the while. You're sure he can tell you're not being 100% yourself, even more so when texts start popping up in your group chat with the boys and you never reply.

When Chan suggest you all meet for drinks one night, you quickly make up some excuse about being sick and turn off your phone, not before seeing the chat fill up with hearts and get well soon wishes which only make you cry cause you miss your friends and you wish you could turn back time and remain blissfully ignorant and enjoy your time with them without worrying about either breaking your own heart or Felix's. Or both.

It's past 9pm already and with no plans for your Friday night beside wallowing in your own pity party, you jump into a scalding hot shower, making sure you're blasting your music as loud as possible, hoping the steam from the hot water and the songs on your playlist will drown out your intermittent crying.

You don't necessarily feel better once you step out but clean hair and a lotioned up, hydrated body do feel like a little treat despite the mental state you're in. You throw on a black tank top and some shorts and gather up the used towels and laundry, your hair still damp and falling into your face when you have to bend down to pick up a sock that fell out of your dirty laundry pile.

And then the door bell rings. And you hit your head on the side of the sink from the jolt. Shit. Grumbling and pressing your hand on the back of your head, you quickly run downstairs, the door bell still ringing and ringing. Exasperated and annoyed by your clumsiness, you thrust the door open without even checking the peephole first.

🥀PART 8

[doggonerpc]

ᝰ ੯•໒꒱ 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐐𝐮𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 ᯓ

ᝰ ❝ I was too cowardly to do what I knew to be right. ❞

ᝰ ❝ I have been bent and broken, but - I hope - into a better shape. ❞

ᝰ ❝ You have been in every line I have ever read. ❞

ᝰ ❝ I loved her against reason. ❞

ᝰ ❝ Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears. ❞

ᝰ ❝ If she wounds you, love her. ❞

ᝰ ❝ Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching. ❞

ᝰ ❝ You are part of my existence, part of myself. ❞

ᝰ ❝ I was better after I had cried. ❞

ᝰ ❝ You think you will die, but you just keep living, day after day after terrible day. ❞

ᝰ ❝ If she favours you, love her. ❞

ᝰ ❝ You have been the embodiment of every graceful fancy that my mind has ever become acquainted with. ❞

ᝰ ❝ There was a long hard time when I kept far from me the remembrance of what I had thrown away when I was quite ignorant of its worth. ❞

ᝰ ❝ Ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies. ❞

ᝰ ❝ Throughout life, our worst weaknesses and meannesses are usually committed for the sake of the people whom we most despise. ❞

ᝰ ❝ I must be taken as I have been made. ❞

ᝰ ❝ I had devoutly believed her to be human perfection. ❞

ᝰ ❝ I loved her simply because I found her irresistible. ❞

ᝰ ❝ The success is not mine, the failure is not mine, but the two together make me. ❞

ᝰ ❝ Spring is the time of year when it is summer in the sun and winter in the shade. ❞

ᝰ ❝ Take nothing on its looks; take everything on evidence. There's no better rule. ❞

ᝰ ❝ I am what you designed me to be. I am your blade. You cannot now complain if you also feel the hurt. ❞

ᝰ ❝ I'll tell you. ❞

ᝰ ❝ Moths, and all sorts of ugly creatures, hover about a lighted candle. Can the candle help it? ❞

ᝰ ❝ We changed again, and yet again, and it was now too late and too far to go back. ❞

ᝰ ❝ It is blind devotion, unquestioning self-humiliation, utter submission, trust and belief against yourself and against the whole world, giving up your whole heart and soul to the smiter. ❞

ᝰ ❝ I stole her heart away and put ice in its place. ❞

ᝰ ❝ Her contempt for me was so strong, that it became infectious, and I caught it. ❞

ᝰ ❝ Scattered wits take a long time in picking up. ❞

ᝰ ❝ Life is made of so many partings welded together. ❞

ᝰ ❝ No varnish can hide the grain of the wood; and that the more varnish you put on, the more the grain will express itself. ❞

ᝰ ❝ That was a memorable day to me. ❞

ᝰ ❝ And could I look upon her without compassion? ❞

ᝰ ❝ I was always treated as if I had insisted on being born. ❞

ᝰ ❝ One keeps a secret better than two. ❞

ᝰ ❝ The freshness of her beauty was, indeed, gone. ❞

ᝰ ❝ If there's been any fault at all today, it's mine. ❞

ᝰ ❝ Out of my weakness and my sorrow, I will make my strength. ❞

[sattlersquarry]

hi libby! happy valentines 🫶 requesting #6 "i love you more than i did yesterday” with steve for your vday celebration

loving u! 🥹

Hi Bee! Happy Valentine's to you too! Thank you so much for this blurb request. I had a lot of fun writing it. Loving YOU! 💕

Want to request a fic or something else? Check out my Valentine's Event HERE . Technically you have 90 minutes left for any final requests!

Word Count: ~0.6k. Steve Harrington x Hopper!Reader

Requested by @sunlitide !

Steve Harrington loves you. 

He might be buzzed, but he knows it to be true.

After finally defeating Vecna, Joyce and your dad Hopper eloped on a whim. You had spent the past three months planning a belated reception. It’s an intimate affair, only the closest family and friends invited. 

Steve made the mental decision to tell you he loves you tonight, at the reception. It’s a romantic setting, with the banquet hall covered in twinkle lights and heart-shaped balloons.

He’s had a bit too much to drink and the music is loud and you’re on the dance floor with Robin and Max, spinning the younger girls’ wheelchair in circles at her request. You’re laughing and having fun and goddamn, you look stunning. Nearly ethereal, like a dream come true.

And Steve can’t stop himself. He puts down his beer and he marches toward you, clammy palms shoved in his pockets. 

I’m telling them tonight, he thinks. I'm telling them right now! No more waiting.

You notice him walking your way. You grin and meet him halfway across the dance floor.

“Hey, handsome!” you say. He melts at the way you straighten his necktie. “Wanna dance?”

“I have to tell you something!” he blurts out. 

Your brows furrow, and he inwardly groans. When he says it like that, it sounds like bad news. 

“It’s not bad news!” he adds. He’s overcorrecting, and you look even more confused. 

“Steve, are you okay?” you ask. “You look peakish.” 

He sucks in a breath and says it: “I love you, Y/N.” 

At the precise moment he drops the bombshell, the song changes from an upbeat pop song to a softer ballad. His confession has been heard by all the attendees. 

From somewhere in the crowd, Dustin shouts, “Go Steve! Get your Suzie!”

Steve blushes, a furious shade of pink spreading across his cheekbones. 

Thankfully, you aren’t embarrassed by Steve’s public declaration. On the contrary, your face shines with a smile. 

“You love me?” you say. “Really?”

“Are you kidding me?” Steve says. “Y/N, you’re amazing. Every time I see you, my day is instantly better. You’re funny, you’re kind, you’re so much smarter than me. You’re so hot, it’s ridiculous.”

“Oh my god, Steve,” you say with a nervous laugh, hiding your face in your hands. “My dad is, like, right there.” 

Sure enough, Hopper glares at Steve from across the dance floor. Joyce, on the other hand, looks thrilled.

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve says. But he can’t wipe the lovesick grin off his face. He holds your hands in his and squeezes them once, twice, three times. “But it’s all true. I love you more than I did yesterday. And I’ll love you more tomorrow, and a tiny bit more each day after that.”

Steve wonders if he’s massively messed up when your face screws up and tears gather in your eyes. Thankfully, you don’t sob and run off, horrified at his sentiments. Instead, you grab him by the necktie and pull him in for a passionate kiss.

“Whoa-oah!” Lucas catcalls. The rest of the guests whoop and cheer—except your dad, who looks like he wants to murder Steve with a salad fork. 

When the two of you pull away, you say, “If the kiss wasn’t proof enough, I love you too. A lot.” 

Steve beams brighter, and you lean in to kiss again, before you’re interrupted by the bouquet toss.

Joyce’s bunch of peonies, roses, and baby’s breath sails through the air and whacks you on the clavicle, before falling into your arms. 

Robin races over to you and Steve and slings an arm around each of you. 

“You know what that means, don’t you?” she says, a smirk on her lips. “You two are next to—”

“NOPE!” Hopper says loudly, snatching the bouquet out of your arms. “No weddings allowed. Not until you’re 30.” 

[sonicasura]

Comforting Shadows

The official in depth look into one of my species swaps for Kafka Hibino, the ghost route. I won't lie that this might be a bit dark as death is a main topic here. We are talking about ghosts after all. Let's get started.

Kafka was 26 years old on the day he dies. Work had just been finished and everyone was currently packing up so they can go home. That is until a wasp kaiju attacks the Monster Sweepers as the recent dead plant type corpse they had to clean up attracted it.

Knowing this particular monster is a Spitter Type, Kafka warns his fellow coworkers to take cover. All but one manages to do so as Toku slips while looking for a hiding spot. Kafka makes the ultimate sacrifice, luring the wasp away by marking himself with the plant kaiju's nectar and running.

He dies alone in alley as the wasp's venomous silk traps the man in a suffocating cocoon. The sweeper's body quickly mummified until he breathed no more. Yet something strange began to happen that the panicking masses couldn't see. A shadowy dark green substance steadily oozes from the cocoon.

It begins to move and writhe before reshaping itself into an eeriely familiar humanoid shape. Piercing green eyes emerged on its "spikey head", their gaze purely erratic until it spots the wasp. A green jack-o'-lantern smile that held untold malice spread across the mouthless face before what was now Kafka Hibino lunged forward.

The 3rd Division would arrive to find the lifeless body of the wasp kaiju. All color seemingly drained, warmth completely gone and its core missing despite no visible injuries. No one noticing the shadows in the alley looking off or the melancholic air aimed at their captain.

Kafka's body would take months to identify as any attempts to break the cocoon were met with unnatural resistance. Over that time, the ghostly man had a chance to adjust to his new situation and hunger. Now a Shade type Onryō, Kafka has to feed on souls to sustain himself.

Luckily Kaiju/Honju/Yoju will do perfectly as he rather not eat humans or human spirits. Speaking of the latter, Kafka became frighteningly aware that he isn't the only ghost around. There were multiple spirits who still lingered in the living realm.

Most not taking kindly to him as darker spirits like Shades are considered dangerous threats. Even if Kafka only fed on Kaiju, the other ghosts would run away from him. All except one who saw the man behind the monster: Hikari Shinomiya.

Like Kafka, she lingered after her death but refuses to pass on. Hikari's daughter and husband being what continues to tie the woman down. She teaches Kafka how to thrive as a spirit, remaining by his side even when his form began to change from eating kaiju souls.

His body becomes more serpentine in appearance, elongating and stretching to 25 ft long. Kafka's fingers conjoining into three thick pawlike claws, legs merging to form a ghost tail, and a thick 'mane' going from the back of his head to his lower back. His power also grew to monstrous proportions as the living were now able to see him.

To hide from the public, Kafka decides to delve into alchemy and magic. He would rob his old body of some parts like the heart to craft a temporary vessel for him to inhabit. Although this lead to an open investigation about the organ robbery and the ghost becoming known to the Defense Force. (Kafka was the only one who could tear apart the cocoon.)

Mina felt two emotions after this particular incident. Sorrow as her life long friend had perished and rage since his body can't be fully cremated because of the newly dub Shadow. Her Division would be assigned to handle this kaiju, half of the reason being Mina's new vendetta against him.

Kafka's death wasn't made public until the Shadow is apprehended or dead. Something that works to the ghost's advantage as he returned to his Monster Sweeper job with none the wiser. (Yup, his coworkers are unaware of the whole thing and he rather keep it this way.)

Kafka spends the next six-seven years doing three main things. Work at the Monster Sweepers, hunt Kaiju with the occasional 3rd Division clash and haunt the Shinomiya household. The latter being a favor of sorts from Hikari who been worried about her daughter Kikoru.

Kafka often tormented the Shinomiya patriarch, Isao, for emotionally neglecting his daughter. The man would find himself subjected to supernatural misery whether it be important documents disappearing or his room an upside-down mess. Kikoru, however is shown love and kindness from Kafka.

At first in the form of gifts until he eventually reveals himself to the younger girl after she had a really bad day. Both would continue to be friends even when she moves out for her scholarship. Kafka's afterlife soon changes as a certain small kaiju comes into play.

Fixing his temporary body often required some energy so he often fed on kaiju souls to replenish himself. The little kaiju flying into his mouth felt like a lucky meal for Kafka. However he didn't expect the extra kick behind the creature's soul or what it would do next.

The vessel he had made began to grow warm, color coming to its flesh, as the once dead heart pulsed to life. Meanwhile Kafka himself was shoved out while he underwent a sudden harsh metamorphosis. Black scaly carapace manifest across his ghost body with bones of different kinds holding them tightly to his hide.

A ribcage, spike covered spinal cord/column, a twin horned demonic mask full of sharp teeth overtook his face while his mane floated haphazardly from behind akin to an Oni mask. The sound of an invisible lock slamming shut rang between both entities. Kafka was now caught in morality's threshold, alive and dead.

The living can now harm him no matter the form. Kafka could die again but with the possibility he won't come back from it. Things got both interesting and a lot more complicated. Especially since his vessel resembles his old body but covered in stitches. (It was supposed to be temporary.)

Before I forget, here are his abilities for those wondering.

Intangibility

Shadow Manipulation (includes Teleportation/Hiding/Regeneration)

Ghostly Wail

Empowerment (can empower allies)

Bone Generation (post upgrade)

Possession (hampered post upgrade)

Pyrokinesis

Elasticity

Alchemy (requires formulas, sigils, or ingredients)

Form Shift (Humanoid, normal, No.8)

Please enjoy this Snatcher Boss fight which served as some of the inspiration for Ghost!Kafka.

@discoknack @drmarune @renard-dartigue

[queen--kenobi]

So. The idea of Elayna having an Alicent moment decided to live rent free in my head to the point I had to bang this out.

Warnings: Aemond cheats so angst. Also Elayna letting her awful side win oops

An accident.

He didn't regret it. He got what he needed.

They would not have won without Alys. How could she not see?

Elayna stands. Her handmaidens look at her. She knows they're nervous, wary of what she might be planning. While none of them have uttered a word, she sees the fear in their eyes. Elayna wants to tell them they have nothing to fear. Her issue isn't not theirs; she has no quarrel with them.

Cerelle and Floris stand as well. Cerelle smiles softly and dips her head. Her gown is a beautiful red, golden lions embroided on it. She carries herself in the self-assured manner Elayna knows and respects.

Floris wears the same shade of red. Iron threads create the pattern of a windstorm. Yellow gold leaves cascade from the iron trees and float on the breeze. Her hands fidget. She tries to hide her nerves by tucking her hands behind the folds of her skirt.

Elayna steps towards Floris. Carefully, she reaches out and takes Floris’s hands in her own.

“Follow Cerelle's lead. She won’t lead you astray.”

Floris closes her eyes before nodding.

“I’ve... I've never done this before. This is more Maris or Cassandra's realm.” Floris murmurs. Cerelle reaches out and places a gentle hand on Floris’s shoulder.

“ ‘Tis to send a message. Surely your Lord father would agree with that.” Cerelle manages to make every word coming out of her mouth the sweetest of honey. Elayna appreciates it. She knows the sharp sting of the Lannister's tongue.

“Yours is the Fury.” Elayna reminds Floris. “Fury need not come from bloodshed. It can come from action alone.”

Floris nods. She takes a deep breath. Her spine lengthens and straightens. When she opens her eyes, determination gleams in them, determination and anger, a spite Elayna can taste.

“I have this.”

Elayna releases Floris’s arms. Cerelle drops her hand and offers Floris her arm.

“We must go. We can't be late.”

As the two take their leave, Elayna turns to her handmaids.

“I'm ready.”

As her handmaids dress her, Elayna lets Aemond's words sit on her tongue. She feeds off the pain. Aemond promised her to be faithful and true, told her he loved her and no one else, threatened to burn the world if it would make her happy. Elayna believed him. She promised the same to him in return.

He could not have meant it if all it took was a bastard Strong to make him, her husband, go back on his words.

Tears threatened to form. Elayna blinks and squashes them down. She cried the first night after learning about Alys. She gave herself one night to cry herself to sleep. In the morning, she vowed to the Gods she would never cry over that man again. He didn't deserve her tears or her sorrow. All he deserves is her calculated rage.

Her fury burns hotter than any dragon fire ever could, but it does not harm her. She isn't alight with it. Elayna made herself an ice block as frigid as the Wall. Well. Aemond did the moment he decided to sleep with Alys.

He has no one to blame but himself.

When Elayna finishes being dressed and looks in the mirror, her heart skips a beat. The woman staring back at her is different.

The woman staring back at her is both the woman she feared to become and the woman she was destined to be.

Her ruby red dress is beautiful. Massive silver lions, all in the shape and form of her family’s sigil, decorate the dress. The rubies in her silver hair piece compliment her garment perfectly. Silver dangles from her ears. A silver torque in the shape of a lion rests around her neck. The eyes were not the sapphires people had become accustomed to but rubies. Each lion holds a small ruby within its mouth. In the right light, the gems seem like blood.

Elayna gazes at her reflection. Were it not for her brown hair and eyes, she would think the woman in the mirror a Lannister. The steely and calculated look on her face is one she used to be repulsed by. Now, she finds an odd sense of comfort in it. She is impenetrable, as impenetrable as the Wall or Casterly Rock.

She keeps this image in her head as she leaves and heads to the feast. Aemond is no doubt already there. He never arrives late. She knows he'll be trapped there until she makes an appearance. After all, he must be seen with his wife to dispel the rumors and accusations flung his way.

As Elayna rounds one of the last corners towards the Great Hall, she stops.

Despite her resolution, she nearly cries.

Tyland stands at the end of the corridor, waiting for her. He looks up at her and smiles.

He's wearing red as well. His gold chain stayed, but he switched his green doublet for red. It's Lannister red with gold threading. Elayna doesn't care; the colors and look are plausible deniability for him. She knows what it means.

“Ser Tyland.”

“Lady Elayna.”

Elayna steps forward. Tyland moves away from the wall towards her. Elayna doesn't miss the brief flash of want and lust on his face before he catches himself. A slight blush colors his cheeks when his eyes meet hers.

“We seem to have had the same thought tonight.” Elayna murmurs. She steps closer to him. She feels drawn to him. He clearly feels the same, copying her movements.

“It appears so.”

She stops just in front of him. Tyland tries his best to not look at Elayna’s lips.

“Or are you matching Cerelle? Family is important.”

“No.” Tyland breathes. “I followed a whim is all.”

The unsaid “I know you. I knew what you'd do” lingers in the air. Elayna swallows. She gazes into Tyland’s eyes.

“What do you propose we do about this? I cannot change. I am late as is. Nor do I wish you to change.”

“I'll go first. A lady must have her own entrance.”

They breathe in sync. Elayna's tongue darts out to wet her suddenly dry lips.

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness. You've always been considerate.”

“ ‘Tis the least I can do. We lions must stick together.” Tyland feels so close even though he hasn't moved. Elayna swears his heart matches the rhythm of hers.

“A pride is stronger together.”

Elayna fights to keep her face neutral. Her insinuation makes Tyland’s eyes go wide for a second. She tries not to smirk. Tyland clears his throat loudly.

“We are no doubt late.”

“Go. I need a moment.”

Tyland nods. He doesn't move just yet. Instead, he looks both ways. Upon seeing no one else, Tyland surprises Elayna. He takes hold of her hand. He keeps eye contact with her as he brings her hand to his lips and kisses the back of her hand. Elayna nearly chokes. Tyland let's his lips linger for a moment before stepping back and letting go of her hand.

“Lady Elayna.” He bows his head.

“Ser Tyland.”

Tyland disappears down the corridor. Elayna waits until he's gone before she leans against the wall. Her heart beats not just in her chest but throughout her entire abdomen. She takes several deep breathes to try and steady herself. Elayna closes her eyes. She hasn't felt such a tenderness or want in a long time. Certainly, she hasn't felt it in the last eight months. She cannot recall the last time Aemond touched her with such reverence. He could be gentle, yes, but he never...

Not like that. He never treated her like that.

Elayna gives herself a minute to collect herself. Once she steps away from the wall, she smooths out her dress and makes her way to the Hall. The guards part for her and open the heavy oak doors.

“Announcing Lady Elayna Targaryen.”

Elayna lifts her head and steps into the Hall.

The silence seems to stretch on for far too long. People slowly stand as she passes. Elayna pays them no mind; she keeps her eyes trained on her seat. She can look for clusters of red when she sits down.

Elayna finally looks at Aemond when she gets halfway down the aisle.

He looks angrier than she's ever seen him. His hands curl around his knife to the point his knuckles are clearly white, even from a distance. Elayna sees Aegon smirking out of the corner of her eye.

Aemond's lone eye meets hers. Despite the rage present, an obvious sadness lurks. It swims to the forefront when his gaze meets hers. Elayna responds by lifting her chin even higher.

He deserves this. Aemond did not act as a husband should. He cheated on her for a bastard of a sworn enemy.

He was no husband of hers. She would be no wife of his.

[dyrewrites]

Sending hugs always!

M

Please and thank you!

Accepting those hugs, thank you. <3

Response for this ask thingie

I don't have too many with an 'M', but I do have Mitra and I loves her so let's discuss the gremlin.

Some facts about Mitra:

She is made of the same material as the Shell, which is a thick crystalline material that defaults to fuchsia in color and acts as the outer crust of Mar--which is an egg-shaped world with its sun (the Lady's Heart) and life on the inside.

Her skin is not her skin! It is more like her musculature, and also her bones. Her skin was warm gray and more like the stone and rock found throughout Mar...but most of it broke away over her many ages of life. Unlike her insides, the skin doesn't grow back, so now she is all bare nerves and flesh with only flecks of skin remaining.

Her wings are the same as her skin, and always have been, but they do not catch as much of her core's glow so they always appear darker. She can also hide them in her back, in little indents.

Her hair is not. It is crystalline but malleable and iridescent, with its color appearing a bit more like her tears and saliva. It is always cool, her core does not warm it and it is three times her height in length. She likes to sleep curled up in it.

She has but one organ, a core, which is a molten ball of unknown make that glows--in the same shades as the Lady's Heart--so long as she's conscious and fluctuates its heat based on her emotional state. Her core must be kept burning or she will faint, or worse.

Her speech patterns are broken and weird even for the things she appears to be. She has no idea why she talks so funny.

She is roughly a foot tall, by our measurements.

Most of all, despite how kind she seems, behaves, and tries to be, she is apart from most life in Mar and doesn't understand quite how to behave around others. Or what is acceptable to poke, or bite, or why the locals used to chase her when she lured their young off the edge of the Spine, "Theys creaks so bright ans splats so shiny!"

Below is my favorite sketch of her (and I should really clean and color it someday) and my favorite image of her wings (I always get them wrong, but I got real close there).