#which feels like i tried to climb a brick wall and then a brick fell on me like duh

[shinyfire-0]

In chapter 5 of The Phantom of the Opera - The Enchanted Violin - Raoul and Christine meet at Perros and spend some time together talking in the moonlight on the heath overlooking the sea. The text is from the de Mattos translation, available online.

‘Raoul walked away, dejectedly, to the graveyard in which the church stood and was indeed alone among the tombs, reading the inscriptions; but, when he turned behind the apse, he was suddenly struck by the dazzling note of the flowers that straggled over the white ground. They were marvelous red roses that had blossomed in the morning, in the snow, giving a glimpse of life among the dead, for death was all around him. It also, like the flowers, issued from the ground, which had flung back a number of its corpses. Skeletons and skulls by the hundred were heaped against the wall of the church, held in position by a wire that left the whole gruesome stack visible. Dead men's bones, arranged in rows, like bricks, to form the first course upon which the walls of the sacristy had been built. The door of the sacristy opened in the middle of that bony structure, as is often seen in old Breton churches.

Raoul said a prayer for Daae and then, painfully impressed by all those eternal smiles on the mouths of skulls, he climbed the slope and sat down on the edge of the heath overlooking the sea. The wind fell with the evening. Raoul was surrounded by icy darkness, but he did not feel the cold. It was here, he remembered, that he used to come with little Christine to see the Korrigans dance at the rising of the moon. He had never seen any, though his eyes were good, whereas Christine, who was a little shortsighted, pretended that she had seen many. He smiled at the thought and then suddenly gave a start. A voice behind him said:

"Do you think the Korrigans will come this evening?"

It was Christine. He tried to speak. She put her gloved hand on his mouth.

"Listen, Raoul. I have decided to tell you something serious, very serious ... Do you remember the legend of the Angel of Music?"’

(the photo shows heath and the pink granite rocks looking down to the sea at Perros-Guirec. But it was taken on a bright sunny day, not a moonlit night in winter)

Christine then tells Raoul all about the Angel of Music who visits her in her room, and who has been sent by her father. When Raoul is sceptical about this, Christine runs away into the night. Raoul follows her but instead of going back to her room at the Inn she goes to the church where, as Raoul tells M Milfroid, the commissary of police, a few weeks later:

‘“She knelt down by her father's grave, made the sign of the cross and began to pray. At that moment, it struck midnight. At the last stroke, I saw Mlle. Daae life{sic} her eyes to the sky and stretch out her arms as though in ecstasy. I was wondering what the reason could be, when I myself raised my head and everything within me seemed drawn toward the invisible, WHICH WAS PLAYING THE MOST PERFECT MUSIC! Christine and I knew that music; we had heard it as children. But it had never been executed with such divine art, even by M. Daae. I remembered all that Christine had told me of the Angel of Music. The air was The Resurrection of Lazarus, which old M. Daae used to play to us in his hours of melancholy and of faith. If Christine's Angel had existed, he could not have played better, that night, on the late musician's violin. When the music stopped, I seemed to hear a noise from the skulls in the heap of bones; it was as though they were chuckling and I could not help shuddering."’

I took these photos of the church at Perros-Guirec (Église Saint-Jacques) in a hurry. I was with some people who kept getting in the way! and I was trying to look calm and collected while I took in the atmosphere of the place. I think all the graves in the graveyard were removed many years ago.

Finally, did Leroux take inspiration from the noseless Saint Guirec, whose shrine can be found just around the headland?

(from Wikipedia!) 'L'Oratoire de Saint-Guirec stands in the bay at Ploumanac'h with a chapel on the facing beach. Female pilgrims have come for centuries to call upon the prayerful intercession of the monk saint for their seafaring husbands' safety. Young women also come to ask Guirec's prayers that they would soon find a husband. The tradition of putting a pin in the nose of the saint's statue is said to encourage Guirec to acquire the blessing of a marriage within one year for the young pilgrim.'

(thank you to @paperandsong who made me go and find him!)

There is a beautiful beach at St Guirec's shrine and I imagined Christine having a little swim there.

Here is a map to show you where all these places are in relation to each other

[paradiqms]

(3) to you, 2000 years from now.

hongjoong x fem!reader.

tags: angst, captain!hongjoong, royalty!reader, betrayals, misunderstandings, mentions of death, cruelty, fluff here n there, fantasy setting, strangers to lovers to enemies to..?

summary: after the death of your parents and near fall of your kingdom, you have no choice but to leave your first love in order to keep the kingdom in balance with you as the new ruler. years later, you see a familiar face - but instead of being in your arms, he's kneeling in front of the guillotine.

word count: 5,3k

currently, three out of ?

previous.

kim hongjoong has knocked on death’s door twice in his life so far.

the first being when he managed to get himself in trouble with a bunch of ruffians for stealing their gold coins – it was truly a first for him, really, since he has been stealing for quite some time already and he had never been caught before. for some reason,  he slipped up, leading to the unfortunate case scenario of the day where he got his first black eye.

the second time he almost met his creator was when he was tied up and dragged to the guillotines with a sack over his head that smells something akin to a nasty mixture of dirt and dried blood.

again, he had slipped up for some reason. he should’ve finished the job as quick as possible. his first mistake was deciding to even say one word to his target – because, of course, you would recognize his voice anywhere even after all the years of being apart. it makes him sick, awfully so, the way he heard you say his name for the first time in so long with a voice filled with so many emotions which he can’t bring himself to feel anymore.

he hates it. he hates how he spent six years being separated from you, and with all that time, one would expect him to be completely immune to you and your sweetness that just won’t leave him alone, sticking to him like a stain that won’t wash off.

he hates how you were there for him during both of the times he almost got himself killed because of the mistakes he made, how you would save him each time without a second thought. he hates how it’s your voice that would always be the one to stop the grim reaper from swinging its scythe, and give him another chance to live his damned life. he hates how you oh so casually would stop his execution as if it’s the most natural thing to do, before shedding your tears for him even after he tried to slit your throat.

and god, does he hates how, after six damned years, you’re still the girl he fell in love with. even when he’s sure he’s no longer the boy you fell for.

it makes him angry. you make him angry, so much. but as he sits on the dirty floor of his prison cell that he was thrown into after his execution was stopped, he can’t stop thinking of you.

hongjoong’s ears catch the sound of subtle footsteps climbing down the stairs that lead to the prison he’s currently in. the underground cells are dark, with not a lick of sunshine and only several torches that cling onto the brick walls serving as the source of light. yet he’s still able to make out the person who decided to come all the way down to pay him a visit in his dirty cell.

huh, hongjoong scoffs to himself in his head. speak of the damn devil.

he tries to avoid your eyes as you gaze at him through the bars of his cell, but he can still make out your appearance from the corner of his eyes.

it’s bizarre, he thinks, how you’ve changed so little yet so much.

you’re taller now, as much as he can tell from the poor lighting. you’re still wearing the nightgown you used when you came in barging into the execution grounds as if you didn’t bothering changing before coming down to the cells. he can see how the features on your face are no longer that of a young girl – they’re sharper, he thinks, and more defined since you’ve grown.

“joong –”

“i told you not to call me that anymore.” hongjoong hisses as he cuts you off, as if he’s disgusted by the mere sound of your voice.

and he is, honestly.

he’s disgusted by how your voice has turned deeper, with a tone that somehow sounds more royal and confident compared to your meek little teenager voice back then – but the way you call out for him remains the same.

“… right.” you mumble out, and hongjoong sees you shift uncomfortably from one leg to another, the long skirt of your gown flowing with your movements.

“what do you want?” the man says after a while. “you here to bust me out or something? is stopping my execution not enough for you, your highness?”

hongjoong spits out the title as if it’s poisonous, and he thinks it might as well be.

“no,” you respond, ignoring the ache in your heart before straightening your back. “i’m here to talk.”

“about what?” hongjoong scoffs, rolling his eyes as he leans his head back against the wall behind him. “don’t you have your royal duties to attend to? don’t waste your precious time here. i have no interest in talking to you any further.”

at his words, it takes you all the strength you have left not to cry in front of him again. you wonder if hongjoong can hear the sound of your heart breaking into the smallest pieces, if it’s not already evident on the defeated look on your face.

“i’m here to talk about… everything, i guess.” you finally find the courage to speak again after several moments of being quiet. “can we, please? if it’s about me hiding my identity from you then i’m so sorry –”

“sorry doesn’t fucking cut out for it,” hongjoong grits his teeth. “i trusted you, and you knew it. i gave you my all and i would’ve given you more if you asked, but you decided to lie to me.”

before you could say anything in your defense, hongjoong stands up to his feet as he faces you. the look on his face, twisted with anger, disgust, and everything that you never would’ve expected to see from the man who used to love you.

“that day,” hongjoong continues, his sharp eyes glaring daggers into yours. “after i poured my entire heart out to you, where were you? i woke up and you were gone. you didn’t even come back for days and weeks –”

“my parents were murdered, hongjoong!” you cry out, unable to keep your emotions leveled. “they were killed during the night i spent with you. i – i was mourning, okay? i couldn’t bear to get out of bed and show my face in the palace or the entire kingdom. i was so young and about to be crowned queen less than a week after my parents died, did you think i was able to think about anything else other than the fact that i shouldn’t have slept away from the palace that night? how i wished i was with them and maybe i could’ve just died too instead of living miserably for my entire life?”

the tears that blurred your vision and rolled down your cheeks made you unable to notice how hongjoong’s expression changed for a quick second before going back to looking at you as if you were the most vile thing in the kingdom.

“… i wish you weren’t with me that night, too.” he breathes out just enough for you to hear. “then maybe i wouldn’t have had the chance to confess. i would’ve done myself a favor.”

and that was it, the final nail in the coffin. you feel as if your already broken heart was stepped on over and over again without a hint of mercy by the man who used to hold it as if it were the most fragile thing.

“as much as i want to say that you would have been doing both of us a favor,” you manage to croak out, hands balled into tight fists by your sides. “i… with the little time i knew i had with you, i was happy we spent it together. i loved you, hongjoong. i loved you so much. ”

you raise a hand up to wipe the stray tears that clung on your face before looking straight into the eyes of the man behind the prison bars.

“but you are not my hongjoong, not anymore.”

without another word or even a second glance, you turn away to exit the dungeons.

with every heavy step you take, you leave behind the man who’s still standing in the middle of his dimly lit prison cell, head hung low as he sheds silent tears with a heart that bleeds for you.

a man who you know not anymore.

you’ve decided, that if this is how he’s going to treat you even after you prayed for his safe return for six years, then so be it.

juyeon taps his fingers against the mahogany table in front of him. his eyebrows are furrowed with clear distress as he stares at you, silently sipping on your glass of water from across the dining table, pretending not to notice his eyes on you.

he knows you’re pretending. you’re so easy to read, juyeon thinks. after six years of being married to you, the young king has already gotten himself familiar to all the little mannerisms and quirks you’d unconsciously do that would give away your thoughts. he would catch the way you tense up, shoulders stiffs and jaw clenched, whenever you’re unhappy with any of his decisions. he’d always silently watch you pick at the skin around your fingernails whenever you’re nervous or overwhelmed, and only when he catches a glimpse of red oozing from the places you had picked on does he hold onto your hands to stop you.

as someone who has been raised to be attentive, juyeon would always find himself being able to read you like an open book, even when you’ve closed your pages to everyone.

but for a reason that he’s unsure of, the young king can’t seem to figure you out this time.

“darling,” juyeon speaks after a moment, fixing his posture to sit properly on his chair. “i’m afraid we have to talk about some… matters.”

juyeon feels a muscle in his face twitch slightly when you respond to his words with a simple hum.

“i won’t waste my time beating around the bush,” he sighs, placing his arms on the table. “why did you stop the execution?”

under the dim lighting of the dining hall, juyeon catches the way you tense up at his words, and it makes his mind wonder further than it already did. he allows you to take your time to find an appropriate answer – an appropriate and true answer, he hopes.

two nights ago, juyeon had saved you from a certain death. there was an uneasy feeling within his chest when you were taking quite some time to join him in bed. juyeon is not the kind of person to ignore his gut feelings, so he decided to venture back towards your study and check up on you. he had expected for you to accidentally pass out on your table, since you did look rather tired before he exited the room, or maybe you were being stubborn again and you wanted to finish some more paperwork.

what juyeon didn’t expect was to see you unconscious in the arms of a masked assassin, gloved hands clasped over your mouth to keep you from screaming.

the king doesn’t know what went faster – the way his heart dropped to his stomach, or the way he lunged himself at your attacker to knock him out with swift movements. juyeon had shouted for the guards, the desperation and anxiety in his voice alerting every guard within the perimeter to come sprinting towards the dark room.

as he held your unconscious body in his shaking arms, juyeon ordered for the immediate execution of the assassin once day breaks.

an execution that was stopped by none other than the person who nearly died at the hands of the very same assassin.

juyeon’s grip on the cup that he’s currently sipping on tightens as he recalls the way you yelled for the execution to cease.

whether it be you who will tell him or not, juyeon is determined to find out your relationship with the assassin.

“i have my own reasons.” you reply to your husband’s question without meeting his gaze, your eyes fixed on the cutlery in front of you as if they were any more interesting.

“you have to be slightly more specific than that, dearest.” juyeon breathes out, removing his arms from the table to cross them over his chest as he leans back on his seat. you can feel his eyes burning against your skin.

“i don’t think i am obligated to share them with you.” the tone in your voice falters slightly, but you straighten yourself up to return juyeon’s stare. you can see it, the way his eyes are narrowed and his eyebrows arch downwards with unsatisfaction. juyeon isn’t the type to get angry at you often – you can count the number of times he had actually scolded on one hand. with you, he’s not the intimidating young king that the kingdom knows and respects, but that doesn’t calm your anxiety any further as you stare into his dark eyes.

you’re expecting for the man on the opposite side of the table to continue questioning you, but to your surprise, he doesn’t. there’s a sense of defeat in the king’s expression as he allows himself to loosen up, his eyebrows no longer arched and his broad shoulders slumping downwards.

“very well then, if you insist.” juyeon keeps his gaze on you. “however, we still have to agree on a new execution date. just because you stopped it once does not mean i will allow the assassin to walk as a free man.”

“… i understand.” you give the man a small nod, to which he seems to accept calmly. you see no point in arguing with your husband as it will only raise his suspicions for you.

underneath the table, your fingers at picking on the skin around your nails.

the sound of juyeon’s shoes stepping against the floor echoes through the empty dining hall as he approaches you after getting up from his seat. once he’s close enough, he reaches a hand out, placing it on your cheek to gently lift your head up until your eyes meet his.

the sound of his voice saying your name paired with the heavy gaze he gives you makes a shiver run down your spine, and you swallow subtly.

“i hope you don’t let your emotions get the best of you,” juyeon speaks, his thumb caressing the skin of your warm cheek. “as much as i cherish you as my wife, you are still a queen with responsibilities. i want you to remember that.”

juyeon’s touch is sweet, caring in a way that would make any woman swoon, but his eyes tell a different story. you can see it from the way he’s looking down at you from his tall stature, the dark irises staring straight at you as if they’re daring for you to disobey the king who saved the kingdom from disarray.

go on, his eyes taunt you. challenge me. i dare you.

your own eyes shake underneath the pressure, but you manage to breathe out an answer after a moment.

“okay.”

“good girl.” juyeon’s smile appears on his previously frowning lips, but it doesn’t melt away the uneasiness in your chest. he leans forward to press a lingering kiss against your forehead before pulling away entirely, walking away from you afterwards.

the dining hall door creaks close once juyeon makes his exit, leaving you alone inside the spacious room to tend to the thought that has been screaming at you the entire time you’ve been conversing with your husband.

whether you like it or not, hongjoong will still be executed under juyeon’s command.

you bring your trembling hands up to cover your face, the sounds of your muffled sobs echoing through the empty hall as you sob for the cruel fate that has been bestowed on you. it’s almost hilarious, honestly, how unfortunate you are – and you’re sure the heavens are laughing at you this very moment as if you are their very own play thing.

you had gone out of your way to stop the execution of the man that you loved with your entire being, only to find out he has changed in all the worst ways possible. you tell yourself that you do not love him anymore, since he is no longer the sweet poet that you once knew, who would paste his writings about you on the walls of his room.

his hair no longer shines like the stars, for now they gleam black as if the soft strands are a direct reflection as to what his own heart has become after six years – an endless, dark void. his eyes, you remember from the day you visited him in the dungeons, no longer hold any softness and admiration when they’re gazing at you like you’re the center of the world. instead, they’re dripping with pure hatred, one that was as pure as your love for the one who bears them.

if only, your heart cries. if only things were different.

you’re unaware of how long you’ve been sobbing quietly by yourself within the dining hall, but soon enough, your cries die out. only then do you realize someone else was with you.

“are you done crying now?” a voice speaks out, and you don’t have the energy to be startled. even if you weren’t crying, you still wouldn’t have been surprised – the voice belongs to the one person who has been by your side longer than anyone else.

“yeonjun,” you croak out. “how long have you been here?”

“a while.” your personal guard and closest friend replies as he moves closer to you from his spot near the door. he pulls a chair next to you and allows himself to sit there comfortably.

“i see,” you reply, eyes casted down. “i’m… sorry you have to see me like this. i didn’t notice you coming in.”

you hear yeonjun scoff at your words, and through your peripheral vision, notice how he leans forward just enough to look at your face.

“you shouldn’t apologize for having feelings,” he says softly, a frown on his lips. “and you definitely shouldn’t listen to whatever that thing you call your husband said earlier.”

“hey,” you turn your head to return yeonjun’s gaze, a weak smile growing on your face. “i thought i told you to stop referring to him as a thing. besides, juyeon is right–”

“hell no he isn’t,” yeonjun interrupts you faster than you imagined him to, making you blink your puffy eyes in surprise. “he isn’t right. doesn’t matter that you’re a queen with big fancy responsibilities, you’re still allowed to have feelings. and the part where he basically threatened you? saying shit like ‘i hope you understand’ with his dumb king voice, makes me wanna beat the hell out of–”

you stop yeonjun’s rambling his a quick smack at the top of his head, which makes him wince before rubbing at the spot with his hand.

“first of all,” you say, tone akin to a mother scolding her child. “he’s just doing his part as king, i admit it didn’t feel too good but i understand his words. second of all, why and how long were you eavesdropping on our conversation?”

at the realization that he’s been caught, yeonjun freezes as he looks away from you. you notice how the tips of his ears turn red, and it makes you stifle back a laugh.

“okay, i was not eavesdropping,” he protests. “i was merely close enough by the entrance to hear what he was saying.”

yeonjun ignores the obvious look of doubt on your face before he straightens himself up on his seat.

“but anyway, i came here to tell you something.”

you gesture at him to continue talking, to which he does after breathing in.

“you should go visit him while you can.” yeonjun’s lips quirk up into a knowing smile as he notices how your eyes widen ever so slightly. “anyone with eyes could see how important that guy is to you after you stopped the execution, even when he tried to kill you. i admit i have no idea either, but i’m guessing it has something to do on why you kept sneaking out of your room a few years back.”

if you were sipping on something, you definitely would’ve choked to death. you sit there, silently, feeling like a fool as you listen to how yeonjun would catch your figure sprinting through the palace gardens to exit via the back gates each night during your youth.

“i got curious one night and followed you,” the young man explains casually with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “lo and behold, i saw you entering a building with the silliest of smiles on your face. i knew you were up to something, but i couldn’t ruin it for you since you looked so… carefree.”

carefree. your chest aches all over again.

you would give anything and everything up to feel that again, to experience tip toeing your way along the quiet streets at night just to show up at… his place. oh, the things you’d sacrifice to see how his face would light up by the small candle next to his bed when you enter the room, to feel his arms encase you in the warmest of embraces ever as you listen to the things he had written throughout the day.

“i see.” you reply to yeonjun’s little confession with a small smile, before giving him a nod. “i’ll take your advice. thank you, yeonjun. truly.”

the young guard returns your small smile with one of his own as he reaches over to gently pat the top of your head, an action that makes you breathe out a soft laugh. yeonjun stands up from his seat and offers his hand to you as he bows slightly.

“shall we visit the dungeons then, your highness?”

with a lighthearted roll of your eyes, you take yeonjun’s hand, gently squeezing it as he helps you up from your seat before guiding you towards the underground dungeon. the palace hallways are quiet, as they always are during this time of night, but it’s a little too quiet for your liking. you can hear your own racing heartbeat in your ears, palms sweating with uneasiness.

for the first time in your life, you’re scared of facing hongjoong.

it almost makes you sick, thinking about how seeing him would be the highlight of your day during your youth, and yet here you are – biting on the inside of your cheek so hard to the point you might draw blood.

the echoes of your shoes along with yeonjun’s as he descend the flight of stairs leading towards the dungeons are the only sounds that keep you from drowning in your thoughts again. you chew nervously on your lower lip, thinking of how hongjoong would react when he sees you again.

will he yell at you? get upset once again and remind you that you’re nothing but a liar before telling you to get lost? will he even acknowledge your presence at all? none of the scenarios in your head are positive ones, and your anxiety only heightens when you finally arrive at the underground cells.

however, as you squint your eyes in attempt to adjust your sight within the dark space that’s only lit by dim torches, all the scenarios you were worrying about are immediately erased from your head, and a reality that makes your heart drop to your stomach slaps you right across the face.

hongjoong’s cell is wide open.

without a second thought, you run over to the prison, only to be met with an empty space.

your mind reels with panic. the only thing you can think of is juyeon.

no, you shake your head. he can’t, he wouldn’t – we haven’t even agreed on a date yet.

the image of hongjoong being dragged out of his cell under juyeon’s command to be secretly executed without your knowledge burns itself into your brain and squeezes the life out of your heart. you can’t stop yourself from rushing towards the stairs.

“yeonjun!” you call out. “yeonjun, he’s not–”

the last thing you see is yeonjun’s body sprawled on the dirty dungeon floor, seemingly unconscious with a masked figure crouching over him.

the person turns their head to your direction after you let out a surprised gasp. under the light of the torches perched on the walls, you see how the person’s eyes crinkle up, undoubtedly due to them smiling mischievously under their mask.

“well hello there, your highness.”

you’re not given a chance to scream for help before a piece of cloth is forcefully shoved into the lower half of your face, the pungent smell of chemicals overwhelming your systems.

just before you pass out, you hear a muffled voice from behind.

“sorry, your majesty. captains orders.”

your body slumps forward once you lose consciousness, and the culprit who attacked you from behind is quick to pick you up and haul you over his shoulders.

“whew, who knew i would have the chance to knock a whole queen out.”

“don’t be dumb on the job, wooyoung. you’re saying that as if you didn’t poison a whole countess last month.” the man who was previously hunched over yeonjun says with a roll of his eyes as he drags the unconscious guard over to lean against the wall instead of being sprawled on the floor.

“oh c’mon, san! they’re two totally different positions!” wooyoung whines, earning himself a hard smack over his head by the latter.

“complain once we’re back on the ship,” san scowls at the fellow young man under his mask. “captain’s waiting for us. you know he can get really grumpy if we’re not on time.”

wooyoung merely pouts at how his friend refuses to entertain him before wriggling his shoulders slightly to adjust the person he’s currently carrying.

“what do you think is so important about lil miss royal over here, anyway?” the slightly shorter of the two whispers once they’re out of the dungeons, his never ending chatterbox of a mouth making a frustrated vein pop out of san’s forehead. “i thought capt hated royals.”

san remains silent for a while as his sharp eyes scout the surroundings for any remaining guards. he spots the gleam of polished armor by the corner of his eye, and he swivels his head around to see the guard laying down on the ground, along with a few other identical ones.

“looks like seonghwa took care of them already,” san whispers to himself before gesturing over to wooyoung, who’s squinting his eyes unbelievably smaller in attempt to see whatever san saw. “let’s go.”

the duo rush across the eerily quiet palace grounds to exit through the back gate, their footsteps barely making any sound at all even as they’re close to sprinting along the empty streets towards the docks.

“to answer your question,” san breathes out as he leans his back against the cold surface of a building to search for any more guards that might be around. “i have no idea either. but captain wanted us to bring her over after we bust him out, so let’s not pry any further.”

“… wanna bet that they fucked before?”

“wooyoung, i swear on the heavens, i will wring your neck once we’re onboard –”

“look, yunho’s waving at us! we gotta hurry!” wooyoung runs pass san as fast as he can while carrying someone over his shoulders, leaving the latter open mouthed with disbelief at how unserious his friend is even after committing multiple atrocities in the span of several hours.

with a tired shake of his head, san chases after wooyoung towards the docks and up the wooden ramp, where the rest of the crew are gathered in the middle of the deck with a familiar face in the middle of it all.

“welcome back, captain!” one of them grins. “sorry we took so long, but we’re glad you’re safe. mingi was in charge for the few days you were gone and it was a nightmare.”

the captain merely waves his overly excited crew off before gesturing over to san, who immediately straightens up his posture.

“where is she?” the captain speaks, and san glances over to the side. the captain’s dark eyes follows the younger one’s gaze, and they land on wooyoung, who’s currently carrying the unconscious figure of someone who he wishes wasn’t so familiar.

“she’s here and she’s well, captain!” wooyoung mock salutes, an easy grin on his lips. “where do you want me to put her?”

hongjoong can’t help but let his eyes wander towards your face. even though you’re basically upside down from the way wooyoung is carrying you without much concern, your hair an absolute mess and swaying around your face, he thinks you look nice.

“uh,” he clears his throat, ignoring the way wooyoung raises his eyebrow. “give her to me. i’ll chain her somewhere so she doesn’t run off once she wakes up. tell yunho to set sail to our next destination.”

wooyoung bends over slightly to allow his captain to carry you instead. he rolls his shoulders with a small groan once the weight is removed before walking over to san and standing next to the slightly taller male.

“d’you see that?” wooyoung mutters to his friend, eyes fixed on hongjoong’s figure before he disappears into the crew’s sleeping quarters. “capt was basically giving her heart eyes, i’ve never seen him look so soft. i’m gonna win that bet.”

within the space of the crew’s quarters, hongjoong raises an eyebrow at the sudden sound of wooyoung screeching like a prehistoric creature. he brushes it off with a shake of his head, placing your unconscious figure on one of the hammocks that sways around with the movement of the ship. he grabs a pair of handcuffs, the same ones that were used to chain him during his near execution, and shackles one of your wrists on the pillar above your head.

once the cuffs click securely, hongjoong steps back from you.

the gently moonlight that seeps from the cracks of the main deck above the crew’s quarters illuminate the features of your sleeping (well, unconscious) face, and hongjoong is hit with a sick sense of déjà vu.

the image of you sleeping next to him on his small bed, nuzzled comfortably in his sheets while he simply stared at you. you had fallen asleep while listening to him recite one of his many poems, disrupting his words with a soft snore, but he doesn’t mind. he would never mind, especially when you looked so peaceful and at ease beside him.

back then during that moment, hongjoong remembers, he thought you were the most beautiful person ever. the curve of your nose, the lush plump of your lips and the softness of your cheeks that he couldn’t get enough of – in his eyes, you were nothing short of perfect.

as much as he hates himself for it, hongjoong still thinks the same of you right now.

he reaches over to brush your hair away from your face, gently tucking the loose strands behind your ears. there’s an ache in his chest, a familiar feeling to when he was all alone in his dirty prison cell, right after you had told him he’s not the hongjoong you loved.

it hurts, but he knows you’re right. he isn’t the hongjoong you used to know, and it sucks, because you are still the girl he used to know.

with a caress so soft that it’s barely there, his touch ghosting above the warm skin of your cheek, hongjoong mutters an apology to you that he offers from the bottom of his ruined heart. a heart that, he thinks, will always beat for you, even when it’s in tatters and bleeding endlessly.

without a second glance, he walks away.

next.

[marcyification]

"Get down." The loud voice above you echoed, but you didn't pay any mind to him. You pulled yourself up onto the small house roof, you could feel his frustration building.

"I don't want to get you down myself. Get down." His voice dropped to a low growl. You didn't listen, instead you began to dash across the roof. The snow fell heavy around you and you didn't know why or how it happened but- you felt yourself loose your footing.

You let out a scream as you fell onto your back, your body involuntarily rolling to the side. You weren't able to stop- you hit the snow covered ground with a soft thud.

Pain shot through every inch of your body and you laid there, squeezing your knees to your chest. Thankfully the snow had broken the fall but..it still hurt. Badly.

There was a sharp exhale that broke the silence and a shadow cast over you. There wasn't much light to begin with, but as you peaked out from your arms- what was left of it was blocked by the biggest hand you'd ever seen. You gasped and tried to back up but you hit the rough brick wall. You groaned and began to cry as the hand stopped in front of you.

You were waiting for him to grab you- but it never happened. Instead he laid his hand out as much as he could in the slightly narrow walkway for you to climb on. That was unusual. Normally he just grabbed you whenever he wanted. You looked up and he had an unreadable expression on his face.

"Let me make sure you didn't hurt yourself." He said in a slightly commanding voice. You shook your head and tried to turn away, but his hand got just a bit closer. "Please." He added, though it still wasn't very genuine. He sounded monotone, almost robotic.

You shook your head and looked away, upset and angry that he was even trying to help. "I don't want to force you. Please let me see." He said in a still-cold voice. You whimpered but looked back at his hand, slowly nodding. You stood up and shakily approached his hands, limping rather terribly.

You stared at his hand..the fact that it was so much bigger than you was horrifying. He could crush you with a finger if he wanted too, without even realizing it too. You..you didn't want to think about that.

You shakily climbed onto his hand, avoiding eye contact. He couldn't tell if you were cold or scared..he guessed it was both. The man was completely still as you climbed onto his hand. You made your way to his palm and almost collapsed against him. He was so overwhelmingly warm..

He raised you up to his face, which honestly made you feel rather dizzy and almost sick. He was so large, it felt like forever before his hand stopped just short of his chin. He gently moved your weak body with his finger..for somebody so large he was scarily cautious. "You don't appear to be harmed. Why would you do something like that?" He huffed, making you flinch.

You were too weak to respond..you just shook your head and cried into his hand. He looked slightly uncomfortable..but he let you cry. He slowly lowered his hand down to his chest, depositing you just below one of the buttons on his shirt. You were confused for a moment, before realizing he'd put you there for a reason.

"Rest. Take a nap, just lay there, I don't care. Just please don't move around too much." He said. You didn't even have time to respond before his hand covered your body- and the space around you. You laid there for a moment before curling onto his side. This was better than just laying out in the cold like you usually did.

At least you had somewhere warm to sleep.

[outerspacebassman]

Agathe found herself standing in the familiar and empty hallway of a monastery. Her gasp pierced the silence and echoed off the stone walls for what seemed like miles. Looking around she saw no one. Not another sister, not a scribe, not a mouse.

“Hello?” she called out to anyone.

The twilit halls offered no response but the slowly fading vibration of her own voice. No torchlight offered clarity and no light came from the village below to lend its usual comfort. Her home was dark and as quiet as an unmarked grave, save for the last whispers of her call. Agathe went to sidle along the wall. “I know this place so well at least,” she thought.

“Renée?” She called again, one hand feeling each brick and the other reaching into the dim light. “Sybil?!” Each call sent another wave of echoes among the cold stone. “Jerome?!” She would take even a pompous ass like him over this.

Tk.

Agathe’s head snapped to the sound.

Tk tk.

For a long while it was silent. Not even the sound of her breath filled the air. The walls and hallways seemed to expand.

Tktkttktktktktktktktktktktktktktktk.

Suddenly Agathe could feel things running across her hands and her feet. She shrieked and tried to see what it was, but all she could make out in the dark were a dozen black rivulets coursing along the walls and the floors. She barely had time for that to sink in before the cacophonous racket of every book and every scroll being cast off their shelves rang out. Again she screamed, turning to run towards the chantry or the village–anywhere someone else could be. Here feet did not carry her, though she ran as fiercely as she could. Instead she drifted, as if pulled by the current of the sea.

She took stock of herself and gasped. Long brown locks floated elegantly at her shoulder and her vestments had been replaced by a shining diaphonous stole. As she came alit there was much silence. Only the sounds of rustling parchment broke it. She looked up and saw scrolls unfurl and go into the far distance, books dissolved before her eyes and fell like snow. The black streams continued to snake along the walls and the ground, some leaving by the road, some going into the chapel and the houses.

Tktktktktktktktktktktktk

At once Agathe could place the sound. It was the scratching of quills. With the sky above she could see the streams clearer: they were letters, words, sentences, and thoughts.

“The Abbott or the prioress!” She thought, “I have to get to the chantry! One of them must know what’s going on.”

Again she tried to run but was pulled along like a little girl’s doll into the chantry. Once stately in contrast to the rustic village, its architecture was now jet black, sinister. The inside of the chapel had some candlelight, a mixed blessing as Agathe held her feet up to avoid the flow of words. Sitting at the altar was not the Abbott or the prioress, but a frail and impossibly old looking figure, bent at the waist and peering down at a book through thick glass lenses. The altar looked alive as a mass of words began to swarm and climb all over it.

“Who are you? What’s happening here?” Agathe pleaded, her voice trembling. The figure did not respond. “Can you not hear me?” She demanded. Again the figure said and did nothing.

Before she could press a third time, a new sound rang out: steel upon steel. She turned to it, then back to the figure. “Answer me! Wha–“ Her voice trailed off into a breathless whimper as she saw the words swallow the ancient one, ink beginning to spill over the altar. She screamed a third time and ran to the village, this time her legs and feet burned as she tore a path towards someone–anyone.

The white shreds of what had once been books had formed a great swirling cloud in the town center from which the din of battle rang. In the branches of a great ash tree Agathe spied a hawk taking perch, but it also looked like a man. As the changeling went between man and beast, the cloud also took new form. Where once was a miasma of ink and paper was now a mountain of skulls, one of the emperor’s guards in rent armor collapsed upon it ere the figure in the trees watched and waited.

A great light then shone behind Agathe, casting her shadow upon the pile of skulls. She turned to face a woman of most resplendent beauty bearing a great scythe. Olive skinned, her eyes were closed beatifically. Her raiment was made of golden leaves and her hair glowed like a roaring fire, yet she merely stood there. Agathe was paralyzed before her, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to breathe. Again in silence, the woman’s eyes snapped open as Agathe awoke with a gasp.

She was again in her own bed, her own plain flaxen shift, her dishwater blonde hair cropped close. The sun was rising in the village and the church bells were pealing.

[aneixart]

sun feb 5 2023

I dont know where this dream begins, I was inside a dark house ranting about bft about how I didn't trust them and all the things they were telling me I was telling this to shn which was weird because they weren't my friend more of an acquaintance ,they listened intensely, the house was dark like there were no lights on but being lite by the light from outside nothing sunny, I heard a cough and realized that bft was sleeping in one of the rooms and possible heard everything. Part of the ground fell exposing an rectangular tunnel I put a flashlight down and saw all these red and cream colored crabs below shn and there spouse followed we went underground to this place but it didn't seem underground it was bright high wall the walls were not brick but like redish brown colored and there was aqua blue circle there was a pool for some reason the water was clear. I saw this tunnel while the other two explored then i heard a strange noise like machine turning in the tunnel a door begin to slide opebeing fixed my attention on the door i tried to tell myself to alert the others and run, but I was fixed on the tunnel soon I saw crabs emerge then behind them this giant creature grey it reminded me of Mr waternoose. but this version wasn't any cartoon it was a live creature there seem to be another behind it. I couldn't run around without it getting me I had no choice but to jump in the pool to cross and it all felt like it slowed me down. I reached the other side by these two giant pillars and had nowhere to go two giants emerged and tried to capture me when I became aware and begin to fly to escape. I shifted to another scene and saw myself drawing what I had seen I was then in a grocery store collecting my items that feel on the floor another customer tall man was rude saying I was stealing I told him these were my items then he handed me a bottle of white grape champagne and asked if that to was mine i told him no and handed it back to him his mother was with him and she gave me a ride there but it seem like she left me I began to walk home there was feilds of land next to the road and sidewalk another girl joined me she didn't want to walk alone I told her we might as well travel together as we walked we talked about things I seem to find a stroller to push my items it was slightly broken but it helped we passed this building I seem to be in Dallas it was a dull day but the sun came out I climbed up on the roof and was watching the nest of birds , I eventually made it to my mothers apartment were she was asleep and then I woke.

[sexyvampkitty]

RP Mini-Solo 17: 'Emotions Suck...The Sequel'

Emotions suck. Enough said. I'm better off without them...and I'm going to leave my humanity off this time around for as long as I possibly can. Looking back on everything...my life has been one endlessly long downward spiral of total crap from the very first moment that I set foot inside this town. I mean...of all of the places that I could've picked...I'm sure that I could've found vampires somewhere else...but my 'friend' of a friend decided that I come here. It turned out to be the single 'worse' decision of my life...and I'm 'so' going to kick her ass...if I ever decide to go back to my former home in Los Angeles, California. I think back on everything that has happened to me...in the space of a little over a year. First...I meet my boyfriend one fateful night...my first love...my now 'ex'-'Boo'...we fall in love...literally at first glance...I ask him to turn me...so he does...and everything is great...for the most part...for about the first three months...until...he starts to go off on these little 'adventures'...vampire business trips...whatever...leaving me for a few days at a time...then a few weeks...followed by a few months...until...he finally disappears on me altogether. Now...I'm lucky if he comes back into town at all...and...when he does...he barely says more than a few words to me before turning around and repeating the same pattern all over again. Then...enter the new guy...my husband...my now 'ex'-husband...former...as in past tense...as in I totally staked his ass. He shows up in town one night out of nowhere...we meet...we start talking...and we fall in love the same way that I fell in love with my ex-boyfriend...hard...and fast. Then...one night...I go over to his house...my 'way' former ex-husband's house...I climb into bed with him...we have mad, passionate sex...and...a few weeks later...he asks me to marry him...and...like a total dumb ass...I say yes. Cut to a few months later...two...in fact...right after our honeymoon....he decides to up and dump me one night..right out of the blue...he just has a total freak-out and leaves the house suddenly...and never comes back...leaving me feeling angry...hurt...confused...sad...betrayed...and pregnant because of some weird...magical...voodoo type curse...'long' story. Anyway...that's what happened. Now...as I sit here...chained up in the basement of the Salvatore house...by my 'current' boyfriend...'Impulsive'...no less...which is another 'long' story...with my back up against the hard stone and brick wall...I realize that not even 'he' will be able to break through the barrier that I've put up around my cold heart...as hard as he might attempt to try. I don't think that I'll be able to let anyone else in...ever again. Besides, why would I want to? What's the point anyway? Each time so far that I've let someone in...all that has led to is my heart getting ripped out...in the metaphorical sense...and stomped on repeatedly. I'm done. Also...as much as I miss the cuddles...and the sex...damn...do I miss the sex...crazy...wild...'hot' vampire sex...I don't believe that I need a man to complete me. I'm perfectly fine going solo for the rest of eternity if I have to. Plus, I've been alone for most of my life...why should I be hopeful enough that something would change now? Even back when I lived in a house full of girls...I always felt pretty much alone. I was always the one who never quite got along with everyone else...always the outcast...never quite smart enough...or pretty enough...not like the rest of Josef Kostan's girls. Most of his human blood donors aka 'freshies...were all either models...or lawyers...and a bit younger than I was at the time. Honestly, I have no idea what he ever saw in me...and I guess I never will. Too little...too late...blah blah blah. I don't know what Impulsive sees in me either. He's tried to kill me before...more than once...and now he wants me to be his girlfriend? It's freaking weird. I 'could' ask him...but I doubt that he'll tell me anytime soon. He's kind of...pissed off at me...at the moment...which is yet one more 'really' long story. Whatever. I can wait. I have nothing but time at this point. It's not like I actually care anyway. Isn't that the whole point of flipping the switch in the first place? So...stay angry with me...or don't. Bring it on. Or don't. I...don't...freaking...care...and...I probably won't...from now...until the rest of forever...however long that happens to be for me. [END]

[migbird]

top text

should i make things or

[darling-i-read-it]

Back Seat

Connie Nikas x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: nsfw, unprotected sex, robbery, police chase

Author’s Note: was he a walking red flag? yes. is red my favorite color? 😏

Requested: by anon, ok ok ok so connie x reader kinda inspired by the song “back seat” by saweetie. so like they’re on the run together and steal a car and the rush from it and seeing him do these things turns her on and so they take it to the back seat lol (you know i gotta get nsfw for my mans🥵) (also the batman drunk hcs were so cute thank you☺️☺️☺️)

Summary: the request!

Song: Back Seat by Saweetie

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

You were breathing deeply. You could feel the coolness of the brick wall through your shirt. You glanced feverishly at the door, holding a gun under your large puffy jacket. You closed your eyes briefly then forced them open again as the adrenaline of the moment threatened to take over. Connie wouldn’t let you go inside because he needed a look out. He couldn’t figure out how fast the police were going to get here and if they got here any sooner than he thought he would need you to run in and grab him to go out the back.

You could feel your heart beating in your ears. Your arm was shaking. You thought this was a bad idea but if it wasn’t you it was gonna be Nick. You were just happy he was safe back at the shitty apartment you were renting for the month.

Finally the door flew open.

“Go, go, go,” Connie was saying before he even opened the door. You rushed forward, running after him. You tugged the bandana over your nose even more as you ran, shoving the hood down over your eyes. He had the money in the bag by his side, shuffling against his hip. You watched it intently as he made a turn.

He came to a halt in front of the car you had parked on the side of the building.

“It’s fucking locked up,” he said in awe.

“What?” You shoved around him and saw that it was chained to the parking meter. “Fuck. Fuck!” You turned around. No one was following you yet but in a second they would be. You had to be gone before the police arrived. “What are we-” you started but Connie was already moving. He tossed the duffle bag to you, which you caught, and then broke the window of the car directly behind yours. Your lips parted in awe as he opened up the driver door. He leaned over and unlocked the passenger door for you. You hopped in, tossing the money in the back.

He leaned over under the steering wheel, breaking something. You glanced back at the street and saw people were starting to come around the corner.

“Con…”

The car came to life. He hit the dashboard and you let out a long excited laugh. He took off the parking brake, put the gear into drive and pulled out, squealing onto the street. You turned back around and saw that you were leaving them in the dust. Your heart was beating so fast, the blood rushing to your head. You turned quickly to Connie who was breathing just as hard as you were, looking back to the street.

“Are we losing them?” he asked. You were quiet for a moment, staring at him as his eyes moved back and forth to the street behind and in front of the car. After a moment his head stopped on you. “Y/N?” You swallowed hard.

“Yeah. They’re gone.”

You drove in excited, adrenaline filled silence for about five minutes until you were positive you had lost the police. Finally you turned to him. Your chest rose and fell deeply.

“Con?”

“Yeah?” he breathed. He glanced over. He knew that look in your eyes. Before you were even able to say anything he was pulling over onto the side of the street, into an abandoned alleyway. He turned the car off. You reached forward as he moved eagerly to you, lips crashing together.

Fueled by adrenaline and the look of his hands starting this car and the feel of his hair under your fingers you eagerly kissed each other. You tried to climb over the middle counsel and then attempted to climb over each other but eventually came to the conclusion you needed to get in the backseat.

You kept your lips together as you backed up into the backseat. You fell over the bag and then tossed it onto the ground as he climbed on top of you. You leaned against the window and he was on top of you. You could feel the heat of his body pressed against yours. You clawed at his clothes. He wasn’t a great kisser but he moved his lips down your neck, kissing every inch available skin. You breathed out harshly as he shoved your pants down so he had easy access to you. The cold air surprised you but then his lips were back on yours and you couldn’t think about anything else.

“Con-”

“Uh huh.” He was already hard from the adrenaline itself, now he just wanted to be inside you. He looked at your face and you nodded and then he did it. Mixed moans sounded in the stolen car. He put his hand behind your head and thrusted. You gasped, lips parted, eyes wide.

And then he was moving even faster, not waiting for you to adjust. Sounds of skin against skin flooded the small space and you gripped each other so tightly as though you would slip away.

“Connie!” you gasped. He kissed you eagerly, lips moving up and down with each thrust. You kissed him and felt him shaking above you. With his last thrust he sent you off as well and you were both shaking. When you opened your eyes again you saw that the window had fogged up. You moved your eyes back to his and giggled. “I can’t believe we did that,” you whispered.

“I can.” He backed out of you and rebuckled his pants. You shimmied your pants back up despite the innate desire to kiss him again. You sat up straight, the duffle bag under your feet. “I think I love you.”

“I think I love you too,” you said, not missing a beat. You were about to kiss him again when there was a knock on the window. You jumped, turning to the side. There was a flashlight against the window. You rolled it down.

“What are you two doing?” an officer asked. The worry came back to your heart, all arousal gone.

“Just hanging around officer,” you said kindly. You leaned forward to get a good look at him. He was a young officer. Probably just tasked to make sure you weren’t doing drugs.

“We got a new baby at home. Trying to get a breather, ya know,” Connie said, leaning forward over you, flashing a toothy smile. The officer moved the flashlight aside a bit so you could see his face. He nodded slowly.

“I know the feeling. I got two myself. How old?”

“Eight weeks,” you said, letting out a sigh. “It’s been…pretty bad.”

“I imagine.” He nodded and put down his flashlight completely. “You two try and get home soon. Babies that young need their parents.” You nodded quickly.

“Thank you for checking officer,” you said earnestly. Connie nodded in agreement, waved and then closed the window as the officer walked off. You turned to him, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Thank God we don't’ have a kid,” he muttered.

“We might with the stunt you just pulled,” you teased, nudging him. “Let’s get the fuck home.”

“Fucking lets.”

[luna-writes-stuff]

Thank you for taking my request!! I loved it and if you’re willing to do another one for Kaz, could you write Kaz headcanons about his crush aka reader getting injured on a heist because of an accidentally mishap by Jesper? Thank you either way!!

Oops?, Kaz Brekker

Injured s/o might be my favorite trope. Got a bit carried away while writing. Sorry in advance.

Headcanons, genderneutral s/o

Tw: Angst, descriptions of a fight, being smashed into a wall, blood, injuries, stabwound, concussion….basically the whole shebang. Shooting, killing, breaking someone’s bones, Jesper did an oops, passing out, worried Kaz (that’s new), throwing up, Kaz touches hands with reader. That seems like enough, don’t you think?

- This job wouldn’t even be that difficult or complicated. All you had to do, was to steal a key for a heist that would occur at the same evening. It was a small pickpocket job. One that Kaz could’ve easily done if he hadn’t been busy helping Wylan get hold to a bunch of bombs.

- So there you stood, with Jesper, in the middle of a busy street. The people were swarming around you, but it would only make the job of stealing easier. Jesper’s job had been to distract the victim as you slid past him, grabbing the key from his pocket. Jesper had even gotten lined from Kaz to ensure that he wouldn’t screw up.

- “There he is.” Jesper had announced, pointing towards a man with an awfully obvious mustache, walking towards the pair of you. You quickly separated from Jesper before the target would see you. Just then, you fellow crow put on his disguise as a lost boy.

- “Excuse me,” he had started, walking up to the confused man. “but do you happen to know where the docks are? I fear I’ve gotten myself lost a bit.”

- You rolled your eyes at Jesper’s attempt of appearing lost. If you had not known him, you would’ve perhaps believed him, but right now, it was just stupid to look at.

- You found yourself placed on the other side of the street, behind the man. Without attracting too much attention to yourself, you walked along with the crowd, now approaching his back. With a quick hand, you fished something out of his pockets, walking away just as quick as you had approached. Your steps not wavering.

- But just then, a second voice was heard; “That does not belong to you, girl.”

- You did not stop your pace, only speeding up a bit, but not too much, just in case the speech had not been directed towards you.

- But it had been.

- You see….Jesper had been talking to the wrong person. It was another man with a big mustache, but not the one he should’ve been looking for. You however, had found the right man, but now, there was no distraction.

- Suddenly, you got grabbed by your arm, being dragged into a side-alley. Quickly, you feigned a confused expression, turning towards the man, pretending to speak another language.

- “It doesn’t matter what language you speak; you have something that belongs to me.” At those words, he held up the key you were looking for.

- “This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Looking down towards your hand, you found a blunt piece of metal, the same weight and size as a key, but not so much the shape of one. It had been a decoy.

- “Who sent you, girl?” He question, taking a threatening step towards you. You didn’t move one step. Instead, you fiddled with the metal, trying to find a sharp piece to attack him with, but when you found none, disappointment struck you.

- “I asked you a question, dear.” With that, you dropped the metal, punching the man in his face. It worked, but only for a minute. He wavered but came to his senses as quickly as it went.

- From behind you, someone pinned your arms, throwing you towards the nearest wall. The man had been expecting this and had even gotten back-up. And Jesper was still talking to a random civilian, probably wondering why you haven’t shown up yet.

- The impact with the wall caused the air to leave your lungs, the back of your head hitting the concrete. A loud ringing had filled your ears, leaving you incapable of hearing anything else at the moment. But you were smart. Rolling away quickly, you pulled the man down to the floor.

- Climbing over him, you grabbed one of the knives Inej had so kindly gifted you once. Without hesitation, you plunged it into his neck, ensuring he wouldn’t attack you anymore.

- You hadn’t been given time to get back up. A sharp pain suddenly filled your side, the feeling as if a cut brick had been thrown against it.

- “You’re not the only one with knives on you.” The target growled, now kneeling down to come face to face with you. Your vision became blurry. Whether that was because of your earlier impact with the wall or the blood seeping out from your body, you didn’t know.

- “I don’t need knives.” You managed to get out, grabbing the man’s hand that held onto the dagger, pushing his pinky back, effectively breaking it.

- While he fell back in pain, you crawled away from the scene, trying to stay hidden. With your current state, defense was something that would only slow more over time. From corner of your eye, you saw the target getting back up, but he fell down the moment both feet touched the ground, a loud bang following his fall.

- “Saints, Kaz is never going to live this one down.” A familiar voice mumbled, quickly nearing you. “You stay awake or we’ll both be in big trouble, okay?”

- No answer came out of you. The spinning in your head made you nauseous beyond belief. You had already started to lean down, feeling the vomit coming up. The last thing you remembered were Jesper’s hands holding your hair back while you threw the nausea out.

- You had woken up in your own room a few hours later. Your waist had been covered in bandages while semi-wet towel rested beside your head, which had probably fallen off during your sleep. Nina’s perfume hung in the air, letting you knew she had been here not too long ago.

- As your eyes tried focusing on the room, a sting hit your side, causing you to turn over and grunt in annoyance.

- “Don’t move. We just changed the bandages.”

- The voice made you freeze, halting your movements to your side, instead laying back down. You had expected Nina or Inej to be here, maybe even Jesper, but not Kaz.

- “And don’t think too much or try to talk. You’ve suffered a heavy concussion.” If your eyes could’ve allowed you to roll them, you would have. But it hurt like hell at the moment, so you deemed it wise to not use them too much.

- “Would you rather I fall back asleep?” You mumbled teasingly, yet the sound of sleep did come off as appealing. Passing out was not like sleeping at all. You felt exhausted, but you could not pass an opportunity to annoy Kaz.

- “That would be wise, yes.” Was his simple response. You slowly turned your head towards his voice, scanning your surroundings at his side of the room.

- “Tough luck, Brekker.” He did not respond to that comment. You took it as a sign to continue; “Did Jesper get the key?”

- “Along with three weeks of cleaning duty, yes.”

- When silence overtook the room once again, he slowly reached for your hand, placing his on top of yours before linking your thumbs together. The entire action left you frozen, scared to move even the slightest bit.

- “Go to sleep. You need to recover. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Was all he said, before slumping back in his seat on the chair beside you, his hand not once straying for yours.

- The need to annoy him had now completely subsided and had instead been replaced with the annoying feeling of bubbles in your stomach. That tickling feeling that was nowhere near funny, but could only make you stop your train of thought.

- Perhaps it was best for you to close your eyes. You mission had succeeded and judging on Kaz’ comments, so had the heist at the same evening. You were too tired to ask how long you were out and whether the heist succeeded or not. You started to obey Kaz’s command, closing your eyes, focusing on the feeling of Kaz’s hand on yours, no gloves or piece of fabric separating you. It was just you and him. And for now, that was enough.

[ramzawrites]

(Platonic techno x Piglin Hybrid Reader)

Imagine a 7-8 y/o piglin hybrid finds techno's nether portal and out of pure childhood curiosity decides to go through it and ends up in the snow biome. They almost immediately get frostbite and pass out due to living in the nether and usually being warm. Eventually techno finds the child by his nether portal and look's around to see no parents so assumes they are an orphan he goes to pull out his orphan obliterater but the voices get louder telling him to take them home and protect them eventually gives in wraps his cape around them and brings them home to warm them up

(Feel free to ignore if it makes you uncomfortable)

-Anon :)

Kin - Piglin!Child!Reader and Technoblade

GN

Pairings: none

Characters included: Technoblade, (mentioned) Philza

Warnings: n/a

Series: a request :]

Summary: Y/N was just too curious! This weird black frame with the purple light was surely not there before! Maybe they should look at it a bit further. The light just looked too inviting!

Words count: 3023

Authors Note: My first Techno fic! YO! I really love him alot! He is one of my favorite CCs and also favorite Character in the dsmp :) Wish I found a better way to cut this one off but I had so much fun writing this!

Y/N’s little Piglin hands slowly traveled up the rough Netherrack that they were hiding behind. Grabbing the edge of the rock as their head followed along, their eyes peaking over cautiously.

There was this weird black frame with what looked like a purple pool inside of it. It emitted a rumbling but kind of musical sound that seemed to call out to Y/N. In fact, they only found this weird portal only due to the sounds. Never in their young life have they heard anything like it.

They have only seen something like this here and there whenever their clan moved on from a region but usually those seemed to be broken. The frame only half finished without a light coming out of it. Elders and the adults would always remind them to stay far away from it since apparently it could be dangerous, but Y/n couldn’t understand how.

It just stood there playing its music that seemed to almost call out to the Piglin. Wanting it to get closer and listen to its magical melody.

How could be something so beautiful be considered dangerous?

Taking another look around, Y/N made sure they were alone. Secretly having run off to follow this sound they managed to pick up on. It’s not like their parents would look for them on account that their parents were already dead.

Now the Elders took care of them, but they were usually too busy with clan business to realize when they ran off on their own adventures.

Once again checking that there were no Ghasts or other dangerous mobs around Y/N climbed over the rock. Landing on what looked like a pathway that led to the black frame.

Closer to the structure Y/N took the time to get a good look at the rock that has been used for the frame. It was a deep black and yet it somehow seemed to have a purple shine. If it came from the vortex between or the rock itself Y/N couldn’t tell, nor did they care enough to figure that out. Too amazed by it.

The sound was now really loud, and Y/N could tell that it came definitely from the purple light. It seemed to swirl in of itself almost like liquid and yet it stayed in the air as if it were glass put between the stone.

Mesmerized by it the child slowly put their hand into the light, trying to figure out what the material was.

But the only thing they felt was how cold it felt and it seemingly pulling on them. Trying to pull them deeper in. Scared Y/N immediately pulled their arm away, holding it close to their chest. Warming the cold limb up with their own body and the temperature of the Nether.

They have never felt anything like this. It was interesting. They knew what cold was but never like this. Only having felt an occasional breeze from jumping around or running around and even then, it was nothing compared to what they just felt.

Was this vortex doing this? Was this the purpose? Is this the dangerous part? How?

Y/N was already so incredible curious, but this really spiked their curiosity. What would happen if they just stood in there?

With this question in mind the kid placed one foot in the frame, soon followed by the next. The vortex completely engulfing them. Purple being the only thing they were able to see. This cold feeling immediately hitting them like a brick wall.

With a surprised grunt with how huge the temperature difference was, the child jumped away, hoping to get back to the familiar warmth but as they did the cold didn’t disappear.

The portal was still there but suddenly there was this bright light all around them. White as far as they could see.

Now panicking the child desperately looked around but their body was still dealing with the sudden temperature drop.

The world spinning around making it difficult for them to get a good look at where they were. Darkness crept in at the edges of their vision which they desperately tried to fight against.

Without realizing Y/N crashed onto the white ground which seemed to be even colder than the air around. Sneaking into the thin clothing and prickling at the skin. Their heart beating incredible fast and, in their ears, and yet they suddenly felt so tired.

The coldness that was so uncomfortable before suddenly turning more comfortable. Their breathing calming down as their eyes fell shut. Submerging themself into the world of darkness.

Luckily for Y/N, Technoblade was on his way towards the Netherportal himself. He managed to run out of Blaze Rods and needed to gather more for his potions only to spot something or rather someone lying face down in the snow.

At first, he assumed that for some reason Tommy managed to knock himself out while wandering over for whatever reason but the closer he got the more he noticed that, no, the body was way too small for that.

Also, he was pretty sure the last time he checked Tommy didn’t sport similar pig ears like Techno.

The voices in his head were pretty calm until they realized “Kin? Our kin? Out here? Our or his kin? Is it our kin as well?”

Techno approached the small body. This child was shaking and wet due to the snow. The clothes soaked. How the hell did that child just survive the travel to the Overworld like that? It was more likely that Piglin’s die during that process and end up as just a husk. A zombie if you will.

Not a lot of Piglin are strong enough to survive this magic. Techno should know he almost died when he traveled over and only survived because he had Philza on his side who helped him through it.

Impressive and yet he didn’t particular care.

“Parents? Orphan? Are they an orphan? Oh! Blood for the Blood God? No! Look at them! They are already dying! They must be something special surviving the portal like that! Are they though? Aren’t they dying? More because of the cold than anything! What about their parents?”

Grumbling Techno stepped into the portal himself, ending up in the warm nether. Hoping to still the curiosity of the voices a tiny bit with this. A sense of nostalgia spreading throughout his body and senses as he looked around the red landscape.

The child’s parents have to be around somewhere. Rule number one in the nether for Piglins was to stay together no matter what. It was dangerous in the Nether and the relationship between blood kin was precious. They must be already around here. Picking up on the child’s scent to find them.

And yet. Nothing.

No Piglin, no anyone.

He wandered a bit in, but he didn’t even spot any close group of Piglin’s running around. Weird. Was that child really alone?

“Check on them! Techno! Check on the child! See if they are still there!” the voices yelled out, infuriating the warrior a bit.

“Alright, alright!” he gave in and once again stepped into the portal. The cold hitting him but at this point he was used to this and managed to reacclimatize himself pretty fast. Not immediately and it still took a few minutes, but he didn’t almost pass out every time.

No surprise there. The child was still laying in the snow.

Once again, the voices flared up in his mind. A few demanding blood while others still expressed their curiosity towards this orphan.

Too busy with his own plans and things to do Technoblade took out his sword aptly called “The Orphan Obliterator”. He just wanted to deal with this situation as fast as he could, so he could move on.

Moving the sword up in the air only for the voices in his head to suddenly erupt loudly.

“No! Stop! Do not! Don’t kill! No! Techno! Please!”

This was very much not like their usual behavior. Usually, they would welcome any chance for bloodshed. Calling for it even in situation where it was just inconvenient and unnecessary but now, they don’t want it? Okay, maybe he should listen in to the voices after all.

“What is going on, Chat?” he asked.

And the voices, even if loudly and talking over each other, answered “Save them! Take them with you! They are special! Protect them! They are your kin if you give them the chance! We are sure! A young child able to survive this? Sounds similar to you Techno! Take them with you! Save them! Please! They deserve the chance!”

The problem with Chat was, they sometimes knew more about the world than Techno and it has paid out listening to them, but they also liked to just follow their whim for fun. Though this seemed to be the former. They realized that the child was special and worth saving, even if only in their ,sometimes omnipotent, eyes.

Sighing Technoblade sheathed his netherite sword and pulled off his red cape.

Realizing what Techno was doing, Chat begun cheering. The voices that had demanded blood before now fully drowned out.

Technoblade knelt down and carefully heaved the piglin onto the cape, wrapping it around them. Their body was unsurprisingly incredibly cold. So cold that Techno worried they didn’t have a lot of time left. Well, worry was a strong word perhaps.

Holding the kid close to his chest he got a good look at their face. Their expression scrunched up in what he assumed to be pain. A few light scars on their face. It wasn’t unusual that Piglins sported a few scars but not that young. The parents were usually too protective over their young.

“Must be a real troublemaker, I bet.” He noted.

Scars already at that age and them running through a portal just like that? Yeah, that child must cross the line between brave and stupid a lot. Not that he could fault them. He wasn’t that much different as a child himself, though he would never admit it out loud.

“They are kinda cute! It’s a child. Children do that. What do we do with them? Save them first. Talk to them. Figure out if they have potential! Kin? Kin! We need to talk to Philza. Dadza! Grandza! Oh! Yes! Grandza!”

Techno shook his head, as if that would make the voices shut up “Chat, please. Don’t assume anything. I might just help them out and find a clan for them to get back to. We don’t have the time for a child to be around. Too busy with the Syndicate.”

While Chat wasn’t happy with it, they seemed to be glad enough that Techno was acting against his instincts to help this orphan out. If the others hear that the Technoblade has helped out an orphan, well, he hoped people won’t. Doesn’t want to be seen as a hypocrite and as someone who keeps his words, and threats.

With the kid in his arms, he made his way back towards his cabin. Apparently, the Blaze Rods had to wait after all.

As he walked up the stairs towards his cabin and walked in, he suddenly got very aware he had no idea what to do. Looking around his eyes fell on his fireplace but that somehow seemed dangerous. Probably bad idea to just lay down an unconscious child right next to the fire, right?

Instead, he remembered that he had a spare bed roll sitting around somewhere.

With the cape still wrapped around the little one he pulled out the bed roll and laid them inside the rolled-out bed. While tucking them in he made sure to let a bit breathing room in. Letting their body slowly warm up instead of instantly.

“Food. Food, Techno. Eat. The child as well!”

Ah, yes. What would he do without the voices reminding him to eat?

Normally he would just pop a potato in the furnace but not this time. If he is already cooking, he might as well cook for the both of them. Soup seemed appropriate. Now, if he only remembers the recipe and instructions Philza gave him way back.

Still a tiny bit annoyed he has to put off getting the Blaze Rods, Techno sat down and begun cutting up vegetables and heating up water. Putting the ingredients into the water and putting spice in after tasting it here and there. It definitely wouldn’t be a masterpiece but as long as it not tasted absolutely horrible and still warmed one up from the inside, this should be fine.

The child better not complain after he already went out of his way saving them from the cold. He really should have just killed them so he wouldn’t need to get through this trouble and could actually get work done but Chat really was acting weird.

The cooking process took longer than he expected. Long enough that his own pig ears suddenly heard some noises, groans, coming from behind him. Looking back, he saw how the small Piglin was moving around in the bed. Slowly sitting up. Their eyes still closed.

“You are awake.” He stated in Piglish. Knowing, that they probably couldn’t speak the common tongue of the Overworld.

They opened their eyes but were still squinting. Either in pain or not used to the light yet.

“Where am I? Who are you?” grunts coming out of their mouth that made up Piglish words.

For a second Techno had to hide his smile as he realized that it has been a long while that he spoke with anybody his native tongue.

“You are in the Overworld. In my home to be specific. You are lucky I found you or you would have frozen to death in the snow. Name’s Technoblade by the way.”

It seemed to be difficult for them to wrap their mind around this new information “Overworld? Technoblade?” they repeated as if this would give them more insight.

Not knowing what else to tell them, Techno turned around and begun pouring the soup into a bowl. Walking over to them to give it to them.

A bit wary the child pulled their arms out of the cape that was still wrapped around them. The white fluff tickling the back of their head. It seemed to be an old cape. The fluffy part not being as fluffy as you would have assumed anymore. The fur dirty and strands glued together. Things that just happened over time even if you washed it quite often.

“My, uh, my name is Y/N.” they spoke, grabbing the bowl and looking inside it.

“I’m not poisoning you, you can eat it. Warms you up and once you feel good enough you can get back into the Nether.” He then proceeded to pour himself a bowl and begun sipping it.

It was edible. That was something.

Y/N kept watch as Techno continued to slowly drink the soup out of his own bowl. Drinking some of the food as well, their eyes widened out of pleasant surprise when the soup seemed to warm them up from the inside. Craving more of this warmth they begun gulping the liquid down in seconds.

This place was certainly warmer then when they got out of the portal but it was still cold enough for them to shiver. Where in the world were they? Never have they seen any of these materials around them. Grey cold stone, dark brown wood, white walls decorated with colorful pictures? It seemed almost unreal to them.

“How are you feeling squirt? Good enough to go home yet?” There was a bit of hope in Techno’s voice. The sooner this passed the better in his book.

“Home.” Y/N once again repeated what Techno said only to hold the bowl up towards him. A shy but determined expression on their face.

It took Techno a second before he understood what they wanted “More? More soup?”

The child enthusiastically nodded.

Sighing Techno got up from the chest he was sitting on to refill Y/N’s bowl and as he pushed the warm bowl back into their hand Y/N opened their mouth again “Uh, Overworld? I am in the Overworld? What- What is that?”

“A different world to where you come from. It has hot places and cold places. Different things and different mobs as well. Very different but both places are connected. You came through one of the portals that lead to this place, it also leads back to the Nether. Now, tell me something. I haven’t seen your parents. I was looking for anyone but there was no one. Not even a random group walking around.”

Y/N first slurped more from the soup before they answered “My parents are gone. I live with my clan. I always run off and they get mad at me.”

Techno knelt down to Y/N and softly pressed his hand against their forehead which made Y/N freeze. Scared and confused with what he was doing.

He let out a deep breath, wincing as a few voices begun yelling inside his mind “Ah. Seems like you have a fever. Guess I could help you through it and in the meanwhile try to find your clan. Might as well show you a bit of the Overworld while we are at it. Not a lot of Piglin get the chance to see the Overworld after all. You certainly are a special case.”

Then he turned around and talked to the air “Happy now Chat?” Turning back around to face Y/N again “Are you okay with that, Y/N?”

It was still difficult for them to grasp the whole of the situation but to get the chance to explore this Overworld? With this Technoblade Piglin? Their curiosity was certainly piqued. Maybe they were still too tired, and their head was pounding but there was this little voice in their head that urged them on.

That told them “Go for it. You will learn a lot! He might be your true kin.”

So, they nodded silently agreeing in Piglish “Yes. I think I am okay with it.”

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Headlights Girl

Genre: Urban fantasy + wlw romance

Words: approx. 8k

Summary: The story of a girl with headlamps for eyes and the moth-girl she meets along the way.

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Most humans carry the night with them. Even during daylight hours, they can shut out the sun, turn off the light, recede into themselves and into that soft secret place behind their eyes.

Did you know certain animals don’t have eyelids? Gecko’s have nothing between them and the violent sun which wishes to cook the colors of their world. They have to use their tongue. Dust and sand and rain, can you imagine? I was obsessed with lizards as a kid.

I stacked up books on snakes and lizards and skinks. I traced the way that sand snakes crested across the dunes, sideways and wrong. I put glue on the pads of my hand and tried to climb the walls of my room— I didn’t even get one handhold up. I went to the zoo and peered into their cages, up on my tiptoes, trying not to smudge the glass or breath too hard. I tried make out their triangle heads and slow tongue-flicks, but they each shrank away deep into nooks and crannies of their cages. Most things do when I look at them.

Most humans carry the night with them, right there behind their eyelids is an entire world of darkness. I have something else inside me, not quite, not soft, not secret. They called me “headlights girl” in the newspapers.

There were even stranger kids born in the Age of Spirits. I checked. Every morning of fifth grade, I scanned the papers for mentions of “oddities” growing into anomalies.

A boy who could breath fire. A girl with leaves sprouting from her head. A kid with antennae that could taste the wind. There are stranger things than me in the age of beasts and magic. My father called it the “Epoch of Bastards,” sons and daughters of flickering fire elementals and wind ghosts who seduced half-asleep ladies from their beds.

He didn’t look at me much growing up. And I knew what he meant. I knew what he was getting at by calling it the Epoch of Bastards. Growing up, I played in my little puddle of carpet on the floor as he blustered in and out of rooms like gale force winds. He’d be looking for his keys or a left shoe or wallet since he was going out, out, out. I think I missed him at first, in the way you miss strangers you’ve never met.

Later, still on my puddle of carpet, still on my island, I would glare at him with that sour, acid taste in the back of my throat. Acrid, smoky, I would barely blink as he passed; he’d jump when he turned too quickly and accidentally fell into my path. Later still, I would begin to wish they were both like that—blustery and calling people names, gone more often than not.

It sometimes felt better than hearing my mom weep to herself on the couch. I wish she’d do it in her room or outside or anywhere else than that theatrical sobbing in the middle of the house, a naked heartbeat to the place. She spoke to her friends on the phone in that same watery voice, handkerchief in hand and sniffling, she spoke to them more than me.

What else am I supposed to do? This isn’t how it was supposed to be. She’d wail, just a bit, and then find a new thing to wail over. They could barely afford to send me to That School. They could barely afford the special doctor’s appointments for my eyes. They barely knew what to do with me.

Sometimes, I wanted to shout right back: It’s not like I didn’t want to be here either!

But she wasn’t talking to me. 

School wasn’t much better. We weren’t the same, not really. None of us were the same age or had the same affliction. Plus, most everyone else stayed in dorms where they bonded with secrets and whispers and hiding from matrons. It wasn’t the same.

They called me The Lighthouse and Car Face and Nightlight. Sometimes they’d give me a few bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face. I did it. They’d laugh and reassure me I was as ugly as you’d think. Or beautiful. Or perfectly average-looking or I had a pig-nose or unibrow. I’d never seen anything but the blinding light of my own eyes in the mirror so I could never contradict them.

A boy with antlers handed me a twenty for a kiss in the 6th grade. I closed my eyes for that too. It was chapped and dry and he ran away with a screaming laugh afterward. There are stranger kids than me, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so much stranger than the rest of them?

I was 16 when I heel-toed my way down the stairs toward the front door. A duffel bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with loose clothes, change, a bath towel, three books with broken spines, all the tampons in the house, and a Swiss-army knife.

I hoped to stuff as many cheddar-cheese sandwiches in my sack as possible before the midnight bus came, but he was at the kitchen table. I don’t think either of us expected it, like running into your teacher at the mart and you’re both buying the same brand of toilet cleaner. There was a beer in front of his idle hands and he still wore his rumpled work shirt. He glanced at the bag on my shoulder for a long minute.

Finally, he sighed like I cut him off in traffic.

“Gimme a moment.”

My father leafed through a wad of cash he kept in a safe. He handed me almost three hundred bucks and we nodded at each other. At the time, I thought there was a kind of satisfaction to that nod, an endnote.

I was out the door before the midnight bus arrived.

Only three people were at the terminal. None of them looked at me with my pack and my knife stuffed in one hand and my eyes glowing. They did look at the glow, but not for long.

Remote and empty like maybe the world had ended and the last bits of if were nothing but strangers not making eye contact.

Finally, I watched the headlights of the midnight bus approach through dense summer night. I was struck by the thought that it was like looking at like, the glow of my eyes against its eyes. Can a bus be your father? Can your father be a man after all this time? Will your mother come looking for you?

I got on the bus and kicked my feet up against the seat in front of me. Scrunched into a ball, crossed my arms over my chest, and watched the trees turn into flickering bodies of shadow with each passing mile. ------------- My feet moved like tides. They tossed me against nameless city streets and toward empty forested slices of land. I stumbled into the painted deserts toward the west. I dipped my toes into the neon districts of the east with lights brighter than my own. I slept on benches and in kid’s treehouses and hunched my shoulders against brick walls of back alleys.

No one touched me. Maybe they’d approach now and then, but I’d open my eyes and they’d see nothing but heaven or devils or an absent lightning-God father that would smite them. I was the daughter of spirits after all.

I found my way to the ocean; beaches where other stragglers gathered and it was easy to stretch out on empty pieces of warm sand. I didn’t talk much by then, I didn’t like to; people stared whether I was speaking or screaming and clamping down on my jaw so hard it ached. Sometimes I get yelled at: Turn that off! No phone lights in here. You’re blinding me, bitch!

I’d never seen a movie in any theatres, but I could imagine what it’s like.

It was crowded, but I liked that ocean city, despite myself. It had pale buildings built into cliffs, narrow winding sidewalks where cars couldn’t fit, reckless bikers, and crushed seashell parking lots. I liked the tang of salt in the air and the way my hair crinkled from the ocean water as it sun-dried. I camp out on beaches and bummed cigarettes and hotdogs off strangers. I was good at taking care of myself once I got into a rhythm.

I had a tent by then and even an enormous sun umbrella to keep any prying eyes away. I still liked to sleep under the stars most nights though.

I often dreamed of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I dreamed of descending on pointed ballerina-feet to the silted black bottom. I’d be weighted down through the cold and the silence to where no human being had ever been. I’d open my eyes there, open them all the way, lightning-bright, and unflinching. In my dreams, the salt didn’t even sting. I lit up the world, the whole untouched world of whales and fish and terror and maybe I’d do something good then. Maybe I’d do something good and bring the sun to places that had forgotten it. 

I hated those dreams.

I met Mags on the beach after one of those dreams. Mags had one eye and twelve teeth and carried around nothing but string and scissors everywhere. She smelled like seawater and burning kelp, dank and crusted over. Her clothes were neat despite her leather-cracked skin and arms and neck covered in tattoos of shipwrecks. We ran into each other at some bum gathering and she cackled and pulled me aside.

“What’s your name?” Her voice was old creaking wood. I didn’t answer. “I could give you one.” She offered with a grin that was more empty space than anything.

“Nana.” I gritted out. “You want something?”

“Not sure. What do you want, kid?”

I glared openly, my beam of light slanting. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come here.”

I didn’t know why I was chosen.

Mags liked me more than I deserved. I pocketed her last pair of socks when she wasn’t looking. She never mentioned it and dragged me down to the community showers to get clean with soap and shampoo. She took me to the soup and salad restaurant for something that wasn’t burnt or freeze-dried or from a convenience store. She cackled, she spat when she talked, people shot her looks as well.

I thought she was normal, not touched by the spirits, but she liked me more than most people and I didn’t know why.

“You like art, kid?”

I snorted. “No.”

“Why not? You broken?” Yeah. Probably.

“How am I supposed to know?” I snapped back.

“Lippy squirt. Come on, I’ll show you something worth your forked tongue.”

She heated the needle before she used it, red hot and untouchable. She dipped it into deep black inks, only black and sometimes red, she called them the only colors that matter. She shows me how to prick the skin and clean it. She showed me how to slowly, painstakingly etch images. I wasn’t sure I liked it, there was something so permanent and intentional about the act.

I watched her lessons though: stick and poke to her right foot, all over those fine little bones that must hurt, in and out, a little bloody.

It took her six hours to make a tiny shipwreck right above her big toe. It was a narrow schooner going under and I was the only witness. She made the waves come to life and crash against its sides and sometimes I forgot to blink. She didn’t seem to mind.

She washed another needle. She heated it red-hot. She dipped it in ink and handed it to me.

I still wasn’t sure I liked the permanence of it, but I told myself I was bored and it was something to do. I decided quickly I did like the bite of it, I liked the focus it took, and the ability to pull something from nothing.

I practiced all over my thighs first, there was enough meat there and it was easy enough to reach: a lizard design that looked like nothing but squiggles, a TV set playing static, a tiny smudged skink with its tongue out. I practiced designs in the sand and then on paper when Mags splurged on pen and paper.

Mags took me to the museum on Sundays. They were always free on Sundays.

Something stirred in my chest, even as the guards yelled at us about how flash photography wasn’t allowed in the museum. Even as I was shooed out of exhibits for ruining the paint. Still, an ache so old it rotted roared to life in my chest.

I stabbed in and out, gentle, a collection of stars right above my right knee. A winding sand snake on my wrist, and then finally, something good, something that gave people pause and reason to stare. I made it in the mirror: a ghost on my collarbone. Shadowed and intricate and yet simple, I put a ghost right above my collarbone and it bleeds more than any of the others.

That was a good year or so; one of the best I could remember.

I didn’t want to leave the ocean city though and Mags said she had to keep moving. She had places to be. She gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You're a gem, kid. You’ll knock ‘em all to the pavement.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You’ll be back?”

She cackled. “Wouldn’t miss it. You know me.” She winked as she turns to the bus, my second father. “You think I’ll miss your great becoming, kid? I’ll be back.”

I wanted to make her pinky-promise like I was a kid again begging one of the others to tell me if I’m beautiful when I close my eyes. I couldn’t do that; I waved as she tottered up the steps of the bus and was taken away with the tides of her own feet.

A had a moment of thinking it was the end then; I was ready to get back to my real normal. I was ready to disappear again. But even shipwrecks with no witnesses leave things left to be found.

------------ I got an apprenticeship. Technically, Mags talked them into it and I just followed up when I had nothing better to do.

I didn’t think I’d like it much, but couch surfing and camping out was the pastime of the especially young. And I’d lost my giant umbrella.

It was a small shop that smelled like bleach and dried flowers. A tattoo parlor in one of the steep arts districts neighbored by food trucks and beaded necklace shops.

Penguin Davies and Bitch-Annie ran it together. Davies walked like he’d never encountered land before, and Bitch-Annie had a throw-pillow embroidered with “If you don’t have anything nice to say then come sit next to me.”

Davies was covered in nothing but birds and dizzying M. C. Escher house-designs up and down his chest and arms. Bitch-Annie had topless mermaids and pinup girls across her shoulders and legs. She’d been asked to leave a number of stores before the children started staring or thinking thoughts.

Neither of them had ever met someone like me. It was not that type of town. I rankled at most their questions, a cat meeting a steel brush. Where are you from? What’s your family name? What kind of school did you go to? Is your sight better than other people you think?

I brushed off anything more personal than my favorite type of soda. Bitch-Annie called me “Shadow” probably as a joke, probably. Davies said I must be possessed by the ghost of some dead star: a blackhole that takes everything in and lets nothing out.

Neither of them let me touch a needle in those first six months. They had me practice on pig skin and trace designs and stand by their shoulders as they worked. I felt like a dental assistant except I was the hanging light shining into open mouths instead of anything with a pulse. I stood at their shoulder as they drew thick lines and thin dots and made hearts and wolves and names of dead lovers come to life.

They asked me to stand still and stop wiggling the light. I almost walked out several to find a new cliff to crash against, almost. 

No one had ever expected anything of me before. They never expected me to show up somewhere or do something well. No one really cared if I went to school or if I did my homework, if I dressed well or went to bed on time. And no one kept any tabs on me at all after I took that first bus. That’s how I liked it.

I should’ve left, tattooing didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But Bitch-Annie stomped up to my attic-apartment one morning and threw pants at me.

“Get up, Shadow,” she barked. She was sterner than Mags, no hint of humor in her eyes. “I told you 9am so I expect 9am.”

“The fuck!?” I was eloquent in the mornings.

“Pants, shirt, shoes, and bra if you don’t want that desk idiot staring at something other than your eyes all day.”

“Are you serious?”

“Serious as a root canal. Mags swore up and down about what you. Let’s see some of that, up, up!”

I grumbled. I put on everything but the bra. No one ever expected me to be anywhere before and 9am shouldn’t have even been a concept much less a real thing. I told myself I hated it. I’d leave the next week. Or maybe the week after that or in just one more month. I kept a bus ticket under my pillow but every time the date arrived I shrugged and made myself busy.

There’d be no harm in having a savings too and seeing what all the fuss was about with having a dishwasher and a kitchen.

I wasn’t an artist of course. I didn’t understand what everyone else was seeing when they looked at the “old masters” paintings of water or war or lovers pulled apart. I didn’t feel anything in front of stain-glass windows in churches or mosaics on walls. Maybe there really was something wrong with me, my eyes. I didn’t let up though. I put on pants for it after all.

Penguin Davies hovered by my shoulder when I made my first real design.

“Mm.” He rumbled deep in his chest. He’d gone grey at an early age, had tired eyes and quick hands. The desk kid said he’d been in medical school once, a surgeon. It was hard to tell. Davies muttered a lot, stared off into space too much, and laughed like it was always a painful surprise

“Perfectionist,” he muttered at me as I start over on a crappy unicorn design. “That line was barely off. You’re being a perfectionist, Nana.”

I scowled over my shoulder and let the full weight of my light hit him across the face. “Got a problem with it?” I challenged. He chuckled darkly. His grin was crooked like a broken door handle. I tried to hide my work from him with my shoulder. “It’s not done yet.”

“It’s late.” The rest of the street was dark. I knew that.

“I said I’m not done yet! You can go home.”

“Hmm.” He scratched his grey beard.

“What?”

“Look at you. You know who makes the best artists, Nana?” He was always a bit of a philosopher. Maybe he used to study that before medicine.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m working on it.”

He gave my shoulder a light push. “The ones that don’t quit.”

They let me touch a needle gun after that. I told myself I’d only sign my new apartment lease as an experiment. I didn’t have to actually stay. I’d just run from the ink on paper and hope no one chased after girls with eyes that glow.

I didn’t break my lease. I drew suns and moons, trees and fireflies, hunks in speedos on tipsy college girls who swore they were sober and erotic vampires on the chests of men getting their first divorce. I had to give two refunds for a duck that turned out lopsided and a tattoo of someone’s dog which I swore really was that ugly to begin with.

There was one at the end of that next year though, another college girl with perfectly white piano-key teeth. She asked for a stick and poke, that was what I was best at anyway, she asked for a butterfly. Butterflies were easy, I could do the little ones in my sleep. She wanted one all across her back, she said I could make it look however I wanted. So I did. Wings like fringed shawls and straight heavy lines combined with wispy swirling ones. It was dark, black ink with red highlights and gray shadows under each wing to give it movement and flight.

I hid my smile when I finished and showed her the results in the mirror. She went to my bosses and jumped up and down. She pointed and babbled, ohmyspirits, the best thing I’ve ever seen! Fuck. I should pay you double! Where did you get this girl? 

I held myself perfectly still and studied the ceiling until my eyes dried out.

I took the long way home that night. I stopped once, at the corner where the midnight bus arrived, and watched the the passengers trudge off. I didn’t expect to see Mags again so soon, not really, but sometimes I wanted to show her: Hey, maybe your work wasn’t all wasted. Maybe I did start to become.

---------------- “I’m getting you chocolate.” Annie spat, her thick arms flexing as she cleaned off the spotless counter. “I’m getting you fucking chocolate, Shadow, ‘less you tell me what flavor you actually like.”

I hung at the back of the shop next to the narrow window that faced the road. I let the sun warm my face in thick strips and watched the bicycles pass. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Tell us what your actual birthday is then, you sugar-toasted tart.”

I shrugged. “Not today.”

“Well happy fucking birthday. You’re turning two. You came to work for us two years ago today, washed up from the beach like a deranged feral cat, so this is your birthday now.”

I rolled my eyes which served to look like a flashlight given a shake. Annie spent another minute splashing disinfectant on anything that might have had even a passing conversation with a germ.

“You talk to Birdie?” She asked, but mischievously this time. I responded by setting my mouth in a hard line. “You’re turning twenty-something and you’re not even talking to Birdie, are ya?”

“I’m not telling you what I’m turning. It’s still not my birthday.” I dodged inelegantly.

“Birdie will give you a proper go-around. Even shadows like you must need a little rub now and then.”

“Go dunk your head, Annie.” I huffed.

“Afraid you’ll blind her in bed?”

I turned with a snarl. “I’ll start with you.”

“I’ve seen you flipping through those poetry books, every word about hands or mouths or rosebuds.” She gave me flat a once-over. “You’ve got a sweet tooth in you.”

I dragged myself over to the desk to snarl at her some more, but Annie was already putting her hand up and going toward the backroom.

“I’m getting you a chocolate cake either way.”

There must have been a proper way to get her to never look at my little leather poetry books again, the ones with watermarked pages, the spines broken-in, and words that oozed. No one had to know that I could read, much less that I read that.

The door dinged instead.

“Excuse me.” She walked in. Her. “Is someone, um, named Nana here?” I turned before I could stop myself. That was still my name. And it was still my work.

Twenty-something, curtains of straight black hair falling in her face, pinched nose, thin energetic lips, shorts that gave way to milk-dipped legs that never seemed to end. A slight girl in a university t-shirt. College kids came in often during their breaks, but this one was a bit different. My eyes dragged up and fish-hooked there.

Feathered tendrils sprouted from her head and reached toward the ceiling. Long and searching, a pearly green color that reminded you of leaves or plumage.

I knew within a moment where I’d heard of this: Antennae Girl. The newspapers ran our stories close together along with the boy that breathed fire and the girl with roots growing from her head. We were all born in the same year during the epoch of monsters and bastards.

I think she recognized me too.

We stopped like heartbeats seizing up before the ambulance could make it. A confused, unnatural silence. I glanced at the door and considered making a run for it.

She cleared her throat first.

“Someone said that Misty’s butterfly tattoo came from here?” She blinked once and I noticed how her feathered antennae seemed to twitch. I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t blind her. She took a step forward. “So are you . . . Nana?”

The door was right there.

“What do you want?” I had been spending too much time with Bitch-Annie.

“A tattoo?”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Then why are you here?” I grunted. Footsteps came in from the back room. I was examining the smudged off-white tiles of the floor one by one.

“I wanted to . . . hey, you can look up if you want.” She said, curiously, softly. I didn’t look up. “I’m still figuring out the design.” She trudged on ahead.

“Fine.” I pivoted away. “But we’re busy. Come back later.”

A hand slapped across my shoulder. “This is Nana.” Annie stopped me from leaving. “Don’t let her eyes fool ya, it’s her personality that’s actually the problem. You saw her butterfly you said?”

“Yes!” She gushed. “It was gorgeous.”

“It was fine,” I corrected.

“It’s her birthday today.” Annie shared because she could and because she was a failed evil villain still trying to get her kicks in.

“Oh cool, happy Birthday.” A deep pause followed that could fill oceans. “You can look up. I don’t mind.” She repeated.

I opened my eyes wide and lifted my chin in one jerky motion. A beam of fluorescent headlights hit her across the face. “Is this what you want?” Venom dripped from my lips. This was why I tried not to talk too much.

The young woman squinted for a moment before covering her eyes and nodding. “I read about you,” she stated as if it was nothing. “I’m turning twenty-two this year . . . so I guess, you are too?”

“What?!” Delight filled Annie’s entire expression. “Hot damn! Twenty-two?” I groaned deeply. “Hey, you, girlie,” she addressed antennae-girl, “you want to come out for drinks tonight?”

I tried to protest as quickly as possible, but somehow didn’t summon the words quickly enough.

“Sure.” She agreed. ----------------------

The night was humid and clung to us like a second skin. I wandered through the hilly streets with Penguin Davies wobbling beside me. The desk kid—Daft Jeff, said Davies had some inner-ear problem that made it hard for him to keep his balance. Annie said he just didn’t belong on land— he couldn’t walk straight unless something was tilting and rolling under his feet.

Davies made his way up the hill, faltering and missing the musical beats of it. He refused to let me steady him and I refused to have him sing to me. It was apparently my birthday.

“Someone saw your design.” He noted on the downhill.

“Yeah. Some college girl.” I grumbled.

“What’d you think?” He asked in his usual mysterious way.

“She just wants a good look.” I returned in a neutral tone. “She read about me in the paper. All she wants to do is look.”

“She saw your design.” He paused. “And Jeff said she was like you.”

I blinked hard so the path ahead was eaten by shadow and Davies stumbled. “Not all of us have to be friends . . .” I said sourly and didn’t fill in the rest. “I’ve met kids with antlers and frog-hands before. I doesn’t mean anything.”

“Any of them come visit?”

“They’re smart enough not to.” I snark. “But the ones who manage to be pretty don’t have the brains to stay away.”

“Mm.” He made a soft sound. “What kind of tattoo do you think she’ll get?”

“How should I know? A heart or anchor or something dumb like that.” I walked on ahead. “Maybe I’ll give her a quote from some dead poet.”

“You like poetry.”

I huff dramatically, “Not what I mean. Girls like her don’t like my type of poetry, you know I’m saying.”

“What kind of girls?” Davies was patient. I hated that about him.

I stopped at the corner to let him catch up. “Don’t play dumb. Hot ones, college ones, getting a degree in money or music. They don’t watch over their shoulders enough or know when to stay away.” I scuffed my shoe on the ground. “Whatever.”

Davies was still thinking. I considered pushing him over. He finally spoke up again as we approach the bar, “That sea witch ever show up again?”

“Mags?” I snorted. “No. Why?”

“Cause I’m sure she’d like to see this.”

I didn’t say anything else as we reached the doorway. -------------------- The bar was loud. More people than I liked came to my “party.” I should have seen it coming. If the cliff city liked one thing it was an excuse to drink.

I crammed myself up against the bar and ordered a gin and tonic before the rest of the night crowd could arrive. Birdy was holding court at a corner table and waving at me. “There she is! Someone put a blanket over Nana, lights out, party up!”

Her puns usually left something to be desired. She sang “Blinded by the Light” every time she saw me for half a year.

I drank half my gin and tonic in the first gulp as a new stream of townies burst in. They arrived to buy me birthday beers and shout their opinions on the shitty new chain restaurant on 3rd street. I was almost tasting the bottom of my second glass when someone tapped on my shoulder.

I barely looked over.

The girl with sheets of black hair and a practiced-appearance stood before me—like she was at dress rehearsal and expected everyone else to know the lines as well. She carried a baby-blue bike helmet in one hand, and I noted there were two hand-drilled holes in the top.

“You.” I was tempted to shake her hand like I might make this a transactional hello and goodbye in short order.

“Hey.” She smiled, hesitant, like maybe the food on the fork might be too hot. “Nana, right?”

“Yep.” I sighed the word real long and heavy. “Listen, I really can’t give you a tattoo if you don’t know what you want.”

“No, no, I get it. But I want you to know . . . I didn’t know it was you.”

“Uh, okay. Though I’m pretty hard to miss over here.” I was looking at the dirty wine bottles stacked near the ceiling. Her antennae hang over both of us like fern fronds.

“No. I mean, when I saw the butterfly. That’s when I wanted to come here. Not after.”

“After what?” I was gonna make her say it.

“After I found that it was, well, you know, Headlights Girl.”

“Mm.” I was spending too much time with Davies. “You want something to drink?”

She sighed as well, real long and heavy. “Sure.” She took the seat next to me. “I’m Park by the way.”

“Park.” I rolled the name around in my mouth. “And you already know me.”

“I don’t think I do.” She laughed, sharp and bristly like something you can get cut on. “And I’ll have a beer. . . but only once you look up. Come on, I’m not like that.” I looked up. Her face was bright, round like the moon, her grin was sneaky and unearned. “There we go.”

She waved over the bartender Kipp and ordered her dark beer.

“It’s not really my birthday.” I informed her, dumbly. Every word felt dumb and clumsy all at once.

“Why not?” She was teasing. I knew that.

“That’s not how birthdays work.” I informed and wished I could backtrack into hostility again.

“Oh darn,” she winked. “And here I was about to make it my birthday too.”

“Uh, well,” I really should have left when I had the chance. “It’s not too late?”

“That’s the spirit!” She laughed, fuller this time and rounded. I looked her straight in the face and then quickly looked away again. Her grin was aimed at me, somehow, and seemed to reach high cupboards inside me you usually needed a stool for.

“Park,” I repeated the name and shifted in place. “So did you go to Haveryards or Simmons?” There were only two schools in the country for spirit bastards like us. Haveryards was close enough for me to get bussed to—an hour one way and then an hour home.

“Neither. I went to public and then Bakerville Uni.” She rapped on the counter. “Hey, you want another gin and tonic? Or I’ll mix you up something.” Her eyes flickered over everything. “I bartended my way through college so I can make a mean margarita.”

“Oh, Bakerville U., yeah. That ones close.” I stuttered a bit. She was leaning across the counter and trying to get Kipp’s attention a second time. My words were feeling dumber and dumber by the moment, perhaps losing all shape and meaning altogether. “That’s where you went?”

“How’d you guess?” She said playfully and pointed to her t-shirt. She finally got the bartender over. “Right, you want something hard? Vodka maybe? A mule?”

I scratched my chin. “ . . . I don’t care. I’m easy.”

She rolled her eyes and I knew she must feel me staring. “I can’t imagine shopping for you for today then.” She snickered and climbed over the counter. “Happy birthday, how about one chocolate mule for a free tattoo?”

“You wish.” I made a face. “You don’t even know what you want.”

“And you do?” She was still grinning, somehow. “I’ve decided I’m making you the equivalent of all the soda flavors mixed together at once. Close your eyes.”

I closed my eyes and I tried to turn off my thoughts. It was bright as knives inside my skull; I carry the daytime with me. Panic threatened to rise up (for no reason of course), but a soft hand brushed against mine, soft like sheets in fancy hotels and flower petals. I peaked and Park slid a full murky glass toward me.

“Drink up.”

It was sweet. It wasn’t even my birthday. I didn’t care. She called it a chocolate-mule-Park Special and maybe chocolate really was my favorite flavor. -------------- Park started coming around. She rode a sky-blue bike with a white basket and rusting hinges. I couldn’t imagine doing all the hills in the city without any gears, but she managed. She said she was figuring things out after graduating. She said she liked it here.

I grumbled when she came by. I complained like Annie when Wicker the cat visited: Get that thing away from me. I hate that. Smells awful. I’ve got allergies. Put that away, it’ll kill me.

I never said anything when Annie left fish heads out and bowls of milk of course.

Park smelled like sunscreen and breath mints. She had strong opinions on everything from street paving techniques to which sun hats went with which dresses. She invited me on walks. She invited me to help her change a flat tire. She invited me to the corner shop to help her pick out bottle can openers.

I said no. Sometimes I said no. I started to say yes.

“Look at this,” she liked to show me things. She liked to show me pictures of squirrels on her phone and weird pieces of glass she found. She liked to point out new restaurants (that I’d already been to) and play videos of funny traffic jams.

This time she held up a seashell. It was rounded and flat with a swirl in the center.

“I’m looking.” I said carefully.

“Watch how it catches light.” I shun my eyes on it and she moved it back and forth. There were bits of silver veins caught in the cracks of it.

“There’s tons of those.” At this point, I had valiantly refused to be impressed by even her cutest squirrel pictures.

“Ugh.” She pouted. “Are you kidding? I spent all morning looking for this.”

“They're right by the surf. I could find you five bigger ones than this before sunset.”

“Alright, hot-shot.” She jut her chin out and jabbed my shoulder. “Prove it.”

I said yes to that one. I left right after my shift ended with the sun setting in the waters like a stabbed orange bleeding out. I met Park by the parking lot with drooping palms trees lining the sides and lost flipflops everywhere.

“This is where you went wrong.” I announced. I couldn’t help it. “This is the tourist beach. You have to go somewhere real.”

“Alright, alright. You’ve already established you’re the hot-shot here. Lead the way.”

She followed me. I ignored how she lingered by my side. I ignored how her hand wrapped around my arm as she stopped us to look at a tiny horseshoe crab. Her hand was soft, like velvet, soft enough to smother something in my chest.

I found two seashells with streaks of silver and rainbow through them, both bigger than my palm. The sun was a flat line on the horizon before I could find a third and Park hooted.

“You said before sunset! It’s sunset, baby, pay up.” She called. “And you were so sure you were a better seashell hunter than me.” She tsked.

I scanned the ground more quickly. “It’s barely nighttime.” I pointed to the sky. “And I can keep looking. I have the built-in equipment for it.”

“Oh I know.” She planted herself on the soggy crusted sand and sat down in a heap. “But can you find why kids love the taste of not doing that? Take it easy. Take a seat.”

“So pushy.”

“You know me.” It was fond. It had only been a few months, but there was something fond there.

I ran a hand through my short choppy curls. “Fine.” I sat next to her, not too close. “It’s your loss.” We both looked out at the gently lapping waves, foaming and anemic. She let a long breath of air and for a moment I considered brushing her hair back. It was always in her face.

It was a quiet moment, bottled, and pitching toward something. Like the the moment where you miss a step on the stairs and the certainty of the fall was right there.

I was the one that scooted a little closer.

“I’m considering getting a storm cloud,” she commented off-handedly. “Can you do storm clouds?”

I made a sound of consideration. “Sure.” I glanced toward the opposite corner of the night sky. “I think I’ve seen one of those before. Big puffy wet things?”

“Kinda fluffy? You’re getting there.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” I’m smiling, which is alright since there’s no way she could see it. She’s silent for another moment longer.

“Or would you make fun of me if I got something like a butterfly? Like your other one.”

“A storm cloud butterfly?”

“No. The cloud would it’s own thing.” She chewed on her bottom lip, ragged and chapped. “I mean, I’ve been doodling some ideas. And tattoos should be personal, right? So I thought a storm cloud might be fitting. Kids used to pay me a couple dollars to predict the weather. It could be a memorial to childhood entrepreneurial spirit.”

I watched her speak and something beat inside my chest like a second animal. I wanted to be closer. I wanted to feel velvet again.

“Why?” I rasped after a moment.

“Uh, why did they pay me? It’s just something I can do. Whenever it's going to rain or storm or be sunny out. I dunno, I don’t know why the rest of you can’t sense it.”

“And you didn’t become a meteorologist?” I smiled a bit bitterly.

She made an indignant noise. “And you didn’t become a professional lighthouse?”

I choked on a laugh. “Not yet.” A quiet consumed us from both sides, I made sure my light didn’t crash into her. I made sure to look at anything but her. She’d have to squint if I did and cover her eyes and I’d be there, ready to run her over.

“Kids in my class paid me too.” I barely realized I started speaking. “They slipped me a couple bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face.”

“You got money for that?”

“There wasn’t always much to do. Teachers were quitting all the time and sometimes it was just the TV. I dunno, they paid me. Then they’d giggle and run away afterward.” My voice sounded automated like the announcer at an airport, informing travelers their flight was canceled. “They always said I had a pig nose or a unibrow or looked like the lead singer of that Minx girl band-- super hot, but you know, it didn’t matter.” The laugh that escaped was high, girlish in a grotesque way. “Since, you know, no one would ever see it.”

“Kids are fucked up.” Park contributed simply.

“Adults are too.” I sniffed. “Everyone wants a light show.”

“Oh.” She said slowly. “Is it . . . is it bad I wanted to meet you then? I mean, I wanted to see the art first, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a factor.”

“No.” I said quickly. I lit up my own lap and empty hands. “Does it matter?”

“I never went to those schools,” she said hesitantly. “My parents fought them, said the schools were unfit. They shouldn’t be able to force us there. And that I wasn’t even dangerous since,” she gestured helplessly upward, “I just have these. So then, well, I never really met anyone else like me.”

“I mean, everyone’s different. It’s not . . . a big deal.”

“You’d think so,” she commented sardonically.

I folded up into myself like a complex origami piece. “Yeah, well, sometimes I wish I was dangerous. Actually dangerous.”

She giggled. “Didn’t you just say everyone’s different? I’d say everyone’s dangerous too. Just gotta find the niche.”

“Oh yeah,” I dared to turn toward her. “What’s yours then?”

“My danger niche? Hmm.” She was leaning now, pitching forward like a wave come to drown me. “I do have a few tricks up my sleeve I’ll admit.”

“You have a pair of wings hidden away?” I stopped breathing as her hand lifted up, strange and all at once. I wasn’t ready.

“Here.” Her skin was against mine. She cupped my cheek with one velvet-hand. It was heated cashmere, tiny feather-light hairs on her palm. “Feelers.” She whispered with a hesitancy there.

“Ah,” I was indulgent. I closed my eyes. I leaned in. “And you want to put a needle over these?” I put my hand over hers, loosely, so she could pull away if she wanted to. Tiny hairs pulsed there with some kind of life all their own. 

“I wanted . . .” She paused and I peaked open my eyes. I could see every detail of her face, illuminated. “I dunno.” She finished. “I guess I just wanted whatever I saw there, before.”

“In the butterfly?”

“In the butterfly.” I turned toward the ocean, but my hand remained over hers. “I’m not sure how good it will be a second time. It’s not like I’m really an artist. . .”

“What did you want to be?” Soft.

“Who knows. I mean, I’m glad my parents didn’t try to fight the schools. Being there during the day was better than being home, listening to my mom crying all the time and my father exploding . . . They wouldn’t have wanted me home.”

Before the sunset, when I was walking over, I thought maybe we’d kiss that night. I thought I’d feel that first electric pulse and maybe we’d climb into the ocean and swim in circles, laugh until the moon rose. I thought maybe I’d get something out of my system and there wouldn’t be anything left to say or do.

I’d kiss Park, once, and she’d be satisfied. She’d understand. She’d go on her college path and I’d go on on mine.

But the words spilled out, unbidden. Park stayed in place, steady and unflinching. That made it worse, so much worse.

“My parents weren’t like yours.” There was an accusatory edge to it. Don’t you know? I wanted to shout. Don’t you know? Even without the eyes or the school bills or the bus.

“Hey,” she cradled my cheeks with both hands now and smeared the tears away from one eye. “Hey, listen, I know. Alright? I know.”

I scowled back at her feathered little feelers.

“It’s not about the damn antenna or head beams or anything else.” I tried to pull away. “Even the kid with the antler’s kissed me and I didn’t stop him. I ran away from home and my mom never came looking. It didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter! You wouldn’t even get it. You wouldn’t get it!” I squeeze my eyes closed. “You were wanted.”

Slowly, like an awkward animal burrowing into soft earth, she pressed her forehead to the crook of my neck. I could feel us both breathing in, strong and steady. She was lean and silky, and I swore I can feel her heartbeat hammering through my throat.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. I inhaled her sunscreen scent. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know. But I could.”

“Why are you here?” It was miserable and wet, I hated that my eyes were so different and yet still the same. Could still spill over like theirs. She took a long breath but didn’t move away.

“My last girlfriend broke up with me for being . . . sensitive and I thought maybe if I got a tattoo, I’d stop feeling so much. I’d prove something. I’d feel everything less, you know? It would hurt and then it wouldn’t.”

I took that in a parsec at time. “Are you,” I sniffed. “Are you alright?” Her legs and arms were plastered over mine. “You’re so soft, but, but I don’t want to,” I wipe at my face like it didn’t matter. “Hurt you.”

“I know.” Her face was still pressed to my neck and her lips fluttered across the hallow of my skin. “I didn’t want to hurt you either.”

A stillness settled into my bones. I glanced toward the moon, and it was like looking at like, a terrible moon to another moon. I gathered myself. I took a deep breath. I flattened.

“I shouldn’t have said all that.” My voice had dried up. “We led different lives.” It wasn’t her fault if she was wanted.

“No.”

“I wasn’t thinking . . .”

Her hand wrapped around my wrist. “I talk to Annie sometimes when you aren’t there.”

“Okay?”

“And Davies. And that front desk guy.”

“Daft Jeff. Yes.”

“They all say the same thing . . .” I blinked a couple times. “That I really should wait for you to give me the tattoo. You have a steady hand and an eye for detail.”

“Alright . . .”

“That someone taught you tattooing the right way. They wanted to show you the right way to do it.”

I snorted despite myself. “It’s not that hard. Mags was batty. Who knows why she showed me how to pick up a needle.”

“Don’t you see? They say they wouldn’t know what to do without you.” She was still there. She wasn’t moving, almost in my lap now. “You were wanted.”

“Park?” My voice cracked like a question.

“And you come with me to restaurants and help me buy bottle openers. You find shells for me and help me fix tires.” Her breath was hot and dragged across my cheek. “You are wanted.”

I blocked out her face, her voice, I turned on the sharp white sun inside and for a moment I imagine never opening my eyes back up again. Maybe I could make it night forever inside myself as well. Wouldn’t you rather have something quiet inside?

She wrapped herself around me, fully, one long arm at a time until it was cocoon. Soft. “Listen, sometimes the first people aren’t the right people. Sometimes your first relationship isn’t the right relationship. Sometimes you’re sure the world is one way, and like, always one way . . . and then it rains and the whole world is different again. You know? People pass.”

“My parents aren’t the weather.”

“But they’ll pass.” I should have pushed her off. But even against that, even those words— I liked being held, indulgent as chocolate and twice as guilty. “People sometimes feel forever, especially those kinds of people.” I was off again. “But it rains. And hey, I always know when it’s going to rain.”

I hiccupped; a smile found its way uninvited onto my face, unsure and just wobbly on its feet as Davies. I glanced down after a deep breath. Park grinned back at me and it reached the highest shelves of me all over again.

“So what happens when it rains again? Do you people like you pass?”

“Nah, not me. I don’t know how.” She winked. I didn’t notice that we’re lying flat now, stars and carpet of black above. “You can’t get rid of me. You haven’t given me that tattoo yet.”

The sound of shushing waves filled the midnight air and the moon looked down like that very first bus arriving to get me all those years ago. I wrapped my arms right back around her. She didn’t seem to mind that I was sticky or strange or sometimes kept tearing up all over again even after we’d stop saying anything worth tearing up over. ------------------

It happened. I felt like I should have been more prepared, brought flowers or poetry or earned it through honored warfare. But it happened. I was wearing ripped jeans, a spotty t-shirt and my breath smelled like coffee. We were looking for Park’s lost earring along an overgrown hill she usually biked along.

I found it, one shiny red dewdrop in all that green. Park pointed at some clouds that looked like my last “abstract” tattoo. We lay back in the grass and let the sky pass overhead. She giggled and touched my wrist, side by side. I let her.

“Summer’s almost over.” I mumbled it first.

“Yeah?”

“You find your next step then, college girl?” I tried to keep my tone light. She turned to be on her side.

“Maybe.”

“What do you want to do?”

���Oh, you know. This and that.”

“That does not sound like a college-girl plan.”

“Maybe I’ve got other plans. Maybe I’ve got other priorities, huh?”

“Ridiculous.” A playfully push her shoulder. “A lousy seaside town really isn’t priority material. There’s only one bookshop you know.”

“Two thank you very much. And that’s not my priority either.” Her voice wavered.

“Are you going to share with the class?”

“Is the class ready?” She whispered and I turned toward her as well now, taking in her perfect round face and question-mark mouth.

“I have been.” I matched her whisper. I tremor from my center outward and hopes she can’t tell.

“Do you know what they say about moths?”

“What?” I gave a breathy laugh. It wasn’t what I was expecting. “I’ve heard of them.”

“They tell your fortune.” She was grinning in that way that put out a stool and reached up. “I used to cry a lot growing up, because some kids said that moths are just evil butterflies. I was sensitive and ran all the way home. I threw myself at my mom’s feet and threw a fit about how moths were just evil butterflies. They were just ugly, wicked versions of a good thing.”

“Evil? Well, I suppose you are rather sinister when you haven’t eaten.”

“Shut up. I’m telling you something.” She put a hand on my shoulder. I inhaled deeply and turned over in place to face her. Only the shallow breeze kept us apart.

“I’m all ears . . . though maybe not as many as you.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“What can I say? The sun is adorable. I take after him.”

A finger ghosted over my cheek, tracing the arc of my cheekbone. “Well, you’re not so bad behind those headlights too. Some of us have good day vision you know. And good taste.”

I wished those words didn’t make my chest do funny things. “Thanks.”

“Do you want to hear what my mom said or not?”

“That you shouldn’t worry about evil butterflies?” I wiggled closer. “Because you’ll be really hot and funny and smart one day. So who cares if you’re evil?”

“Yeah, those were her exact words.”

“So?”

“So,” a firm hand took my chin. “Look at me.” I looked at her. I was glad she couldn’t see the flush in my cheeks in any way. “Moths show good fortunes she said.”

“Right. Lots and lots of good fortune.” I breathed, dumbly, of course. She was close and sweet and there was hair in her face. The fronds of her antennae tickle right past my ear.

“They can help you find good fortune. They’re good omens. You know why?” Park’s lips were barely moving as she spoke, hypnotic and unhurried.

“Why?”

“Because they follow the light.”

It happened all at once. Like every cheesy love poem or bad lyrics I wrote in my journals at night. It was every cracked-spine of a book using words like “rosebud lips” and every overdone song about people who find their way to each other.

I kissed her, leaning in with no life vest on or readied crash-landing position. She kissed me and my chest filled with her, breathless, drowning, soft as dreams and stranger than hope. I cradled her and she dragged me closer and closer until it was nothing but floods and brimming.

I’d been nothing before I think, I’d been an island that waits, a bus that leaves, a shadow that hides. And then I had been hers. ----------------- I was strolling home from work along the main road. The thin strip of sidewalk was streaked with bleached sunlight and the salt air was thick enough to burn throats. It was the long way home, but I was in the habit of going back to this corner.

The bus pulled up with little ceremony. It was an interstate one that crisscrossed over empty bellies of land. I stopped in place to watch, just in case, as I had many times before.

A silver head bobbed down the steps and planted herself on the concrete, unbelieving. She took an enormous noisy sniff of the air. “Not so bad!” She bellowed.

“Are you?” That wasn’t meant to be my first word. She was more stooped now and wearing shiny things on her wrist that clanked. She’d lost another tooth. “Mags.”

“Eh!” She yelled and waved frantically as if I hadn’t shot up another inch since I last saw her and started wearing clothes without holes in them. Her eyes sparkled as she tottered over. “So how’d you do, kid?”

“See for yourself.” I smiled. It was nice when the tides came back in. Mags gave me a thorough appraising. “Like this I guess.” I held up my hand. I wiggled my ring finger at her, heavy with a silver band and glittering opal.

“That’s my girl! Always knew you’d find your feet.” She cackled. “Am I too late to give you away, kid?”

I shook my head. She waddled over to me so I could take her hand. I took her home to show her my art and new tattoos, I showed her our terrible one-eyed kitten, Basket (Wicker’s son), and the little house we styled ourselves. I showed her our shoe closet and our queen bed, our messy kitchen and busted screen door. I showed her the moth tattoo over my heart, and Park showed her the matching lighthouse one over hers.

I tried to thank her, of course, I tried to say I owed her more than she knew for picking up an angry, dirty kid and seeing something in her. I owed her everything. But she just patted my hand and said that it’s not about our debts in life, kid. It’s about the becoming.

-----------

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[bi-bard]

Chick Flick Moments - Sam Winchester Imagine (Supernatural)

Title: Chick Flick Moments

Pairing: Sam Winchester X Reader

Requested: by an anonymous reader

Word Count: 2,363 words

Warning(s): violence, cussing, Sam embarrassing himself, spoilers for any movie/show listed in the author's note

Summary: (Season 11) Gabriel takes a break from hiding to teach (Y/n) and Sam to forgive each other.

Author's Note: I had so much fun putting this request together! Also, if I remember correctly, this reader wanted to remain anonymous.

Here are links to all the scenes that inspired parts of this imagine:

1 (Princess Bride), 2 (8x12 Criminal Minds; can't find just the scene to link), 3 (Moulin Rouge), 4 (The Notebook), 5 (The 10 Things I Hate About You), 6 (Gilmore Girls), 7 (La La Land)

Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)

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

I rolled my eyes as I walked through the bunker.

Sam was still ranting about the most recent hunt. I was just tired of listening to it. Dean had long since given up trying to control his brother, who had shown no sign of listening to anyone.

"You can't just throw yourself into every single enemy," Sam yelled. "Fun fact, you're not Superman!"

"Oh my god," I finally, turning around. I had been halfway through the library at this point. Dean continued through the bunker, ignoring us. "I ran up to one extra vamp because you were about to get your throat ripped out! Yes, I put myself in danger but it was to save you!"

"Why are you so desperate to be a hero," he asked.

"Why are you so pissy that I saved you," I shouted back.

I let out a yell before turning and leaving.

"Where are you going?"

"To bed," I shouted from down the hall. "Maybe you'll be nicer in the morning! You're welcome for saving your ass!"

I stormed into my room and slammed the door shut. I changed quickly, throwing my old clothes into the corner before curling up on my bed. My emotions got the better of me. I started crying into my pillow.

Imagine saving the man you secretly loved... and then he got mad at you about it.

I fell asleep crying that night.

--time skip--

I shot awake, cringing at how bright it was.

I looked around, letting my eyes adjust to the light.

I was on a hill. I was on a hill, lying in the grass with the sun shining on my face. This is not good.

I stood up and did a circle to look around the long stretches of grass. Nothing looked even slightly familiar.

"For fuck's sake," I muttered.

I decided that the best option would be to try to climb down and find a person... somewhere.

I was just about to start making my way down the hill when I felt a hand grab me.

Out of pure fear, I grabbed the person and pulled them from behind me. The person went flying down the hill.

"(Y/n)," I heard Sam's voice yell as he rolled down the hill.

I put my hand over my mouth. He soon stopped rolling and then he stood up, scrambling to pull the black mask off of his face. I sighed, dropping my hand when I saw he was alright.

"Sam," I called.

"Your instinct is to throw some down a hill," Sam asked.

"When a masked man tries to grab me, definitely," I replied. "Fun fact, Sam, I can actually defend myself."

He gave me a sarcastic smile. I shot it right back to him.

Sam looked down at his outfit before sighing and shrugging at me. He had just started to move back up the hill when my visions went dark.

I opened my eyes a few moments later.

What had been an open field was now a dark warehouse or factory. I saw Sam across from me, but also a group of people behind him. I recognized them. They were characters from Criminal Minds, a guilty pleasure I watched when we weren't hunting.

I tried to figure out what was happening.

Then, I became all too aware of the barrel of a gun pressing into my neck.

"No," Sam yelled.

It clicked.

Sam was supposed to be Spencer. I was Maeve. This was Zugzwang.

My heart dropped.

"Wait, please, don't," Sam yelled as the gun pressed harder on my neck.

"Sam, shut up," I snapped.

"Me for (Y/n)," he shouted.

"You would do that," Diane- the unsub of that episode- asked.

"Yes," Sam replied.

"No," I yelled. "Sam, shut up."

"You shut up," Diane growled at me.

"One difference between me and her...," I growled back.

I grabbed the gun, pushing it forward, away from my neck. The bullet she tried to fire hit the brick wall. I turned, bringing an elbow down on her arm. Her hand dropped the gun into my grasp. I pointed it toward her.

"...I'm not scared of a simple gun."

The others walked over and arrested her. I looked at Sam.

"If you continued, she would've killed herself, which would've killed me," I explained. He furrowed his eyebrows. "I watch this show when we aren't hunting."

He walks over, going to hug me before the scene changes again.

"Holy...," I trailed off as I looked around.

Around us, we could see the tops of roofs and a beautiful night sky. It was almost a dreamy setting.

"Where are we now," Sam asked.

"Only the great Moulin Rouge," Sam and I both twirled around to face... Gabriel. "I know, I know... I'm not dead, anyway!"

I rolled my eyes.

"You two need to learn a lesson," he pointed at us.

"It's like back in 2010," I mumbled. "Play our roles to get out. Probably why we were pulled out of the last two."

"You'll fall into them naturally, I promise," Gabriel smirked. "And yes. Stop ignoring the plotline."

"Alright... sure, I was gonna get shot for your crappy game," I snapped sarcastically.

Then, he was gone. I rolled my eyes.

"So, what are the roles," Sam asked as I walked around the top of the elephant.

"Well, Christian and Satine," I pointed between us. "Maeve and Spencer. The Princess Bride and Westley. It's all romance."

"Why," Sam scrunched his face up.

"Because Gabe wants to get his rocks off," I said sarcastically, "I don't know, Sam!"

I walked down the stairs of the elephant. It was gorgeous here. It was just as vibrant as the movie made it look.

"Wow," I look back at Sam. "This is awesome."

I chuckled and nodded.

"What seen is it?"

"The Elephant Love Medley," I said. "Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman sing this mash-up of famous love songs as his character tries to convince her that there is nothing more important than love."

"I'm not gonna sing," Sam shook his head.

"I was not gonna ask you too," I chuckled. "I've heard you sing."

"Rude."

I just shrugged.

I looked around at the room, trying to figure out how to play these roles without the singing.

"Wait," I said. "Come on."

I grabbed his hand and pulled him back to the stairs.

"What is it," Sam asked as we made it to the top.

"At the end of the medley, Christian and Satine are dancing and they walk out onto this field of clouds and are held up in the sky."

"What-"

"This whole movie feels like a fever dream the first time you watch it."

"Come on," Sam held a hand out to me.

"Can you dance?"

"Not well," he chuckled. "The role didn't say I needed to be good."

He grabbed my hand and pulled me closer to him.

I tried to lead his steps and laughed as he stumbled into a pattern.

"Come on," I moved back so I could grab only one hand.

I led him a few steps forward and onto- what seemed to be- steps in the clouds. I let out an excited laugh when it worked. Sam looked at me and grinned at my excitement.

As soon as got to the top of the steps... it was gone.

We were in the middle of the street now.

"Aw, that was just mean," I mumbled. I glared at Sam when I heard him laughed.

He held his hands up jokingly before extending one toward me. I furrowed my eyebrows at him.

"I know what movie this is," he shrugged. I motioned for him to continue explaining. He walked over, hand still held out to me, "The Notebook. Noah and Allie dance in the street. So... will you dance with me? Even without the sequence where we dance in the clouds."

I bit my lip as I smiled.

I took his hand and let him pull me into the street. I laughed as I stumbled into his chest.

We fell into the scene naturally.

Sam held one of my hands in his and held my waist with the other. I placed my free hand on his shoulder. I looked up at him. It felt strange that we so casually fell into the scene but I was happy.

Sam jokingly twirled me around before pulling me back to his chest. I closed my eyes and chuckled.

"What," he asked.

"Nothing," I shook my head. "I just never saw you as such a romantic."

"Well, don't tell anyone, you'll ruin my reputation," he said sarcastically.

I rolled my eyes.

Sam spun the two of us in a circle before going to dip me. I didn't think I'd ever get to experience something like this. It always just felt like something I should forget about as a hunter. I was starting to forget why I was so angry with Sam in the first place.

I barely noticed that Sam was leaning in before the scene around me changed.

I was on a football field.

I looked around.

There was no sign of Sam.

"Crap," I mumbled, trying to figure out where to look first.

Then, there was a voice going over the field's speakers.

"You're just too good to be true... can't take my eyes off of you..."

I looked around toward the stands to see Sam walking with a mic. Can't sing, my ass.

"You'd be like heaven to touch... I wanna hold you so much"

"Oh my god," I muttered.

"At long last love has arrived... And I thank God I'm alive... You're just too good to be true... Can't take my eyes off of you."

I tried to bite back my laugh. He shrugged at me with an embarrassed smile and stepped into the actual stands.

We both jumped when the marching band started playing. I looked to see Gabriel smirking and leading their march.

Sam and I shrugged at each other. He continued on with the act.

Now, Sam Winchester pretending to be Patrick in "10 Things I Hate About You" was a treat... and was exactly what you imagined it would be.

He was almost stumbling down the steps as he continued on with the act. I was laughing hysterically by the time I saw the security guards starting to run in.

"Sam," I yelled, pointing behind him.

"Crap," I heard through the mic (which made me almost double-over in laughter) as he tried to take off running.

As soon as he was grabbed, the scene changed.

We both took a deep breath when we realized we were sitting together in a car.

"Thank god," Sam mumbled.

"That was a great performance, by the way," I said, still chuckling.

"Shut up," he muttered, laughing along with me. We fell silent after a minute. "So... what scene is this?"

"I have no idea," I replied.

"It's Gilmore Girls, dumbasses," we heard Gabriel's voice but saw no sign of him. "Season 1, Episode 16... absolute idiots."

"Didn't peg him for a Gilmore Girls fan," I said. Sam laughed.

"Me neither."

We fell silent again.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, looking over at me. "You were right. You can defend yourself and you were just trying to help me. I'm sorry for being such a dick about it."

I grinned, "Thanks... I forgive you. I know you were just worried about me."

Sam smiled back.

"I... umm...," Sam looked down for a moment, clearing his throat and collecting his thoughts. "I just... I love you."

My heart leaped up into my throat. I blinked at him a few times and forced a chuckle out. Which was the wrong response but I panicked. Hunters... we could face the devil but emotions were a no-no.

"(Y/n)," Sam's smile dropped slowly when he realized I wasn't responding.

I was just about to respond when the scene changed again.

Sam was gone again and I was on a city street.

"Dammit," I muttered.

I ran down the street, turning the corner. I looked at the wall of the building I was by. Was this a jazz club?

I walked through the door and was guided to a table so I could sit down and watch the performance.

"La La Land," I said.

Sam and I watched this together. Dean had gone to bed. We weren't tired and just turned this movie on because it looked like it was mostly happy.

Big dance numbers, beautiful effects... and the epilogue that made me hide tears from Sam.

I looked at the stage. Sam was sitting there, wearing a suit, looking at the audience nervously. He hesitantly reached toward the piano. It was like it was a prerecorded track. It sounded just like the movie.

I smiled.

I just wanted to talk to him.

Soon the performance ended.

I stood up and started walking over, seeing Sam starting to walk out.

I grinned at him, "Sam-"

He cut me off by cupping the sides of my face and kissing me softly. I touched his sides lightly, smiling against his lips. It was... magic. Absolute magic.

Then, I shot awake, back in my bed in the bunker.

The game was over. Thank God.

"(Y/n)," I heard yell through the bunker hall.

I ran into the hall and ran toward his room.

We stopped as soon as we saw each other.

"Please tell me that wasn't a dream," I said. He shook his head, smiling widely at me.

I ran over, pulling him down to kiss him again. It was softer than our last kiss and I loved it. His arms wrapped around me and pulled me closer. I buried my hands through his hair.

"Woah, what did I miss," we pulled away when we heard Dean.

I could basically feel Sam chuckle against my lips before he moved to look at his brother. I turned around in Sam's arm.

"A chick flick moment," Sam answered.

"Alright," Dean gave us a weird look before leaving without another word.

I looked back at Sam with a smile, "I love you."

"I love you too," he grinned and leaned in to kiss me softly again.

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

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[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe - Part 18

Masterpost

@sola-whumping @just-another-whumper @misspelledwitch @looptheloup @briars7 @black-polarf @zipadeedooda-drabbles @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @rosesareviolentlyread @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jazz-0307 @kestrelsparverius @whumpsy-daisies @whumpersworld @memoriesneverforget @sky-or-something-idfk @cupcakes-and-pain @frankieswhump @ihaventwritteninsolong @mybrokenlittletoy @kiretto-laorentze @morelikepainsley @lavmars @tears-and-lilies @whump-me-all-night-long @newbornwhumperfly @itaina-anta @whump-it @haro-whumps @simplygrimly @alex-ember @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @mnmlover2002 @jordanstrophe @princessofonward @xmonster-under-the-bed @as-a-matter-of-whump @5boys1house @crystalrainwing @starnight-whump @chifechi @unicornscotty @penny-for-your-whump @getyourwhumphere @likeit-or-whumpit @jasm0307 @lightdrinker @hurting-fictional-people @captainseconds @glamrockgregory

CW: recovering pet whumpee, environmental whump, references to an amputated finger, paranoia/hallucinations

-

As he turned to lock the final door behind him, Rowe could see that he had been in a warehouse, evidently a rarely-used one. A single floodlight was on, illuminating nothing but a bare wall and the road leading up to it. Rowe had been correct- it was night. The open air was a thousand blessings as he breathed it in. His eyes felt clean, he could stand up properly, he wasn’t wearing that fucking collar anymore.

The happiness was short-lived, but he let himself have it. He was free. He just had to get home, now.

Rowe would have panicked, at that moment, but instead his heart toughened, because Kasia hadn’t been able to break him down. He was missing a finger, and the throbbing pain made sure he wouldn’t forget in a hurry, but he was still there, still himself. His nightmares would probably take a new form, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to sleep alone again, but he was fine. He was a Pet. He was a person. Surviving was a skill of his.

He rested a hand on the wall, making sure he was hidden in shadow, and let himself take some of the weight off his scarred leg. Burnt, smashed, sewn up and burnt again. He would be limping, by the time he got home. But get home he would, and in some way, it was thanks to his leg. He had been sat on his bed, back when he couldn’t walk, looking for something to distract him from the feelings of anger and uselessness and what if he throws me out?

So he’d looked down and practised his reading. He remembered it perfectly. Tomas G…Grz…. something… 12 h-a-r-t… Hartland Road… your Pet… s-p-l-i-n-t…. bed rest for up to one week…

Rowe had read the address, and perhaps even then he’d known he might one day need it. It didn’t solve the problem of knowing whereHartland Road was, or whether he’d make it there without being stolen or beaten up or killed, but he had to try.

Kidnapped, he thought. You’d only say stolen for a piece of property.

The warehouse was evidently on the outskirts of town. Was it the right town? Rowe thought so, as he studied the lights shining down the road. Several of the shapes were familiar to him. The colourful string bulbs that were hung up along the shopping streets, the glow from the theatre on the hill, the dark spot where the graveyard sat. From his bedroom window he had to crane to get a good look, but he could see it well from the office. He ached to be back there. In the warmth and familiarity of it. Back with- Master? The word sounded strange now. Especially since- since Rowe felt like he understood him now. Understood his intentions.

He started to walk. Kasia’s jacket rested on his shoulders, and he couldn’t bear to put his arms in. The idea alone made him feel trapped. The thing smelt distinctly of the bastard, but Rowe knew it was preferable to the cold of a dead night. He found a main road soon enough, built up above the rest of the grassy flatland, so he gingerly climbed down the hill and walked alongside. He would be hidden from passing cars well enough, but his bare feet soon began to take the brunt of the choice of rough land over tarmac. Stones, sticks, was that roadkill, oh, god, all were littered through his journey which was only sparsely lit by the occasional road light. After a particularly sharp stone, or possibly even a discarded glass bottle, Rowe knew his foot was bleeding. He ground his teeth together. It wasn’t real if he couldn’t see it. And right now, he couldn’t see his own hand in front of him.

He kept his eyes on the lights from the town before him, slowly drawing closer.

He thought he heard footsteps behind him, running closer with horrifying speed. As they drew near he could hear Kasia screaming at him.

You think you can fucking get away from me? You think you locked that collar? You really think I won’t come back?

He kept his eyes fixed on the town. “It-it-it’s n-not real,” he whispered past the lump in his throat. He was trembling with fear. “It’s not real, I locked him up, I st-stopped him, it’s not real, it’s not.”

The paranoia wouldn’t leave him, though. Every passing car, though they were few and far between, made him jump and crouch down, hands clamped over his mouth. He couldn’t shake the fear that it was Kasia after him, out searching for the rotten escaped Pet. His leg burst with pain every time, making him whimper and cry when he tried to stand back up.

The sounds of footsteps gradually stopped, and Kasia’s voice faded, but Rowe could still feel his hands clawing at him. His back tingled with the overwhelming sensation that someone was behind him, creeping up and reaching out to grab-

Against his better judgement, he turned back. Darkness there, and nothing more. “Fuck, f-fuck, keep it together,” he muttered.

Just up ahead, he could see streetlamps. Proper ones, glowing a gentle orange. He went as far as he could along the grass, then climbed up, wetting his hands in the dew. He checked for cars, and seeing none, scrambled fully onto the road.

He realised he couldn’t run anymore- his leg would give out, or he wouldn’t be able to contain a howl of pain- so he limped as quickly as he could towards the next patch of shadow, over and over.

Eventually he came upon a sign: Welcome to….

It was half shadowed, but it was a map. He pushed himself up on his tip-toes, eyes scanning the jumble of letters and lines and symbols. Eventually he spotted it. Hartland Road. He traced the direction in his head, making sure it was committed to memory, although he knew he wouldn’t forget it even if someone tried to beat it out of him. And then, he started walking.

He couldn’t tell exactly what time it was, but he would have guessed around three or four in the morning. The pub, as he passed it, was quiet, although he still kept his distance, hugging the shadows.

He soon reached the base of the hill he knew he’d have to climb. As he started to ascend, he saw the Pet hospital in the distance. Oh god, would he have to go back there to get his finger treated? He pushed the question to the back of his mind. If he did, there wasn’t anything he could do.

A few cars drove by, as he walked. He wanted to duck into one of the smaller streets that branched off, but he had only memorised one route home, and he didn’t trust himself to improvise in the dark. So instead he squared his shoulders, stopped hunching, tried his best to look like a person walking home in his heavy jacket, not afraid, not prey. It didn’t feel quite right, but it was easier than he’d expected. And it worked- no cars stopped, no one seemed to give him a second glance.

He finally reached the street, the name lit up. Hartland Road. The sign was scuffed, like kids had popped the cap off their beers along its edge. It was fixed to the wall of a garden, weeds poking out through the bricks, a flyer from the council tied at eye-level to the neck of the streetlamp. Rowe took everything in as he walked. The bicycle clipped to a fence, the parked cars, the black bins left out for collection. Before, he never would have taken notice. None of it had mattered. But now, Rowe felt as if he had a new connection to the world around him. He could interact with it. He wasn’t leashed or under the watchful eye of an owner, he wasn’t crawling or blindfolded in the boot of a car. He was in pain, yes, but he was always in pain, so constantly that it hardly registered anymore. He was free.

Rowe didn’t recognise the house itself. The only times he’d ever left it, he’d been unconscious, or practically so.

But when he turned around, he saw the same view he’d had from his bedroom window every morning and night. He was home.

He remembered Kasia’s key, but it no longer fit into the front door. The lock must have been changed. Rowe hated that the alternative was to make a loud noise, at this hour, but perhaps that was the smarter way than simply slipping inside like- like Kasia. So he hesitantly pressed down on the doorbell, hitting his fist against the wood as well. He waited. He thought about how he’d never rung a doorbell before in his life.

Silence. Rowe wasn’t exactly surprised, but his heart still tightened. Suddenly the fresh air didn’t feel freeing, it felt exposed. He rang again, knocking harder, not giving up. Surely he would know it was urgent? Surely he would come down, and Rowe would get to see his face again?

Faintly, he heard the creaking of the stairs. “I-I-It’s me!” he said, hushed. “It’s me, I…”

His words died as the door slowly opened. Half a face, an eye framed by blond curls peered out, full of apprehension. In a heartbeat it landed on Rowe and widened, and the door flew open.

“Tomas,” Rowe said, loving how it felt to say his name, loving him, loving everything. “I’m back, I, I’m back, I’m back.”

Tomas raised a hand over his mouth, and for once he was the one shaking. “Oh my god… oh my god.”

And then he was reaching both arms out for Rowe with a sob. Rowe threw the horrible jacket to the ground and fell into him, wrapping his arms around his waist and holding on tight. He couldn’t have known whose knees failed first, but suddenly they had collapsed on the floor, clinging onto each other, not leaving a shred of space between as they both cried. Soaked in the orange light that pooled through the still-open front door.

[kaistarus]

One Bed Mix-Up

Pairing: NishinoyaXReader

Words:2.5K

Summary: Nishinoya insists he’s the world’s greatest traveler, so you decide to visit him during your spring break vacation. But due to his inability to speak foreign languages Nishinoya messes up and gets you both a room with only one bed…

A/N: How could I not find a way to write the fanfic classic with my favorite boi? The fact that even took me this long?? I’m ashamed… Seriously tho I love this fic so much lmao

Masterlist

This could not be real.

You examined the room that had been essentially what Nishinoya explained-on the small side, but an open concept that made it more than comfortable. However, you immediately froze because where you were expecting some sort of living space was instead just one bed shoved against the wall. A detail that had been conveniently left out of his description.

You side-eyed Nishinoya’s amused smile with a glare.

“You did this on purpose,” you accused.

“I swear I didn’t,” he snorted, tossing his bag onto the bed nonchalantly. “Well, it’s possible I accidentally did, but it wasn’t on purpo-”

“What do you mean you ‘accidentally’ did this?”

“I’m not very good at Italian, okay?” Nishinoya threw his hands up. “I called last minute and there were so many words,” he crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at the bed. “I guess ‘full’ meant bed size and not a room ‘full’ of beds, huh?”

“I feel like numbers would’ve been a better indicator,” you mumbled, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“In hindsight, probably, but here we are.” He fell back onto the bed. “I’d go to talk to them, but it’s late and I don’t think I know enough to haggle.”

“This sucks,” you groaned, placing your bag beside him on the bed. He grinned up at you seeming unbothered by your circumstance.

“It could be worse. We could have no room at all,” he shrugged, digging through his own duffel for night supplies. “I did that once in Thailand because I tried to last minute find a place but couldn’t. Now that sucked.”

You raised your eyebrow at how casually he spoke about the situation, and he just ruffled your hair before heading toward the bathroom. Your stare lingered on the bathroom’s door before flickering toward the bed, narrowing your eyes at it and giving it a petty kick. This was a worst case scenario you had never planned for when you agreed to this trip with Nishinoya.

When you casually mentioned you were thinking about taking an actual vacation for your last spring break Nishinoya jumped on it. He eagerly told you how his travel expertise made him the best guide and after several years he could make it the cheapest trip possible. You were a little skeptical at first, but you had saved enough for a round-trip to Italy and he swore he’d pay for the majority of your food when you got there. It was the best deal you’d get.

The only problem was even after over three years of not seeing him your heart still did acrobatics when he wrapped his arms around you at the airport.

You glared at the bed that the universe had planted for your demise and huffed, grabbing Nishinoya’s bag and dropping it on the floor before climbing atop the plush mattress. His words continued to echo throughout the small room as he rambled from the bathroom, but you paid little attention as you dug through your suitcase for your own nighttime supplies.

“Does that sound like a good plan?”

You glanced over and tensed, quickly snapping your eyes back to your suitcase. Nishinoya had poked his head out of the bathroom with his hair now plastered down on his forehead which had always been your kryptonite. You cursed yourself, rubbing a fist over where your heart pounded against ribcage.

It hadn’t even been six hours since he picked you up from the airport and you were already freaking out. How were you supposed to handle the next two weeks?

“Are you even listening?” He pouted, then pointing his toothbrush to his duffel bag. “Why is my stuff on the ground?”

“‘Cause you’re sleeping on the floor.”

He was silent for a half a minute before asking with genuine confusion, “why am I sleeping on the floor?”

“Did you actually think we were sharing the bed?” You looked at his puzzled expression in disbelief. “It’s barely big enough for one of us.”

“I guess… you’re right.” He avoided your eyes and you swore his cheeks tinted pink, but he turned away and threw a thumb inside the bathroom to signal you could get ready. You left him grabbing stuff off the bed and tossing them onto the floor as you walked away with supplies cradled in your arms.

Once finished you stretched your arms high above your head while exiting the bathroom. You cocked your head to the side as you took in Nishinoya lying on the hardwood, one arm tucked under a pillow and a flimsy blanket thrown haphazardly across him as he scrolled through his phone. The sight sent an ounce of guilt coursing through you as you crawled on the bed, wondering why he left the comforter regardless of the already uneven circumstances.

He mumbled goodnight before crawling across the room to flicker off the lights and you shrunk into yourself at the lopsided grin he sent you. As you wiggled under the warmth of the comforter you grimaced at the cold that filled the room outside your cocoon. Was Nishinoya freezing on the floor?

You frowned, turning toward the window that took up a large portion of the wall beside you. The moonlight crept in and illuminated the room in a soft glow that allowed for vision despite the hour. You closed your eyes, listening to Nishinoya’s uneven breathing which informed you that he was far from sleep-not surprising given his uncomfortable position. You groaned internally as butterflies tickled your stomach like you were back in high school.

It wouldn’t be fair to force him to be miserable because you still harbored immature feelings. You slung your arm over your eyes, taking a calming breath before crawling toward the edge of the bed and peeking your eyes at him. His already open amber eyes flickered to meet yours and after several moments of contact a wicked grin spread on his lips.

“You better not move around in your sleep,” you grumbled, shuffling over as far as you could without falling off.

“No promises,” he laughed, pulling the comforter back and wasting no time wiggling underneath. Your cheeks warmed as he adjusted his pillow, shoulder pressing firmly against your back.

He could at least pretend to be uncomfortable with the situation.

Unlike him, it hadn’t taken you long to regret everything. You spent every second he’d been there counting the bricks in front of you hoping that if you bored yourself to sleep you wouldn’t keep having a heart attack everytime Nishinoya adjusted his position. 

“Can you stop freaking out?” Nishinoya asked annoyedly, you felt him roll to face your back. “You're making it hard for me to sleep.

“I’m not freaking out,” you scoffed, tightening your grip on the comforter.

“You haven’t relaxed since I got up here.” He poked your side and you jumped obnoxiously, helping prove his point further. You furrowed your brow frustratedly and pulled the comforter higher up your face.

“You’re looking too deep into nothing,” you lied. “I couldn’t care less that you’re here, Noya.”

You realized that came out meaner than you intended as the room filled with silence. You opened your mouth to correct it, but it slammed shut when you felt his forehead rest gently between your shoulder blades.

“Liar,” he said slyly.

You didn’t know how to respond because you were lying, but you didn’t think Nishinoya would ever call you on it. You sighed, glancing over your shoulder before mustering the courage to shuffle around and face his crooked grin.

“You’re making this more difficult than it has to be.” You deadpanned.

“Well, you’re acting like it’s torture.”

You rolled your eyes, but internally you wanted to scream that it practically was torture. He had no clue how long you had liked him and apparently, despite all logic, still did.

Nishinoya poked your fist that laid between you both. “I’m really glad you came,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Me too,” you whispered. It was bizarre how much he’d changed, yet felt exactly the same. A little taller, less baby faced, but still the exact same sense of humor and goofy smile-even keeping his signature hairstyle.

You furrowed your brow, staring at the blonde strip of hair that rested on his forehead. You used to think it was dyed until seeing pictures of him post-high school, doubting his upkeep abilities without his sisters’.

Perhaps it was the late hour or the soft smile that rested on his lips, but you were filled with an usual bout of courage as you slowly lifted your hand to run your fingers through the strands laying on his forehead. His eyes widened at the contact, but he did nothing to stop you-even leaning down to give easier reach.

“I missed you,” he confessed under the cover of night and your fingers faltered.

You frowned when you met his eyes filled with sudden adoration. “Is this a scheme, Noya?”

He blinked, taken aback. “A what?”

“Like, invite me to Italy and then uh-oh one bed? How did that happen? Now I’m gonna smooth talk you while we’re in bed. ” You rolled your eyes pulling your hand back.

“I swear I’m not smart enough to come up with all of that.” He said, grabbing your hand and placing it back on his head. “I would never rely on my ability to smooth talk.”

You narrowed your eyes, “I guess that’s true.”

“I’m way better than I was in high school.” He nodded proudly, which honestly wasn’t saying much. “I mean, if we were still in high school I wouldn’t be able to handle being in this room. Especially because I was, like, in love with you.”

Time froze as those words left his mouth. Your mouth hung open as you tried to process them and when he waved his hand in front of your face you sat up, pointing an accusatory finger down at him.

“What the hell do you mean you used to like me?”

“Uh,” he pushed your hand away. “I had a crush on you? It was pretty obvious. Everyone knew about it.”

“I didn’t know about it.” You stared down at your own hands in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He looked up thoughtfully, “well, the last crush I had was in love with my best friend, so I wasn’t on a great streak.”

“That’s a stupid reason,” you frowned, poking his chest angrily. “I’m not Kiyoko. You had no idea what would’ve happened if-”

“Why are you so mad?” He grabbed your hand and held it tightly. “This was like four years ago.”

“Well, it was just… I sort of liked you too so that would’ve-.” You felt your face heat up as Nishinoya’s grip on your hand tightened and he shot up, as well.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Wha-you liked Kiyoko,” you poked his forehead with your freehand and he clasped that one as well. “After she started dating Tanaka you were all ‘I’m gonna travel the world’. The timing never felt right.”

“That’s stupid!”

“It makes more sense than, ‘I was on a losing streak’.”

“No, because I just figured there was no point in trying!”

“Well, I assumed you were leaving forever and didn’t want to be dead weight that-”

You were cut off by Nishinoya pulling you down to press your lips together. Your eyes widened at the sudden contact, staring at his squeezed shut eyes as you stiffly wondered what you were supposed to do. Definitely not having your eyes open like a creep, and kissing back would be a good idea too.

Just as you started getting yourself together Nishinoya pulled back with a concerned crease to his brow.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just… Was that okay?” He tilted his head, loosening his hold on your hands. You were too flustered to form a proper sentence and he took your silence as a bad sign. Panicked and without a plan you pulled your hands from his grasp to cradle his cheeks.

His eyes flickered down your lips and he leaned close; eyes drifting closed while he rubbed his nose lazily against your own, waiting for you to close the gap. The room’s silence felt deafening as you leaned the few inches forward to press your lips gently against Nishinoya’s. You felt the corners of his lips quirk upwards briefly before he wrapped his arms around your midsection to pull you closer against his chest.

Your heart reacted faster than the rest of you, leaping around your chest uncontrollably as you tried to focus on everything else: tangling your hands in his hair, matching the oddly skilled pace he managed to set, and remaining calm when he pulled you both back onto the bed. As the kiss’ languid pace grew in intensity you pulled back, catching your breath and he watched you lovingly, pressing his forehead against yours and rubbing his thumb against your cheek.

“You should visit more often,” he said with a dopey smile.

“Yeah, with all that money I have,” you deadpanned.

He pouted, wrapping his arms around your midsection to hold you impossibly closer while nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck, “well, I should visit you more.”

“With all the money you have?” You snorted, running your fingers through his hair. He groaned against your neck, sending a vibration down your spine. Then he pulled back, his face lit up with some revelation as he smashed your cheeks together.

“You can just travel with me after you graduate,” he laughed elatedly.

You blinked once. Twice. “That’s a pretty bold suggestion.”

“You didn’t say no.”

Your cheeks warmed and a dopey smile forced its way onto your lips, “I didn’t say no…”

Another breathtaking smile covered his face and he pulled you back to his chest,nuzzling his cheek against the top of your head. “I can live with that.”

You rolled your eyes, but revelled in the warmth that filled your chest as you gripped the fabric of his t-shirt. You couldn’t believe it took all these years to work through your feelings, simultaneously with someone like Nishinoya this was probably the only way it would happen. And even if nothing came of this in the end you were more than satisfied to have these next few weeks with him.

You snuggled against him, closing your eyes with a content smile resting on your lips. Just lying with him like this? It would be more than enough.

Tags: @nathalie707

[thetargaryenbride]

Levi x Reader:: Marks

Summary:: Sometimes you hated those scars so much, letting insecurities wash over you and allow self-hate to take place. But Levi was always there to remind you how beautiful you were. 

Word Count: 1458

Warnings: Some nudity

Feedback is deeply appreciated~!

｡☆ ❅ ★━━━━ ❅ ━━━━★ ❅ ☆｡

You let out a hiss as you slowly unbuckled the belts of your gear one by one, letting them drop heavily on the ground before quickly discarding your uniform and undergarments, throwing them in the laundry basket, leaving you bare. Blood flow finally began running smoothly and normally now that there was nothing to painfully tighten and restrict your thighs. You undid the taut bun, setting your hair free and relieving your scalp with a short massage as you proceeded to enter the bathroom. You let out a sigh of content the moment the hot water washed over your body, easing your sore and tense muscles.

The past forty eight hours had been nightmarish. You had returned from an expedition gone wrong. Two of your squadmates had been injured and as a good captain you had stayed by their side for hours as the doctors and nurses treated them. After that you hadn’t even had the time to wash and change as a mountain of paperwork had been placed on your desk. If that hadn’t been enough, the families of your injured subordinates wanted to speak to you so you had to spend more time reassuring them that everything was all right before returning to your tedious tasks. You had been so busy and just like that, two whole days had passed. The same could be said about the other higher-ups. Levi, Hange, Erwin, Mike and the other squad leaders and section commanders were up to the neck buried with work and in such moments you asked yourself whether it was worth to become a captain.

There was so much responsibility.

You wrapped a towel around your body as you finally exited the bathroom, now feeling more refreshed and clean. But when you stepped into your bedroom and passed by the mirror, you froze, slowly turning to look at yourself.

Your skin has always been easy to bruise and you hated that. Now, staring at your thighs – at the ugly markings from the belts marring your skin – you felt sick. And suddenly, you got reminded of every scar your body held. There was one on your calf when a titan had bitten down as you were trying to save a comrade from its jaws. At this point you probably had multiple scars on your back from the amount of times you had fallen, gotten hit or thrown left and right or smashed while fighting those monstrous creatures.

There was one on your abdomen too. It brought shivers down your spine every time you remembered how you obtained it. It happened on the day Wall Maria fell. The Scouts had returned from an expedition. Instead of returning to the base, you had asked Commander Shadis to visit your family – inform them that you were alive and ease their worry.

Your house was near the gates.

You had spent amazing few hours with your family – eating and laughing and chatting together. And then there had been an explosion and only a second later something heavy had rammed against your house. The sound of breaking and cracking of bricks and wood and falling debris had been deafening. You had almost been buried alive under the debris, a piece of wood stabbing you. You had thought that you were going to die. But someone unexpected had come to save you.

Levi.

That had set the beginning of your relationship. When you had asked him why he had gone looking for you despite all the odds, he had just shrugged, saying it was because you were the only person he was able to tolerate. It was valid, considering you were the first and only person to offer him and his friends help and friendship after they joined and you had made sure to shower them with lots of care and kindness.

You didn’t know whether it were insecurities or something else but right now you felt horrible. You hated those scars. You hated your body. You tiredly sat on the bed as you thought about all those other…normal girls who had clean, spotless, soft skin. Tears gathered in your eyes and before you knew it, you were sniffing, trying to suppress your sobs as you cupped your hands over your mouth.

You didn’t even hear when the door to your private quarters opened.

Levi’s eyes widened as they fell on your shaking shoulders. Your back was facing him as he stood silently by the door frozen, unable to move, his mind immediately listing and searching for reasons as to why you were crying.

His legs quickly carried him to your form and he crouched down in front of you, placing a hand on your knee. You flinched as you lowered your hands and looked at him through blurry vision before wiping away the offending liquid. He waited a bit, giving you time to compose yourself. When you seemed ready to talk, he spoke.

“What’s wrong?” it was a simple question but his tone was soft and soothing that you felt like caving in and telling him. But you were also ashamed. You didn’t want to appear weak or stupid in front of him. You didn’t want to bother or worry him unnecessarily. After all, one of the reasons as to why he allowed himself to love you, allowed himself to accept you and enter a relationship during those horrid times, was because he knew you could take care of yourself. He knew that you could handle anything thrown your way and survive and come back to him even stronger.

But sometimes you couldn’t help but allow a few moments of weakness. Was it selfish of you?

“It’s…nothing. I’m just being silly, that’s all,” you breathed out and he frowned, his hand squeezing your knee a bit scoldingly.

“You’re crying your eyes out for nothing then? You know you can tell me. But if you don’t want to, it’s ok,” he said as his other hand moved to grasp one of yours in reassurance, making you let out a sigh and close your eyes.

“I hate my body. I hate how…many marks it has,” you sniffed and prepared for him to say that you were behaving like a child or to berate you and scold you for being so weak, eyes squeezing more and more shut when you imagined every scenario.

But he didn’t do anything like that. Instead, what he did surprised you.

He gently unwrapped the towel and let it fall and pool around you, leaving you bare and exposed. You had half a mind to cover yourself with your hands but you were curious as to what he was about to do.

His face got closer and closer until he placed his lips onto your thigh, right over the still red markings from the uniform belts.

“Is it this one?” he asked quietly as he gently kissed it before moving to the one on your other thigh. “Or this?” he repeated the action before lifting his head, hands softly brushing against your legs and climbing upwards, passing by your hips, caressing your sides and resting there as he nuzzled against your abdomen.

“Or maybe this one?” he whispered as he peppered the jagged, long scar with fluttering kisses while his hands raised more and roamed over your back, fingers tracing each scar with such care and love that the tears started falling again. But this time it wasn’t out of sorrow or self-hate. It was because he was worshipping your body. He was worshipping you.

And it made you fall in love with him all over again.

“You don’t need to be ashamed of these scars and marks,” he muttered against your skin and your hand went to thread his raven locks. “They are a proof that you went through hell and you were strong enough to push through and survive. To keep living. Because if there’s one thing that’s worth it in this cruel world, is staying by your loved ones’ side and building beautiful memories together. That makes all the pain and hate fade,” he said before he looked up, his eyes meeting yours as one hand went to wipe off your tears, thumb brushing your cheekbone tenderly.

You gave him a watery smile as you leaned and captured his lips in a delicate kiss which quickly turned into a searing one as you tried to pour all your passion, gratitude and love through it. He rose to his feet and climbed on the bed without breaking the kiss, causing you to lay down as he towered above you, the hand that had brushed your tears still caressing your cheek with love while the other slid down to cup your breast. 

“Let me show you how beautiful you are.”

[visd3stele]

The beauty and his beast - wolfstar fic

summary: two different nights, years passed, some things changes, but some never do

TW: nightmares, PTSD, trauma, non depictive child abuse, themes of suicidal thoughts

A/N: I loved writing this, but I am so nervous about it. What do you think?

requests ; masterlist

fanart credit picture down below: @lunopal

Ragged voices licked his ears. Three different ones overlapped in a cacophony of hissed whispers and dooming laughs. From where he stood in the middle of his cell, Sirius could see a silhouette standing in the open door. Open, because there was no way he could escape. Three Dementors floated in a circle around him, so fast he could barely tell them apart. Black smoke, a burning smell and shadows whirled under low hoods, bringing him to his knees.

The man in the door curled his lips in a terrible grin. The Dementors were his and with each mind they broke, with each soul they ate, the wizard gained a sense of pride and morbid joy.

Sirius knew it. He knew the man, back in his school years - how far they seemed now! But Sirius also knew he was delusional. The Dementors bow to no one. They have no law, no caretaker, no master. Only their purpose.

Continuing to swirl around his frail body, sinked in to a third of what it used to be, bony edges poking out through dirty thin layers of clothing, the Dementors closed in on Sirius. Flashes of memories flew before the Animagus' eyes. James' empty ones, still open in a silent plea for his sacrifice to be enough to save his family, his brown hair dipped in his own blood, body angled in an unnatural position with his hand stretched forward above his head as if reaching for his best friend. Lily's tears, yet to dry and evaporates, stained her too pale face, the red of her hair sprayed around too lively; no blood pools formed around her lifeless body, laid on its belly as it fell onward, as if leaping away from her son, so the baby won't have to see it. And finally Harry, his godson, crying in his crib, a brown-red crust shaped like a lightning forming on his forehead; his green, small eyes, swollen, puffy and trimmed with red followed his godfather as the man turned his back on him and ran outside.

Sirius cursed loudly, beginning to shackle the chains trapping him in place in case he tried to escape the daily visit of the Prison Warrant and his guards. But the now twenty five years old has stopped trying to run a long time ago. What good would it be? There was nothing - no one - waiting from him out in the world. No, Sirius trashing around the cold, dirty dais, snapping the metal biting in his wrists, bruising his effervescent skin and almost cracking his bones as well was his attempt to run from his own mind. If he could just wipe the haunting memories away with a shook of his head, a twist of his back or punching and kicking the thick walls.

Fragments of thoughts he wasn't sure belonged to him invaded his mind. "Your fault. Traitor. Another Black." And, worst of all, one pained howl, a desperate scream in the night. Sirius wasn't sure if he heard it, or the dark creatures around toyed with him, but Remus' wild, feral yell of pure hurt reverberated inside the bars of his mind. The young wizard shut his eyes closed tightly, hoping to brush away the sound, the voices. Failing to do so, he released a scream of his own, only a hint of Padfoot, the big, black dog, his alter ego, printed in it.

The thirty four years old man yanked up. The bed sheets were soaked in his sweat, the blanket throwed on the floor. Sirius passed a shacking hand over his face, feeling the hot air leaving his mouth in short breaths, than big inhales with no exhale, the burning of tears on his warm red cheeks and the running nose. His lips felt sewed together all of a sudden, as chill after chill entered his body, cooling off his face too quickly.

It was just a nightmare, he knew. He escaped Azkaban, has been a free man from over a week already. But Sirius Black couldn't let the twelve years in prison go. The things he saw there, what the Dementors showed him day after day, carved their way in his brain, refusing to leave. Yes, he may have been wrong: his family and living friend welcomed him back. Harry was warming up to hid godfather, Nymphadora Tonks was eager to know her uncle, Andromeda even reached out, sending letter after letter and Remus - well, Remus hugged him tight and apologized for believing that filthy rat's lies. The werewolf spent his days, from first ray of sunshine until the last drop of sunlight. But the nights he went home. The nights when ghosts came to play, wounds teared open and pain leaked like blood from Sirius' heart, Remus was gone.

He tried to remember a time they didn't share a bed - before Azkaban, of course. Not in a sexual way, though it came to that in the late years of Hogwarts too. But simply for the comfort they each found in the other. It started in the second year, Sirius recalled.

Four twelve years old boys in a room seemed like a receipt for disaster. In a way, it was. After finding out their friend's secret, James, Sirius and Peter decided to sneak in the herbology cabinet, get Mandrake leaves and become Animagus. Seeing as they got away with it, the four created their enchanted map and become the Marauders, messers Prongs, Padfoot, Moony and Wormtail, waltzing their merry way through Hogwarts.

Not everything was merry and joyful, though. And despite their reputation, the wizards could be grave and serious when need be. Like one night, when Sirius woke them all up with his cries. The grey eyed boy stood on top of his bed covers, knees drawn to his chest, hands tangled in his shoulder length hair. He leaned back and forth, trembling. Front teeth bit in his lower lip to prevent him from making more noises as silent tears rolled down his face.

The other three boys thought Sirius saw a mean spirit, the haunted glassy look in his eyes only proving their theory further. But no danger threatened in the shadows of their room. No monster lurked in the darkness.

James was the first to get up and surf his way to the pure blood. Remus followed closely behind while Peter watched everything from the safety of his bed. Sirius' episode truly spooked him.

"Padfoot, mate, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. 'm sorry. Go back to sleep."

James and Remus changed worried looks at the sourness of Sirius' voice. Their friend would usually be the epitome of confidence, yet now he seemed to desperately try to shrink and disappear. But it was late and they were tired, so the boys decided with a swift nod that they'd pick up the subject in the morning and climbed back under their covers.

Remus jolted awake. Two out of his three best friends were sound asleep. Sirius still stared at the wall in front of him, breathing jerky. Due to his fine, superior hearing, the werewolf discerned the Black boy's muffled whimpers, sounds that kept him from sleeping.

"Sirius, why are you so afraid?" Remus whispered.

" 'm not afraid, Moony. Sleep."

"Can't. Werewolf remember? I hear you trying to not cry. You can cry, you know."

"I know." Sirius said in a tone that clearly showed he doesn't. With a sigh, Remus threw away his blanket, slipped his feet in his shoes and trailed his legs over the dorm's brick daises until he reached his friend's bed. The brown haired boy signed Sirius to scoop over, which he did, to both wizards surprise.

Later, when talking about that night, Padfoot admitted he was too tired, too shocked and too lost in his mind to think and only acted on auto pilot.

Remus brought the blankets to cover them both, still seated as they were. "Do you need a hug?" Sirius hesitated before answering, but eventually he nodded twice, a quick movement as if the boy was ashamed to admit it and wanted to pass unnoticed.

But Remus smiled softly and wrapped his hands around him. Sirius clinged onto his friend. The warmth of the gesture, the cozy closeness of a settled, stable body, a person that cared deeply about him and only him as a being, set the restrained tears free. Remus held Sirius until his body stilled and he could feel no more tears soaking his pajamas.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Sirius swallowed, but the words demanded to be spoken. "Yes."

"Alright. I'm gonna ask you questions and you can answer with yes or no. It's your choice if you want to elaborate. Sounds good?"

"Yes." Sirius said and for a moment his usual, ironic self showed up.

"Was it a nightmare?"

"Yes."

"About your family?"

With a shudder, the grey eyed boy forced out another "yes."

"Your brother?"

"No."

"Your parents, then. Did they - did they do something to you?"

"Yes." Remus' arms tighten around him and he clunged harder to his friend as well. In the safety of the Gryffindor dorm, shared with his most trusted peers, comforted by the scarred boy he became an Animagus for, Sirius stumbled over his thoughts. The dream weighted heavy on his mind, but he didn't know how to let free of those horrible images that haunted him. Not images, memories. Sirius feared that if he said anything they'll become real. Not that they weren't, but they happened in the past. Talking about them, invoking them, would feel like living through them again.

And yet, part of him wanted to talk. He needed someone to know. Sirius couldn't be sure why. Maybe to hear that it was nothing, that it was ok and he shouldn't be such a weak ship. Or maybe to hear it was normal and he wasn't alone. That is how parents love and his didn't hate him after all. Or just to show someone how broken he were, hoping to be picked un and patched.

So, speaking slowly, but evenly, Sirius retailed his nightmare to Remus. In his sleep, the twelve years old boy was hanging some muggle posters in his room: bands, promo for concerts, normal things a boy his age would own. He smiled broadly, music turned on quite loud, muggle music, when his parents bursts in. Walburga and Orion both yell, but Sirius can’t understand what they’re saying. It’s pretty clear they are very upset with him, though. And the reason couldn’t be more obvious. 

“Sirius Orion Black!” his mother shrieked. “Ungrateful, worthless child! You are a stain on the family’s name.”

“You should be ashamed of you. As much as I am for being your father. Well, say something. Look how upset you made your mother!”

“Sorry,” he’d try to say, but his voice would break, too small to be heard by the angry adults. Which only worsened their state. Sirius watched frozen in terror as Walburga took her wand. Only his head seemed to be able to move, and he was shacking it vigorously, wiping his cheeks with it. The young wizard tasted tears on his tongue as he repeated the same words over and over again “no, please, ‘m sorry!” It did nothing to help. 

Remus stayed in his bed that night.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

The moon shone mockingly on the window. Last night has been a full moon and Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail failed to properly contain Moony. It happened quite a lot in their first days as Animagus. As normal, they got better over the years, the four boys falling in rhythm like an oiled machine. By the time they reached excellency, though, mistakes happened. James, Peter and Sirius thought less of it, but Remus took it badly. 

As he laid in the dark, blanket drawn to cover his head as he hugged his knees on the side, the young werewolf tried to remember what happened last night. What if he killed someone? What if he will next time the boys won’t be able to restrain him? Is it worth living like this, a danger to himself and the ones around? What if he hurts his friends? 

“I can hear your mind working from over here y’know?”

Remus straighten up in shock. “Padfoot?”

“Well, it’s not the Fat Lady. What’s on your mind?”

Remus shrugged, but Sirius wouldn’t stop pestering him until he poured his deepest fears and doubts. 

“You won’t”

“How do you know this?”

“You won’t, Moony,” Sirius said more firmly this time.

“Alright.” Remus clearly didn’t believe him and his worries still troubled him as he turned to lay back down. He heard footsteps, then felt the mattress shifting as another body climbed over his bed covers. “I know because I am Sirius Black and you are my friend.” Less than an hour later, both boys were sound asleep.

Sirius slept in his bed that night.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

It became a tradition. At first, they'd wait until one of them woke frozen in pain and panic, then they'd stay together and talk silently until they could sleep again. Later, Sirius and Remus would wait until James and Peter were out to decide who's bed to sleep in, knowing one of them - or both - ought to need the comfort.

The man kept trembling. His sobs caught in hiccups, leaving him out of breath. He did it. He left Harry for revenge. He practically made the choice for James and Lily, selecting Peter as secret keeper. His brother died and instead of mourning him, Sirius rejoiced bitterly in his cell - until he found out how he betrayed the Dark Lord.

He was just another Black. An evil presence in the world, despite his efforts. Gryffindor or Slytherin, it mattered not when his genes crafted him. Sirius tried so hard to be good, brave, loyal and the only thing he managed was to disappoint everyone. He was a nuisance and a burden and the a stain on the world. It'd be better if his sorry, useless existence would be wiped off the surface of the Earth.

Such thoughts clouded Sirius' mind when a light knock pulled him out of his head. "May I come in, Padfoot?"

The man almost broke at the nickname. Only one single person now would know to call him that. The weight of the realization hit him and another wave of tears carried the air from his lungs.

Receiving no answer, Remus kicked the door open, worry written all over him. The werewolf was panting and sweating from running, eyes wide close to terror. "Padfoot!" Seeing his oldest friend's state, he rushed to his side and hesitated only a moment before drawing him in for a hug.

"Nightmare?"

"Yes."

"Azkaban?"

"Yes."

"Dementors?"

"Yes. They-" Sirius gulped, shame tightening up in his throat. He was a thirty four man, for Godric's sake! And yet he cries like a baby. But the path he and Remus trailed off to, simple questions, any type of answer, so familiar and soothing he couldn't stop. "They tortured me. Showing me their - James and Lily's - death over and over. I left Harry, Moony. I stepped inside the house, saw that beautiful, brave child, suffering and I took off after bloody Pettigrew!" Before Remus could say a thing, Sirius continued, teeth so barred that words barely spitted out. "I heard you screaming too. I don't think that was real, but it sounded so broken, Moony. Twelve years, over twenty four full moons alone. 'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

Remus inhaled sharply, pulling Sirius even closer to him. He rubbed circles on his back, leaning to whisper in his ear "It was not, Padfoot. I should have trusted you more, star. If anything, it's my fault for spending so much time alone. So much, in fact, that it seems I neglected you, our agreement."

“It was my fault.” Sirius insisted.

“No,” and not letting him time to argue, Remus added “I know so, Sirius, because I am Remus Lupin and you are my... friend.”

Sirius pulled away only to find a reluctant smile playing on Remus' face. His body reacted before his mind could process its moving. He moved on the right side of the bed, still avoiding the other wizard's eyes. "Why are you here, Remus?"

"I couldn't sleep either. Thought to check on you as well. And good thing I did. You looked..." The professor didn't know how to finish that sentenced. Hollow. Empty. Dead. Scaringly close to death, in fact.

"Merlin! Thank you, Moony. You don't look bad yourself."

Remus chuckled. "Are you feeling any better?"

"No. You?"

"No."

Both men laughed. A bitter sweet sound passing through silence, taking with it any sign of discomfort that existed.

"I'm glad you came."

"Me too."