#{{here's a story for you}}; drabble

[irisinluv]

Yandere x Time Traveler Reader

You could recite the rules by memory if you had to. You were read them before each and every time jump. The most important being- don’t do anything to alter the course of history, don’t let anyone know about time travel, and don’t stay longer than necessary. There’s a slew of other minute details to the rule book, time traveling is a delicate business after all. But you love your job, and you understand how important your work is. You see, history records are often sloppy. We do our best to put things together with old newspapers, books, and the occasional photo, but what if you could go back and meticulously record everything the exact way it was?

Well, historians realized they could utilize time travel to observe and document historic events and time periods. That’s where you come in. You are a field agent- dressed in time appropriate clothes, practiced in period accurate slang and culture, armed with a backstory, and ready to jump back in time to learn the things time has forgot.

You’ve done countless runs before, and this one is no different. Go in. Learn everything you can, and then get the hell out. You don’t stay more than a week, and whatever you do, you stick to your company drafted backstory if anyone ask. So, with this in mind, you wave to your team, and step back in time.

The 1920s proved to be more colorful than you’d imagined. Sure you knew not everything was in black and white… but you expected things to be a bit more drab. The streets were busy with old timey cars in each of the primary colors, women bustled down the streets in loose, boxy dresses with gorgeous patterns. You took note that maybe the 20s were onto something when you noticed the high waisted pants all the men seemed to be wearing. You’d certainly be recommending these slutty little numbers make a comeback.

Taking in all these details, you took a moment to enjoy being a tourist in a new time. This was your favorite part of the job- constantly exploring. You loved the freedom you had. Granted you had your rules, but you could go anywhere. Any time. It was fantastic. Ducking into a cafe, you took a second to inspect the menu before ordering, and taking a seat at a booth. You began people watching as you sipped your drink, taking mental notes of everything and anything that you could jot down later. Suddenly, you’re interrupted from your observations as someone slid into the seat across from you in the booth.

Sawyer saw you order and sit down, and was fascinated by you. You carried yourself differently than anyone he’d seen before, with a natural ease and confidence, yet he could see your eyes assessing everything around you with a slight hint of wonder that made him wonder what those eyes would say if they looked his way. After observing you for several minutes, Sawyer made his move.

You couldn’t help but feel comfortable about the man who slid into your booth and started chatting with you. It wasn’t against the rules to talk with people like this- it was often crucial in fact. As long as you didn’t do anything drastic like save or end their life, convince them of some major course of action, etc…. It often paid to have a friend in an unfamiliar time. So when Sawyer asked you if you had plans this evening…. You had told him you were free.

Now it’s a quarter to 6 and he’s picking you up at the hotel you’d arranged earlier in the day. You had a change of clothes already packed for the occasion, and were buzzing to see inside a real speakeasy during prohibition. Sawyer was prompt in picking you up, and it was only a short walk to a back door of a building. He was ushered inside and soon the two of you were sitting together, leaning close to speak as you sipped (rather horrible) watered down drinks.

You kept to your story- you were traveling from the countryside, and would be in town for the next week. Sawyer noticed, however, how much you steered the conversation away from yourself. You did so skillfully and he had to admire that, but you were secretive none the less. Of course, this only served to further fascinate the man. What was originally just a little crush began to turn into a burning need to know more. What were those calculating eyes of yours thinking? Why did you take everything in with such wonder, like you were committing every detail to memory? He had to know.

For the next several days, Sawyer acted as your guide through the city, showing you clubs and shows and the best places to eat. You found yourself genuinely enjoying his company, and it wasn’t hard to tell he greatly enjoyed yours- showing up first thing each morning to escort you on another adventure. You realized you needed to begin distancing yourself from him, however, as he was pressing you for more details about yourself, and was expertly dodging your attempts at redirection. So, with only a few days left before you had to return, you switched hotels. Went to a different part of town, and began looking into the affairs of a few businesses. You needed to round out your research more anyways.

Sawyer arrived at his usual time, only to find you gone. The hotel attendant explained you’d checked out early, and left no explanation. Sawyers heart stopped. You were the love of his life. He knows it’s sudden, and stupid, he hardly knows you…. But at the same time he feels like he knows you better than anyone else alive. In the few days you’d spent together he’d taken in every little detail about you. He could tell when you were excited or disgusted just by the way your nose twitched. He knew your food preferences, knew how to make you laugh, and just felt like he knew you on a soul deep level…. But you were gone. You’d left him….

You were taking note of the stock in a grocery store a few days later when Sawyer finally saw you. He didn’t approach, instead, followed you back to your hotel. He watched you through a sliver in the curtains as you pulled out a pad of paper and began writing. He watched until you fell asleep, and then slowly crept in through the window. He gently picked up the notepad, only to furrow his brows, confused. You were…. Taking note of the style of labels on soup cans, and the price stickers used? He looked around the room and saw a few other note pads, gently placing the one he’d grabbed back next to your sleeping form, he began snooping through the rest of your notes. You had pages and pages written about what you’d observed, meticulous notes littered with your own commentary and thoughts. And that’s when Sawyer realized the truth. He didn’t have all the details- but he knew you were from the future. You were from the future, and you’d be leaving him in less than 24 hours.

He knew he had to act. He found the small device you would use to return home- it was disguised as a watch, and tucked away inside one of your luggage bags. Holding the small object in his hand, he came up with a plan. Shooting one last look to your sleeping form, he made sure everything was as you left it, aside from your watch, which he slipped in his pocket, and then crept back outside.

The next day, you hustled to finish investigating the last few things your colleagues were interested in. You were walking down the road when you heard a familiar voice call out. Closing your eyes and letting out a soft curse, you turned to see Sawyer racing towards you with a grin.

“Hey! There you are! When they told me you’d checked out a few days ago I’d assumed you left! Glad I found you though! Did you lose a watch by any chance? I found it in the pocket of that coat you borrowed after the theater, it’s small and gold with some swirling patterns carved into it?”

Your eyes widened…. That was your ticket home. How the hell did you not notice it was gone?? You thank him profusely for finding it, and tell him that yes, it’s yours! He clarifies,

“It’s back at my place, I didn’t think I’d run into you so I wasn’t carrying with me. If you’d like, you can swing by my house with me and pick it up?”

Of course you readily agree- after all, you need to leave in a few hours, and seeing inside his house would be great for your research. So, you agree to go home with him. I mean you only had a few hours left. Saying goodbye for real this time wouldn’t hurt.

Sawyers breath catches as you step inside his house. Why does this seem so natural? So perfect? You, fingers lightly tracing the wood banister as you take it all it. You, turning to look where he stands in the entryway - God, he can imagine coming home from work, with you greeting him with a smile just like this. The only thing missing is a kiss. He blinks out of it as he realizes you’re asking about your watch.

“Oh, yes, of course! It’s just down here, follow me!”

He leads you downstairs to a partially finished basement. Partially finished is a loose term. It’s a usable area at least, a workbench in once corner, and minimal boxes cluttering the space. Instead, it’s relatively clean, there’s a few chairs and a couch set up. Far from a living space, but it’s certainly functional. You’re taking all this in when suddenly you’re pulled back wards, stumbling into a chair. Ropes are wound around your midsection, pinning your arms and torso to a chair. You cry out and squirm but he’s surprisingly fast and strong,wrangling your kicking feet until they’re tied to the chair legs. Soon, you’re securely bound to the chair, and he didn’t even have to knock you out. He finds it kind of adorable how easily he overpowered you if he’s being honest.

You cry out and ask him what he’s doing, demand he lets you go! But he only produces your watch from his pocket, and stares at it with curious eyes.

“So, this little thing is your ticket back, hm? I wonder what it’s like- your world. Your time….”

Your eyes grow wide. He knows. He knows you’re not from this time period. That’s breaking one of the most important rules. This in itself could have irreparable consequences to the course of history… what if he decides to use it? Decides to travel through time, un-trained, causing chaos!?

“Please! You have no idea the consequences this will have! You can’t use it! Please- there’s a way things have to be done, you could permanently alter the course of human history with the littlest misstep! The future depends on you letting me go and giving me that watch back!”

He steps closer to you and gently strokes your cheek, realizing you don’t get it. You think you’re tied up because he’s interested in the time traveling. You think he’s going to misuse it. Silly you. He’s not interested in traveling through time.

“Darling… come now. There’s no need to worry. I’m not going to use your watch.”

Your gaze turns confused as you look up at him, and he adores watching your eyes as you try to puzzle your way through this one. He takes pity on you and leans forward to press a kiss to your lips.

And then you watch as he drops and crushes your way home beneath his boot.

“The only future I’m interested in…. Is ours.”

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Dawn

I am back because i got home from work and I got no chill! :D @spotaus

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Okay. So why this one? Because i realised it was a while since i wrote a drabble from Horror's point of view and that is criminal and it is a great excuse for me to showcase some stuff from the quiet and very observing sockets of Horror! (also gives me an excuse to not think about the drabble order i got now and that thought i messed it up a bit which I need to think of a solution for)

Ready? Let's go!

*------------------------*

Horror makes sure to carefully close the door to the greenhouse. It is still early but he is used to those.

He enjoys the cool fresh air as he walks towards the house, small basket filled with fresh monster food. Horror is happy he got permission from Crop to harvest the plants in there for their meals.

He quietly opens the door and listens for a moment. He saw Cross leave the farm a little while ago to do his own morning workouts and by the sounds of it the other three are still asleep.

Which is good because he needs his own sleep. Horror knows very well that Dust is the one to wake up with Nightmare if something bothers him in his sleep.

He found the two of them awake and reading a book one too many times for Horror to believe they just had an allnighter.

Horror likes being up early. Maybe strange for him but he got used to it in his old universe. The best time to check his traps and search for food had been in the very early morning, or very late night depending on how you look at it, as most people would be asleep.

It is a leftover habit and he just kept going with it when he joined Nightmare's gang.

He puts the food away in all the right places and goes about getting the ingredients for todays breakfast. He notices the fresh milk and eggs and the choice is obvious. Some pancakes would be great.

He starts preparing the ingredients as he takes the time to measure it all. The milk makes him chuckle.

Watching Cross realises there was a cow had been funny. Finding Cross in a tree shaking with a cow under it had been hilarious. Crop ahd been apologetic as he explained that his cow, Betty (Killer had mutters "of course it is claled betty") was aparently mischievious.

Horror had his doubts but Cross swore that the cow would know when he left the farmhouse. That the cow would stand at the edge of her field and stare at him.

Cross did not go to the east side of the farm anymore. aparently that was Betty's territory in his mind.

Nightmare liked petting Betty however so you have your ups and downs.

Horror mixes the ingredients slowly but surely. Thinking about Nightmare, "Shouldn't you still be in bed?"

silence before a soft mutter "Not tired anymore."

Horror chuckles as he shoots Nightmare a look. He looks fully awake and adorable in his new wool sweater. Horror grins "God powers?"

Nightmare shrugs "I mean probably. I never needed sleep before. that is still new." They hadn't really noticed anything that could be connected to Nightmare's godhood at the moment. Maybe it had gone domant, at least that was Cross's guess. Dust just thinks Nightmare's magic is now focussed on healing instead of weird god shenenigans.

Speaking of healing! Horror gives him a stern look "bandages?"

Nightmare rolls his eye lights but mutters his answer "All still in place and good. Killer replaced them after the bath last night,"

Horror nods. With that secured he relaxes abit "Want to help?"

Nightmare is already by his side and stands on his tiptoes. Horror chuckles as he gives him a look "Need a chair?" he would offer a stepstool but the chair is more stable for him.

Nightmare looks at the counter annoyed before nodding his agreement. Horror grabs a chair and puts it near the counter. Nightmare climbs it easily.

Horror really wants to pick him up but they do have the rule that inside Nightmare should walk around himself to carefully train his spine. It is still much to early to already start carrying him. Horror knows that if any of them start they won't stop.

Nightmare reaches for the ingredients, some fruits for inside the pancakes, before pausing and staring at his sweater.

Nightmare has been very careful with his new gifted clothes. Horror himself is also very careful with the set of clothes Dust got him.

Horror frowns at the food he is making. He really hopes he can quickly find soemthing to do here to earn money. At the moment only Dust has something and it is starting to show, even Killer seems to be getting annoyed with himself over it.

Until now Horror and Cross helped around on Crop's farm. Which he was happy to do as it only seemed fair as a way to repay Crop for letting them stay. Horror has also been learning the basics about farming, farmland and farmwork from Crop. It is still a lot and not everything sticks in his skull, probably falling out of that hole. But he is getting better at it. He hopes with this Crop can maybe get the news out that both of them are more than willing to help around with heavy duty work and get a bit of cash flow.

Killer... Killer has a very specific set of skills. Sadly not specifically useful on a farm. Even if he is great with the animals and can herd pretty much anything, which is very useful but well. Most people won't let you near their animals unless they trust you and Killer is Killer.

Horror just feels bad that Dust is pretty much still Ngihtmare's main caretaker, got the rough end with the backstory they settled on, and has to deal with work to get cash. Only to spend all of it on them all.

Horror can see it is starting to wear him down. He just hopes they can figure out how to balance everything better.

It is another reason he loves these mornings. Because morning time means Dust, and Killer, both sleep in and Horror gets time to supervise their babybones. Horror adores the time wiht Nightmare. Especially when alone because then others don't watch them nervously the whole time.

It is exhausting to be seen as something dangerous even if he knows it is true. It is why they mean so much to him, they never treated him like that. None of them did.

A glance confirms that Nightmare has carefuly rolled up the sleeves and is taking extra care with cutting the fruits, using one of the duller knives which won't be able to cut bone. Horror turns back to getting everything else ready. He has to concentrate to push his intent into the food. He wants them to enjoy and like it. Feel the things he can't say to them.

Horror knows what he wants and feels but also knows none of them are ready to hear it. Horror has known that from the moment he realised what he felt was. The curse of being the only emotional stable one.

He still remembers all the way back near the start of them meeting and chuckles to himself. they did not get along at all.

Nightmare immediantly looks up "What is funny?" he looks adorably confused.

Horror thinks for a moment "Remember when you brought me in?"

Nightmare blinks before giving a slow nod "Yeah... I had hoped you would calm Killer and Dust."

Horror chuckles "Can't believe you thought i could do that."

Ngihtmare shrugs as he finishes up his task and just sits normally on the chair "I mean... It worked." his hands find the glass of juise Horror got him.

Horror pauses for a moment before nodding. Nightmare is kinda right with that one. It hadn't worked right away but he made it work. Mostly because he had had a lot of motivation.

Nightmare, still a fully active god at that point, had offered him that he would slowly but surely fix the food problem in his universe in trade for his service, something about it being too severe for him to be able to instantly fix but if Horror worked for him he would work on it. Horror had figured Nightmare had known about his little weird immortality situation with his own universe's core and accepted.

Turns out he just wanted him to fix whatever had been going on with Killer and Dust. Because they would fight. Constantly. And those two got very close to killing each other a few times.

Horror had eventually managed to somehow form a connection and bond with Killer. It had been rather easy and Horror was able to become friends with him over coworkers. Eventually find him not just annoying but funny. And later think fondly of his antics.

Dust took longer. Which had been a combination of Dust just being an introvert and not looking for connections or at least not in the way that made that clear to Horror. And well Horror heard bits and pieces of what Dust had done and had honestly been disgusted with the idea that Dust just murdered his whole universe and his own brother. Just to fight one human? Just to end a timeloop?

It was well after he managed to get them to stop, or at least contain the damage of, their fighting. Well after he started working for Nightmare more permanently that Horror realised how the multiverse worked.

And how fucking unfair it was.

Because aparently? stupid fate or some shit? That decided how your universe worked. His would always have ended up with a famine and starvation. Killer would always lose control and be controlled, abused and used by the human. Cross would always be the end of his universe. Dust... Dust would always have to kill his universe. No matter what he tried or solution he tried.

It wasn't until later Horror learned that Dust had tried everything. Multiple times. That Dust had learned to play multiple musical instruments in the time of resets. That he had learned to cook, and tinker. He master chemistry. Everything in the hopes it could give him a solution.

But the fates had already decided his ending, much like for all of them there was only one ending possible for them. And in the end locked him in a dead AU make by his own hands when no other options was left. Just like all of them had been.

Horror has to admit it took him a long time to get Dust to admit those things to him. Msotly because Horror had been standoffish before and that he accidentally gave Killer advice to treat Dust like one of the many stray cats he interact with.

He hadn't specifically said that. horror had just told Killer that maybe Dust would like Killer more, or at all, if Killer learned to respect his boundaries. Horror had mentioned how Killer could learn each cat's limits so why not Dust?

Worst part was that it actually worked.

Horror rubs his face "I give him cat advice." his voice sounds pained. Dust had been so mad at them both.

Nightmare nods "I remember. Dust left for three weeks." he snorts "which really is very catlike..." more thoughtful "And then you two got mad at me for not telling you where he went." He blinks and shrugs as he drinks from his orange juice.

Horror ignores the cat comment as he looks at Nightmare "Why didn't you tell us?" Dust had actually been recruited to help Nightmare with the balance. Something Horror only started to do after helping Killer and Dust be less homicidal.

Nightmare blinks at him wiht those wide sockets "I didn't want to force any of you... If you wanted to leave..." he speaks softer and softer "I wasn't going to stop you if you wanted to leave... if you didn't want to stay..."

Horror frowns and picks Nightmare up. He embraces him and hums "I am sorry we left..."

Nightmare shrugs as he pushes clsoer to him "You came back..."

hah... yeah they did. Much like Dust did all that time ago. He was gone for a few weeks before returning after killing Ink bringing back one of his fucking sketchbooks as proof. Obviously killing Ink does little in the long run but it was quite the powermove. Dust had glared at them daring to say anything. Killer of course had muttered something about Dust bringing back a kill much like a cat.

Horror is still not sure how he managed to stop Dust from Killing Killer that day.

Horror puts Nightmare at the table and gets a small yogurt and fruit snack ready for him. Just so he can eat a tiny bit. See how his magic will handle food today. Nightmare starts eating it when offered and that is a good sign. Means his magic is actually sending out the signal that it needs food today.

Horror goes back to flipping pancakes. Horror tries to stay in the here and now but his injury makes his mind likely to wander. and with already having been thinking about them.

He still remembers one of the early missions, after Horror learned about fates cruel games. Dust had still acted the same but Horror had tried to be more friendly. He had been close to giving up on it as clearly it wasn't working as Dust was still standoffish. Only for Dust to pull him out of the way of an attack from Ink, getting hit instead.

Later Horror had demanded why he did that and Dust had just shrugged. He hadn't had an answer for him. It confused Horror to no end. Horror was immortal because of that fact that his magic had been used in the core and bonded to that. Meaning as long as the core in his universe was fine he would return to life.

The gang had known this and Horror knew that Dust knew this. And yet. Dust had heard all of that and looked at the large monster Horror had become saw soemthing worth protecting. Something that needed protection.

Horror thinks he fell a little bit in love that day.

Much like how one day Horror just realised he couldn't stand the idea of not being near Killer or never seeing him again. That even if Killer could be annoying that he didn't wish him any pain or harm.

How it warmed his soul that Killer, and Cross later, would hide behidn him. Seeing him as someone safe that would protect them. See him as someone trustworthy.

Cross, so eager to please and desperate for affection and affirmation. but once he relaxed so smart and funny. Loyal and always ready to help...

But now is not the time to try and see what any of them thought or felt. They are dealing wiht a lot at the moment and they need to concentrate with trying to make staying here work.

The front door opens and Cross walks in quietly. He sneaks a glance at them and smiles when Horror catching him looking. Cross waves to Nightmare "Hey guys. All good?"

Horror nods "Nightmare helped." he flips another pancake as Nightmare drinks his juice with a smug little smile.

Cross grins "Good to hear. I will quickly get cleaned up and help. Dust and Killer?"

Nightmare hums "Still asleep." and he sips his juice again.

Cross nods "Good to know. be back in a bit" and he goes towards the bathroom. The pipes groan softly as Cross no doubt turns on the shower.

Horror finishes the last pancake and gets to wrok on getting the drinks and coffee ready.

Another day for them to figure out how this will work. Horror is just happy they are all here, everything else can wait as long as they stick together.

*-------------------------*

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[cthulhusstepmom]

Fae!Soap Superstitious Bastard! Ghost: Gifts

(Just a heads up this got way more intense than I meant it to but that’s kind of the Fae for you.)

TW: mentions of torture, human remains

Soap is a collector, though not of any one thing that Ghost can discern. He’s seen the man pick up anything from an abandoned rolex to a nondescript piece of broken glass. It doesn’t seem to be about size, it’s not shape and definitely not value; Ghost had thought he’d pinned it down as things that caught the light a certain way but was swiftly proven wrong when Soap went on a spree of collecting pebbles and sticks. He’d glared sullenly at the first jagged gray rock when Soap had picked it up before swiftly changing the subject when he was noticed. There was no apparent rhyme or reason to any of it… well not quite. There was one singular pattern that stood out in his mind, a single thread that held firm no matter how much he rearranged or plucked at it.

 Anything that Ghost gave him, Johnny kept. 

The first had been a bit of pretty blue ribbon that was a close enough approximation to Soap’s eyes. It’d snagged on a bramble bordering the clearing where Ghost had set up for overwatch. Without even thinking he’d snagged it on his way to RV down the hill, offering it to Johnny in the armored car taking them back to base. Soap hadn’t said a thing. It was then that Ghost realized maybe giving your subordinate a piece of trash you’d found in a bush perhaps wasn’t the most well adjusted way to express affection. He’d been about to play it off with a quip, beginning to retract his fingers ever so slightly, when Johnny snatched it lightning quick from the palm of his hand, holding it close to his chest for a moment before stuffing it into his chest pocket next to his journal. Soap had given him a small strangled “Thank you” as they sat the rest of the ride in an awkward but warm silence. Johnny disappeared almost immediately after they got back to base but Ghost could see light in the space under his door so he wasn’t too worried that he’d done permanent damage to their relationship.

After that his eyes just seemed to catch on things that he assumed Johnny would like. He couldn’t help it. Little glass marbles, a river stone with an interesting marking, a large brown feather; Somehow it all made its way into the hands of his Sergeant. Usually with a gruff “Here”, barely waiting for Johnny to hold out his hands before he dropped his small offering into his gloved palms. Soap has also gotten over whatever his episode of silence had been, responding with a blinding smile and enthusiastic gratitude and a happy quip. (“Thanks Lt!” a piece of antler, Montana “Y’ shouldn’t have!” an old toy car, Finland “Find this on sale?” a scrap of pink fabric, Brazil “Ghost you’re spoiling me.” green river stone, India etc.(no he didn’t catalog all of them that would be creepy. He only wrote down his favorites.))

The next time Ghost thinks he’s permanently damaged their relationship and scared Soap off for good comes after an operation sweeping out an AQ base in Afghanistan. 

It’s stuffy and dark, the blistering heat of the day beginning to fade into the bitter chill of the night. The compound has long since been abandoned by all but the stubbornest of rats, slowly being reclaimed by the wild desert it carved its blackness into. They roll into the courtyard through the open front gate, the outer walls have seen multiple breacher charges and calling them walls at this point is more out of respect than any dedication to accuracy. The whole place has already been swept by drone and Laswell has had satellite eyes on it for months confirming just how fucking dead it is. They’re here for information, the drone identified documents left behind as well as at least two hard drives. 

The 141 has split off, each clearing their own section and radioing in at even intervals, they’ve learned the hard way that it’s better to be safe than sorry. Beyond extra caution, the whole place has an eerie, black aura that drags forth memories of scorpion stings and dull knives biting at his flesh. Assisting in his nightmarish stroll down memory lane, Ghost is assigned the lower levels of the compound. Each room is another scene from a past he tries to forget, filled with rusted over implements of pain and brown stains no one cared to clean. 

Something in the last room makes him pause. 

A small barred window allows light from a waning moon to pool into the room, catching on something on the table. Small, most no bigger than his fingernail, a collection of about five objects sits in a tray on the corner of the table. Brilliant white patches shine in stark opposition to the bed of rust brown they lay on. 

Teeth. Human teeth.

His mind is acting on autopilot when grabs them and stuffs them in a pocket, so similar but so different to his first experience with the ribbon months ago. He finishes his sweep of the room, conveying his findings back on comms (“Seems like we’re late for the party.” “If only you didn’t take so long to get ready.”-Soap “Shut the fuck up the both of you I just saw a rat the size of a terrier.”-Gaz “I’ve got the hard drives if any of you fuckers remember why we’re here.”-Price), and turns back to rendezvous, his mind now firmly on finding his comrades and getting the hell out.

As they start readying themselves to duck into the humvees they arrived in, Ghost’s muscle memory kicks in to complete his self assigned mission objective. He turns to where Soap stands almost expectantly at his side. It’s not every mission that he has something he’s decided is a worthy offering but it has become more often than not. Mind already halfway back to base, a gloved hand chases down each tooth where they’ve burrowed themselves in the pocket of his tac vest, collecting them and dropping them in Soap’s proffered hand with a grunt. His brain turns back on when the bloody bones hit his Sergeant’s glove, panicking because what the fuck did he just do? What kind of fucking sociopath gives his friend(more?) human fucking teeth as a souvenir. Much less human fucking teeth that were pulled forcibly out of some poor bastard’s skull during a bygone torture session. 

His hand is trembling. 

Ghost forces himself to look down and meet Soap’s assuredly outraged and disgusted gaze. 

Only he doesn’t.

Johnny is staring down at the teeth in his palm with a look of fucking reverence. His pupils are dilated beyond just the darkness surrounding them and Ghost’s detail oriented eyes catch the slight flare of his nostrils on every inhale. Soap slowly tilts his head up to meet Ghost’s eyes and a gasp lives and dies in his throat.

“Oh Simon, you treat me so well.” His voice is gravelly and thrumming with an emotion that Ghost doesn’t know the name of. But, god if this is the look he gets after bringing Johnny desiccated human remains?

He’ll rip the teeth out of some unworthy son of a bitch himself.

[kentopedia]

it makes me so happy to see more people are starting to write multi chap / series fics on here again

[misericorsalvator]

An Epitaph

Henry didn't know where he was. It was cold, freezing, but that was all he could tell, from the sharp chill that tore through his damp clothes, to the frigid air that felt like icicles in his lungs when he breathed. Even if he was someplace familiar, it would have been impossible to tell through the veil of rime in the air, the thick hoar that coated the ground. But wherever he was, he had to find shelter. soon, before his limbs grew any number that they already were and he lost the three fingers he had left on his right hand to frostbite. It took a good deal of walking, trudging through the snow, before he found something resembling sanctuary. A rocky hovel dug deep into a mountainside he hadn't even noticed was there. The crooked mountaintop loomed far overhead like a wind-swept pine tree, towering over the barren expanse and shielding the small patch of land near the cave's entrance from the worst of the snowfall. It was a narrow fit, the opening more narrow than a coffin, but it opened up into a wide chamber beyond, dark, lit only by the little light reflecting on the snow outside.

Panic stabbed at him suddenly. That chamber felt familiar, though he couldn't recall from where. The rockface of the walls was smooth, man-made, and the stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling above were unnatural, all the same length, jagged and sharpened to fine points. But he had no time to waste on the unnerving interior. The weather outside was getting worse, the wind howling like wolves on a hunt, and soon his shelter would be just as cold and dangerous as the outside. He had to think, find a way to keep the warmth in. Henry returned to the entrance. He twisted around in the narrow space as best he could and began piling up snow with his numb hands, stacking it, pressing it into shape, mouthing breathless curses to himself, until he had built a solid wall halfway up to his neck. It should last. He didn't know for how long, but at least for now, until he could catch his breath. It had to last.

Henry slumped against the wall of the cave. The barrier he had built offered some protection, but he could still feel the cold creeping in, seeping through the gaps and cracks in the snow. A damp chill gnawed at his bones, freezing the air in his lungs. He knew he had to keep moving, to do something, anything, to stay warm and awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not here. Not now. But his limbs were leaden and his body creaked in protest with every movement. His teeth chattered as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The harder he tried, however, the more his thoughts seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. Panic clawed at his chest once more as he looked around the cavern. The walls seemed to close in, the smooth stone shimmering with a thin layer of rime frost. The ceiling above with the unnaturally sharp stalactites, loomed over him like a mouth full of fangs. He had to get out.

Henry pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaking beneath him. The snow was piling up faster now, further in through the entrance than the wall he had built, and he frantically began to shovel it away with his hands, trying to clear a path through the narrow gap. He shovelled harder, floundered, grappled til his fingers were too numb to move, but for every tiny hopeful opening he made, more snow took its place, as if the storm outside was determined to bury him alive. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his very soul. Outside, the wind roared, a feral sound that echoed through the cavern and made the air thick with cold. Each breath now was a knife to the chest, each inhale burning his lungs. The snow crawled closer, blocking the entrance fully, and began to cover the cave floor inch by painful inch, forcing the hunter back step by painful step.

Henry's mind was reeling. He stumbled further into the cave, away from the encroaching cold, the bones of his legs creaking in protest. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to close in on him, the smooth rock pressing down, suffocating. The quiet there was unnerving, an oppressive stillness that made him painfully aware of his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. The silence of the grave. For what felt like an hour, he pushed himself forward against the stone walls, cowering under the stalactites which were now low enough to graze the top of his head. No matter how far he went, the snow followed close behind, blocking the way back. Henry's movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he could no longer outrun it, and that white frost began piling up around his boots. He felt the fight leave him, his breathing weakened, his heartbeat slowed.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a single snowflake, delicate and perfect, drifting down from the ceiling above. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it fall, impossibly slow, through solid rock. It glowed faintly in the dim light and Henry’s eyes followed its descent, almost hypnotized, until it landed softly on the ground. On something dark, something that wasn’t stone. He crouched down, his stiff knees cracking in protest, and wiped away the snow, his fingers brushing against a cold, unyielding surface.

A hand.

His hand.

His breath caught in his throat. He was looking at himself, at his own lifeless body, crumpled and broken, half-buried in the snow. The wounds were horrific—deep gashes and punctures that were draining the life out of him-- and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

This wasn't real.

The snow, the cold, it was all in his head, growing blurry as his brain ran out of oxygen. And the cavern wasn’t just familiar—it was the place he was dying, right now, in the real world. The place where his body was lying, bleeding out into the cold ground, his blood darkening the stone ground.

For a third time, panic surged through him, but it was laced with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The wind howled louder, and now Henry could make out voices, battle cries, screeching and yowling in twisted satisfaction. The snow now poured into the cave through the solid ceiling above, burying everything in its path. He wanted to claw his way out, to escape this nightmare, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. The snow was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. As his vision began to blur, the walls of the cave pulsed, breathing with a life of their own, in tandem with his own slowed breaths. The snow continued to fall, endlessly, burying him, until all he could see was white. And then, from the heart of the storm, he saw a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette that moved with unnatural grace, cutting through the blizzard as if it were nothing. Henry tried to focus, but his mind was slipping, the edges of his consciousness fraying like old cloth.

His final thoughts drifted to Bran. A deep guilt welled up inside him. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t see his boy’s face light up when he opened his presents, wouldn’t hear his laughter echoing through the house. Regret gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In his last moments, as the darkness closed in, Henry barely registered the sharp pain in his chest—a bite, cold and searing, as if winter itself had latched onto his heart, and his eyes froze over with unshed tears until the world faded and he breathed his last.

In a long-forgotten catacomb in Wales, as the last drop of Henry's blood soaked into the humid ground, something ancient stirred. Beneath the layers of earth and stone, within the crypt that had long been forgotten, a pair of eyes snapped open. After centuries of entombment, something awoke. The blood of the dying hunter seeped into its consciousness, filling it with the remnants of Henry's life, his memories, his regrets. And once the blood had ran dry, the ancient knight rose from his tomb, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.

He tore through the killers, the blood-thirsty beasts who had chased their prey to the ancient tomb, splattering the walls with their undead blood that burnt to ash, until none were left. Then, he looked down at the broken body of the hunter who had unwittingly become his saviour. With a grim sense of purpose, the knight knelt beside Henry’s lifeless form. He whispered words in a dialect long dead, a prayer, perhaps, or a vow. Then, with a reverence reserved for fallen comrades, the knight lifted the hunter’s body and carried him deeper into the crypt, where heroes were once laid to rest, where the knight's own tomb stood, broken apart from within. The hunter was gone, his spirit entwined with the ancient knight’s own, but his legacy would live on, honoured by one of the very creatures he had once sought to destroy.

The knight sealed the tomb with a final, solemn gesture, then left the catacombs behind and stepped out into the warm summer night, into a world which had long outlived him.

[sisterdivinium]

Now is the time to place your bets on whether or not this hyper self-indulgent doctor superion Vampire the Masquerade AU fic will or won't get to 100 handwritten pages...

[chanshoesunite]

Imagine playing the Pepero game with Chan

“You know what we should definitely play tonight? The Pepero game”, Chan announces to the room, his eyes slyly drifting to YN. Everyone groans good-naturedly.

“Oh, come on, boys, we haven’t played it in forever! Are you scared I will beat you all again with my epic skills?”, Chan boasts, pokes Jisung in the chest and takes Changbin in a headlock. “You tell ‘em, love”, YN encourages her boyfriend indulgently. “You are so transparent, hyung”, Jeongin smirks, “we all know you just want to make out with YN!” ”Whaaaat”, Chan’s voice pitches up with incredulity, draping his arms around YN, “I could just do that whenever I want!”

“Yeah, but you are sadist that wants to make us all suffer through your PDA”, Minho deadpans. YN laughs, and Chan darts his looks from Minho to her: “I resent that accusation. Why are you laughing, baby!” “It’s funny cus it’s true”, she says wisely, stroking down Chan’s arms in a calming gesture.

Chan’s face scrunches up adorably. He taps YN on the nose: “No, it must be because Minho is jealous”, he slowly untangles himself from her and takes an innocent step towards his friend, “if you are jealous, you could just ask for your own kisses – but you barely allow me my hugs!”

That last bit he shouts while chasing Minho around the table. “Just let me love you!”, Chan coos. Minho swears, the others laugh and YN grins at these dorks. After two rounds of running, Minho stops and puts his hands out, bracing against the onslaught of brawn and affection.

“Stop! Fine! We shall play the Pepero game! Just get away from me.” Chan immediately stops making grabby hands at Minho. “I knew you’d come around!” “What’s the prize for the winners?”, interjects Felix. “How about the losers have to buy them dinner?”, says Changbin.

“Great plan, Chan and YN always find the best restaurants anyway”, quips Han. “Hey, hey, what? Why should the losers automatically be me and YN?” “Oh yeah, hyung, sure you will focus on winning, suuuure you will!” “You just watch us!” “I’d really rather stare at my washing machine for an hour than watch you two smooch.”

“Alright, alright, focus”, Seungmin says before Chan can start whining more. YN squeezes him tightly and Chan dutifully snaps his mouth shut. “I’m getting the Pepero and I’ll watch the time. You decide on teams.”

Seungmin leaves the room, and the others start playing gawi-bawi-bo to figure out the pairs. Chan stands aside, his hand on YN’s hip, grinning like the cat who got the cream. He gently strokes her as she leans into him. They watch the boys shouting at each other. Then Seungmin brings back a pack of Pepero. Shaking it, he says: “Teams are decided? Ah”, he looks at the pair of Changbin and Hyunjin, “Well, I know who I am putting my money on. OK, get on with it, sit opposite each other.”

YN is sitting in front of Chan, a Pepero between her teeth. Her eyes glitter with amusement as Chan gets ready, holding her lightly by her shoulders. His warm hands feel good on her. The boys around her are shouting rambunctiously, deciding on strategies, but she concentrates on Chan’s mischievous face.

“OK, ready? 3 – 2 – 1 – start!”

More shouting goes up around them, but YN is entirely focused on the gentle way Chan tilts her head to get the best access to her Pepero. He keeps biting off pieces, far too slow to win, but the excitement she senses is worth it. His eyes are half-closed and his enjoyment is crystal-clear. YN is captivated by the sight, content in the grasp he has on her.

When she can tell his lips are nearly touching hers, she flips the Pepero into her mouth and leans into him. Their lips touch in a sweet kiss and she can feel Chan’s chuckle vibrating through his strong chest. He pulls YN closer, one hand splayed along her neck, his thumb stroking her jaw. With a soft sigh, she opens her lips, allowing their tongues to dance.

“Oh my god, I told you he would do this! Awful!” “Hyung setting a new record in holding his breath.” “Hajimaaa, you guys!”, Jisung has dropped to the floor, dramatically pounding on the ground.

Ignoring the teasing voices of the boys, Chan lifts YN into his lap, giving her one last, delicious kiss. YN’s hands are on his shoulder and neck, enjoying the solidity of his muscles. Chan squeezes her bum tightly, their upper bodies flush against each other. She tilts her head back, her face an invitation for one last caress that he cannot resist. He leans in again, giving her a few pecks down her throat. Finally, he relents to the screaming around him.

“Did we lose?”, he asks innocently. “Duh, obviously, you fools!” “You don’t even have a Pepero to show for all the time you wasted!”

With a cheeky smile, YN says: “I think I can safely say, no matter what happened, we are the real winners here.”

[eddiemunsonsmum]

Just saw this comment on a story posted a month ago.

*cries in Eddie Munson Solo Series no one wanted to read, interact with or request for*

No shade to the person that commented this on their own fic if you recognize it. It's not their fault. I'm not mad at them. More crying in the tags.

[amethystpath-writes]

Test Me

NOT A PR0MPT

Hi! I was wondering if u could do a bit where the hero breaks into the villains mansion/layer to get some plans or something but the plans are in the villains ✨bedroom ✨and the villain is in the ✨shower ✨ and they catch the hero. A little ✨spicy ✨ u know? If u don’t want to do this I completely understand no pressure! Thxxxxxx😁

Mm. If you were honest about wanting the spice, I promise you are going to soak this up. Not explicit, but quite easily suggestive. Hide your phones. If you think you shouldn’t read it 🤷‍♀️ then don’t.

******

A lockpick, a desk, and a disk drive. Hero’s team had gathered the information on Villain’s base; now it was up to Hero to gather the plans hidden within. It was right in front of her- a sparkling silver lock just waiting to be sprung by deft hands- her hands.

"I wish you would have broken in sooner. I would have asked you to join me."

“It’s what I was here for,” Hero blurted, and she hadn’t even bothered to look at him as she hid her hand behind her back. Looking away from the locked drawer, though, she found herself losing her breath. “I-I wanted to see you.” Not like this, she wanted to elaborate, but…hell, she couldn’t think.

Villain was in a towel- and only a towel.

Maybe if he thought she were interested in him, then she might make it out alive. Would he kill her? Hero wasn’t sure.

Regardless, this was much more of Villain than what she had wanted to see, and she didn’t know what to do.

“I have something to tell you,” she played on.

“You want me to believe you came here to confess feelings?” Villain laughed and smiled something toothy and arrogant. “I wish I could believe you, Hero, but here’s the truth: you wouldn’t know what to do if I returned your flirtations.”

“I’m sure I would,” Hero insisted. “Test me.”

Somehow, Villain’s smile became wider, more cunning, more handsome, more capable of making Hero regret being here. “Oh, I don’t think you want that.” He spoke in a rasp, one challenging and impossible to ignore.

“What makes you think I can’t take it?” Even she noticed her own voice shake. “Is it because I’m the quiet one, only there to do everyone’s dirty work? I can’t have my own interests and explorations, Villain?” Anything to invite her stay, to give her time to initiate a plan B.

He hummed politely. “Fine, then. What would you do if I told you that that sneaky little outfit flatters you? That black exemplifies those gorgeous curves, and harshens the edges of your cheeks?”

Her cheeks, as Villain had pointed out, now grew pink, though surely in the dark he couldn’t see that. At least, she desperately hoped not.

No one ever paid her compliments. She was quiet and reserved, and she did her job. She was nothing interesting, nothing worth complimenting, and nothing to waste a breath on. That was what she told herself anyway. But here Villain was, standing half-naked with nothing but a towel, telling her how pretty she appeared to him…even if it were only a lie to toy with her.

He could say nothing else that would fluster her more. Or so she thought.

“What if I told you how badly I wanted to grab that wrist from behind your back, walk you into that wall, and pin your hands above your head? That I wanted to make you beg- not for your life, but for something better? What would you do, Hero? Would you take me up on the offer if I told you it wasn’t too late?” He stepped towards her, and she felt herself taking a step back to match.

Suddenly, Hero wasn’t afraid he might kill her. She was afraid of the tingle in her brain and the way that the lockpick in her hand felt slick in her fingers.

She needed to focus. If she wasn’t careful, she would drop the pick, and ruin any chance of getting what she needed. Not that she could open the lock in front of Villain, but maybe if she gained a say in this…this interrogation…then she could distract him. She could ask for a drink! A glass of red wine- wasn’t that a flirtatious beverage? And while he left to get her a drink, Hero would unlock the desk, take the drive, and leave.

But before she could ask, Villain continued in his taunts. “What if I told you that naked would flatter your body even more? That it’d have been stunning plastered against my shower wall? And ohh, that hair,” he sighed with closed eyes. “How beautiful it would look- dark, and damp with steam.” He took another step, then another. Before Hero could even think to count the footsteps, the cloth of her black sweater made her skin itch. Her back was against the wall. “Sweetheart, your head wouldn’t even touch the water before I ravished you.” His dry knuckles grazed against the sharp, albeit soft-skinned frame of Hero’s cheeks. “You would have chills from more than just the air. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

His voice flattered her just as much- quiet and hushed, as if this were a scandal in his own private home. It sounded thrilling. It felt thrilling. Hero’s heart thumped harder now than when she’d been caught. It shouldn’t have been possible. Never had her heart beat so hard against her ribcage, like it was trying to escape. Like it depended on Villain’s voice and commands to keep her alive.

His hand trailed down her cheek, down the centre of her chest- where she gasped, but didn’t stop him- to her stomach, then right above the waistband of her pants.

“Hand me the lockpick,” he whispered, head beside her own, “or I might pleasure you here…instead of giving you the courtesy of a warm shower.” It was no threat; it was an invitation. Hero felt his lips curl, tugging her hair ever-so-slightly away from her ear. “Either way, I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself.”

Hero swallowed. Would it be so bad, she thought, to be taken by Villain? With his smooth talking and easy compliments, it was hard to consider walking away. Whatever she decided, she wasn’t getting the disk drive. Maybe she could have something else. Something enticing. Something fulfilling. Something she’d never had before with a man who paid no one else any attention.

She could spoil herself.

But only this once.

And never again.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

******

I have more like this if you’re looking for more: Distracted

Gasps of Air

And I have to give a shoutout to the queen and king of similar drabbles @save-the-villainous-cat and @epiclamer. They’re probably more accustomed to this sort of thing.

[potential-fate]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Sims (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kaylynn Langerak/Daniel Pleasant Characters: Kaylynn Langerak, Daniel Pleasant Additional Tags: Daniel Pleasant/Mary-Sue Pleasant (mentioned) - Freeform, Kaylynn POV, Break Up, Post-Break Up, Angst, We hate Daniel Pleasant in this house, no not really but we are not kind to him in this specific fic, as usual I have no beta I just throw things on here last minute before I change my mind :) Series: Part 4 of The Pleasantview Archives

Summary: She didn’t need closure. She’d known it was over the moment Mary Sue had walked in on them on that cold December afternoon.

[n0tamused]

Writing will be on the slower side as well as any interaction due to some health issues. Hope you all understand and take care<3

[universestreasures]

The Song Of Memory (A Kisara & Ishizu Drabble)

"We've been expecting you, Miss Utahara."

The greeting is given as soon as the singer steps out of the car by the one she had contacted on Yugi Muto's recommendation, the very woman who was claimed to have the answers to all her many questions regarding the strange occurrences that had been going on recently. Kisara had traveled a great distance to meet with Ishizu Ishtar today, and without her sister, no less. While Shiori's company was to be expected and preferred in most situations, she had specifically requested she attend this meeting alone. This meeting was regarding Kisara's own circumstances, ones she didn't want to burden her sister with when she already had so much on her plate.

Upon walking towards the tomb keeper, who herself was accompanied by two bodyguards, the singer bowed her head in respect. This was not only a custom, but also a sign of gratitude. For securing this meeting had been of high importance to her ever since she learned that the answers she was looking for could be found with the elder woman.

"Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Miss Ishtar. Considering your important position, I imagine you must be very busy. I very much appreciate you being able to fit me into your schedule."

"Of course. Now, will you please follow me? There is much for us to see and discuss." The woman gestures towards the entrance of the tomb, Kisara giving her a nod as she follows her down the dimly lit staircase. The two bodyguards then moved to guard the location's entrance. Seems they would have total privacy for this conversation, thankfully.

"This tomb is the current resting place of some of the relics that were once on display in Domino City's history museum. I originally brought them to Japan in hopes they would inspire the current generation of duelists, but with that task having been completed some time ago, they have been returned to their homeland."

"I see...So, that must be why you said we could not meet in Japan. You wanted to make sure I could see the relics, right?"

"Precisely. I hope these relics can inspire you Miss Utahara in the same way they both inspired Pegasus J. Crawford to create the game of Duel Monsters...and Seto Kaiba to host and battle in the Battle City tournament.

"He...He saw them too?"

Ishizu's words caused Kisara to halt in her tracks; her eyes widened as the flash of that man, of Seto Kaiba, flashed in her mind. Her encounter with him was the starting point of all the strange occurrences that had going on. The dreams. The visions. The strong ache in her heart when she sees him. Some of these she's experienced in the past, but they've only increased in frequency since their initial meeting. And it was the explanation behind these occurrences that she sought to find by coming here.

"Is something wrong, Miss Utahara?"

"N-No. It's...It's nothing." It clearly wasn't, but she couldn't lose focus now. Not when she was so close to the truth. "I was just...surprised. I...I didn't expect anything related to Duel Monsters to have taken inspiration from Egyptian history."

"Despite not being a duelist yourself, I think once you see them , the connection will become clear to you. Come, we're almost there."

She nods as she follows Ishizu deeper and deeper into the tomb, Kisara's heartbeat seeming to rise with each step. Was she getting nervous? Nervous about what she might learn? Or was it the thought of Seto Kaiba that made her heart race? She isn't sure, but regardless of the distraction, she pressed on until she met Ishizu at the bottom of the chamber.

"These two carvings you are about to see are from the 18th dynasty of Egypt that existed over 3,000 years ago. We at the Egyptian Supreme Council of Antiquities have worked carefully to preserve these treasures so the legacy of our history is not lost to the sands of time. Please look at them at your leisure, and I'll be here to answer any questions you may have. Though, I believe the one you must look at is the one on the left."

She gives the other a nod before advancing forward, choosing to look at the tablet she was directing her towards first. Kisara is not sure what to expect when she looks at it. What did Ishizu mean by 'inspired'? What did these relics have to do with her experiences relating to her visions? To her weird connection to Seto Kaiba and the White Dragon? Guess the only way to find out was to see it with her own eyes.

Thus, with a deep breath, Kisara's gaze shifts to look at the stone. And the second she laid her eyes upon it, seeing the image in full, she froze, unable to do anything but look with widened eyes and process the unbelievable imagery before her eyes that seemed to fit the picture perfectly into the missing pieces of the puzzle of this mystery.

"That dragon...That dragon is...!" Flashes of different memories of her dreams and visions are shown before her eyes, and all of the dragons in this carving are seemingly depicted as plain as day. "The White Dragon...Blue-Eyes...White Dragon...The dragon from my dreams...It's...here on this stone, but...how? How could a creature of my dreams be on this stone, and later turned into a Duel Monsters card that is only owned by-"

Kisara pauses, realizing an important detail. Beautiful blue hues then start to shift their gaze from the carving of the beast to what was below. Or rather, who was below it, the very figure depicted as battling side by side with the dragon.

"It...It's him..." She speaks softly as she approaches the stone, gently touching the face of the figure depicted there for reasons she can't understand. "It's that man from my vision...The one that looks just like...!"

"Seto Kaiba." Ishizu's voice brings Kisara's focus back, her head turning back to face the woman who had approached her. "That is a depiction of a priest known as the 'White Beast Tamer', a loyal and prideful member of the Pharaoh of the 18th dynasty, Pharaoh Atem's, court. Despite being in his service, he considered the king both his greatest friend and greatest rival. The battle between these two destined duelists is what is carved here on this stone."

Her eyes then wander to the opposite side of the tablet, the side featuring both the king and the magician carved above him. "That's Pharaoh Atem? But...but he looks just like Yugi Muto! Why...Why do these two figures look like people from the present? And what does all of this have to do with me? I came here looking for answers, but...I'm more confused than ever!"

Her heart was racing. Not only from the anxiety of the situation, but also because of what she saw on the stone and in the flashes of memory. There was clearly a connection between all these things. That was undeniable, and yet the very nature of it was still frustratingly unclear. Luckily for her, she had someone who could elaborate a bit.

"Miss Utahara." Ishizu speaks, gently placing a hand on Kisara's shoulder to try and help ease the obvious panic in her soul. "What does your heart tell you when you gaze upon this tablet? What feelings does it evoke? What words? What sights? It is in them that you may find your answers."

A hand is moved over her heart. The white-haired adult can still feel it racing in her chest, as if threatening to escape. She tries to take deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself enough to focus on the confusing cloud of feelings deep inside, once again her gaze shifting to the stone, specifically its left side. Silence fills the chamber for minutes on end as she continues to look, and it is only broken once an instinct takes hold of her, an instinct that allows her to convey what she is feeling in the only way she knows how...through the expression of her soul.

🎵"Once, like a dream...You looked at me...And everything felt new..."🎵

Her song is accompanied by images, images that were as clear as day to her. She sees herself beaten and stoned by a crowd, only for it to stop once he, the priest, intervenes and saves her life.

🎵"Time slipped away...The past seemed to fade...My hope restored by you..."🎵

She now sees herself looking at the priest from her weakened position on the ground, whose image seemed to glow in the sunlight. He was a beacon of light. The light of hope that she desperately tries to reach for.

🎵 "And I know, for some, it's temporary...Like a shooting star soon out of view..."🎵

Kisara finds her visions to now be of herself behind bars, watching the priest slowly turn and leave towards a darkened hallway. It then shifts to herself in the center of what appeared to be an arena, faced down by horrifying monsters. However, she turns around, now facing the image of the priest staring back at her.

🎵"But this will always be...It's my destiny...To be in love with you..."🎵

The priest in her images then moves in front of her, summoning a creature through his magic to defend her. Circumstances then cause the floor beneath them to fall, leaving them both dangling by a thread. That's when her body emits a bright blue aura, and from within that aura appears...the White Dragon...

🎵"Some people fall in love for life..."🎵

She finds herself behind bars again, her cell now breaking down around her. That's when he appears, like a miracle, to break her free, taking her by the hand as they escape a crumbling palace.

🎵"Others never get it right..."🎵

He then speaks to her. They are words Kisara cannot hear directly in her vision but are ones she can seemingly understand. They tell her to run, run away from this land, and don't look back. Despite her hesitance, she runs away from him, seemingly never to return to his side.

🎵"Love's fickle when it calls..."🎵

But...she ends up turning around, unable to leave him behind. He looks back at her a moment, screaming out her name, before everything is consumed in a dark light that strikes her core.

🎵"One thing that I know for sure..."🎵

Everything slows around her as her body slowly wilts, akin to that of a dying flower. She can see the panic in the priest's eyes as he cries out for her, a sign of his care for her. That...That was enough for her, she feels, to see him be concerned over her well-being, a feeling that can't help but feel a bit distant as these memories replayed.

🎵"Longer than our lives endure..."🎵

The sight before her now is a familiar one. She sees herself in his arms and knelt before a tablet depicting the White Dragon. Even now, seeing this sight fills her soul with an intense sadness, enough to cause tears to flow from her physical eyes and for her to drop to her knees.

🎵"You're my forever fall..."🎵

Kisara's eyes return back to reality, once again facing the stone as her song concludes. She reaches for the depiction of the priest once again, and for a moment, his image flashes in her mind. He smiles at her, reaching out his hand, before the image breaks and her hand finds itself touching the cold gravel of the tablet.

"Lord Seto...That's your name...That's who you are...The man who...saved me...in the past...The man who I wanted to repay...The man that I..." Her hands move to cover her heart, and her tear drops fall on the skin like dew drops. "Loved..."

She takes a few moments to herself to steady her spirit, slowly wiping the tears from her eyes with a handkerchief from her pocket. Kisara then stands up, one movement at a time, and turns back towards Ishizu. The look in her eyes is different than before, both murkier from her tears but almost...clearer somehow, as if some fog had been lifted.

"So...I'm the vessel for the White Dragon, or rather...I was in a previous life. And what I've been seeing...What I've been experiencing...That song I just sung...It was me connecting to that part of myself, wasn't it Miss Ishtar?"

"Yes. Just like the destined duelists the tablet depicts, it seems your journey, too, has not yet reached its final conclusion."

"Does this mean that...I still have the White Dragon inside of me? Could that be why I see it in my dreams?"

"I'm not so certain of that. In ancient times, Egyptian sorcerers trapped creatures, both good and evil, into stone tablets that they could summon at will. Today this practice is represented by the Duel Monsters cards duelists can summon to aid them in battle. If you still had the spirit of the White Dragon within you, then I think there could be no card of it."

"I guess...I guess that makes sense. And those cards...They belong to..." A puzzle piece seemingly clicked in her mind as she was putting things together, things she wanted to confirm with the women first just to be certain. "Miss Ishizu, Does...Does that mean that Seto Kaiba is..."

"He is as you suspect. He is the priest reborn in this new age, and he is fully aware of his ancient heritage."

"Then...Then, does he know about..." Her words die in her throat, and she remembers one crucial detail from the memories of her human life she had just seen. While her past life's feelings for the priest had been clear, they were ones she did not get to express. For her past self passed away before being given the chance to say what she felt to him, of the love she had for him deep inside.

At least...as far as the blue-eyed women knew, anyway. There were more secrets of her past still yet to reveal themselves. The memories of her human life during her time in Egypt had been unlocked to her. However, the secrets housed within the other parts of her soul, the ones tied to the four Blue-Eyes White Dragons, still were out of reach, and until she could reconnect and access them, the full truth would still be just a mystery.

"I do not know what he knows and does not know at this current moment. What I do know is that he has outwardly rejected and denied his claims to the past, to his very destiny on multiple occasions, despite what he has experienced first hand."

"I see...I cannot say I'm surprised. He is...a very mysterious and cold person, with his heart seemingly sealed off from the world..."

It was a stark contrast to what she witnessed from the priest in her visions, who always appealed to her as warm and protective. Then again, she doesn't know Seto Kaiba that well at all. Could he too be hiding a part of himself?

"But honestly, after learning all of this? I...I want to get to know him, more than I did before. I don't know what fate has in store for us, or how I'm going to handle these new...feelings from my past." Contending with a love, a powerful one that seemingly crossed time to the present day, that is hers but also not hers was going to be challenging, after all. "All I do know is that I should at least try. I'd forever regret it if I didn't."

"I wish you the best of luck with your efforts. Now is there anything else I can help you with? You still haven't looked at the second carving."

"I...I think I got more than I could ever ask for just by looking at the first one. If anything, it gives me an excuse to see you again. Thank you, Miss Ishtar. Thank you for everything." Kisara bows her head in gratitude once more, a soft smile characteristic of her gracing her face.

"You can just adress me as Ishizu."

"Only if you address me as Kisara."

"Alright, Kisara. I'm glad I could be of help to you. You are free to contact me anytime should you need it."

"I appreciate it, Ishizu. Thank you again."

With permission to be casual around one another exchanged, the two ladies leave the tomb, and Kisara heads back on her way to her hotel. The singer is sure to call her sister and tell her the meeting was successful and that she will be flying back to Japan in the morning. Seems like she has a busy schedule ahead of her when she gets back. She did take a few days off just for this trip, meaning she'd have to play catch up when she returned home.

As the Blue-Eyed Maiden sat in her room, her hands were busy writing in her songbook. She was writing down the song she had sung in the tomb, a song that she had known how to sing and knew the notes to without needing to think. It was a song that seemingly came from her soul, a song that Kisara...wanted to share with him someday, no matter what his reaction may be. It would not be for herself now, but rather who she used to be, to say what she never got to say before...before her death.

🎵 "Your trust, honesty...Helped me believe...A ray of hope shined through...You set me free...Saw what the world couldn't see...I found my joy in you...

"Every life is filled with passing moments...Like the seasons change, they come and go...But this is infinite...Nothing, even death...Could separate our souls...

'Cause you're my final goal...

Some people fall in love for life...Others never get it right...Love's fickle when it calls...One thing that I know for sure...Longer than our lives endure...

You're my forever fall..."🎵

[etheravie]

The Light Catcher's Eulogy

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The similarities were uncanny. She was in Eden, but she wasn't at home—where the wind howled a mourning song to remember all those she and her sister had encased within stone for future generations to see. Red shards pelted the crying land in an eternal hail and pierced the soles of all who trekked forward to make a willing sacrifice. Where Borealis stood, there was nothing. Her breaths were an echo in the quiet. There was no wind nor red shards. The rocks, stone and debris were distributed just as awkwardly as she remembered, but nothing felt right. The King's princess felt estranged in her own land.

"You lied to me," said a young, echoing voice. It was familiar, but Borealis didn't recognize who it belonged to. She couldn't connect the voice to a name. She didn't want to. The haunting realization of her situation froze her heart mid-beat, which now pulsed pure ice and electricity through her veins.

Oblivious to her peril, the voice continued, "Please look at me. It's been so long, Borealis. Or is that a lie, too?"

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Borealis woke up with a gasp. Her hand flew up to her chest and tightly gripped her vest. It was difficult for her to find a grip due to the material and her panicked breathing, which made her fingers shake. She continued until she found purchase. There were dark spots in her vision that followed her wherever she looked and the feeling of adrenaline coursing through her veins caused the edenkid to tremble. Borealis couldn't focus on anything amidst the panic that arose from rising out of slumber, so she tightly shut her eyes.

She never fell asleep. Even after her sister left her side, Borealis' nights remained restless; she would toss and turn uselessly. The comfort of unconsciousness' embrace had never been the same since that first night—when she and her sister closed their eyes only to awaken away from home and in a world they weren't yet prepared to face.

Borealis breathed deeply and continued to lie on the ground with closed eyes, looking for thought within the fog of fear that muddled her mind. Soon she began to feel the invisible but phantom presence of her twin resting by her side. Her expression was peaceful in contrast to last night's nightmare. Their mother's hands combed through Borealis' long hair and lightly scolded her for neglecting to brush it. An overwhelming tranquility overcame the edenkid when she heard a familiar melody, hummed by none other than her father. At the foot of the bed was Rocky, who slept contentedly. He barely managed to squeeze into the room. His light had finally darkened into nothingness. The dark dragon's gentle rumbles reminded Borealis of passing thunder, leaving glorious sun rays in its wake.

After a few minutes, the Eden twin finally found peace. Borealis' fingers loosened so her hand gently rested atop her chest. The gaping, cracked hole beneath her clothes allowed her to better hear and feel the thrum of each heartbeat, the source of which was protected by the crystals that surrounded it. The memory of the jewels' formation made Borealis shudder. The pain of a heart struggling to beat around a cage of crystals was one that no skykid should ever be able to experience. It had been enough to make the edenkid want to tear out her heart to make it stop.

Soft, glowing yellow eyes opened slowly. The sight of a red sky greeted Borealis in a lovely shade of scarlet. Not a cloud was in sight nor was there a hint of a breeze to be felt. The world was still and only moved when Borealis sat up. She took off her mask and rubbed her eyes, internally covering her ears to ignore the sweet whispers of sleep that beckoned her back into its loving embrace, unwilling to part ways so soon when they had her in their grasp for so pleasantly long. They were intermixed with the sound of idle water as Borealis fixed her mask back into place after she drew in a deep, final breath to steady herself. The aftermath of a waterfall within a river; not a ripple to be seen as it lie slumbering in wait for something to awake it into motion again.

Borealis suddenly jumped to her feet and quickly waved her arms and kicked her legs. The water clung to her clothes in a tight hug she never wanted and stained the hem of her pants and the tips of her white finger-loop sleeves. She nearly wrung the soaking fabric out, but hastily removed her hands with a hiss. She was repulsed by the idea of getting any more of her skin wet.

The water around the platform was shallow yet ever present. Each ripple threatened to submerge her ankles and drag her down into the opaque abyss if she dared to take one step forward. Borealis was safe for the moment, but the proximity of the liquid poison made her anxiety race as fast as her heart.

What stole her breath away was what lie above the waters, in the distance, and all around. She finally ripped her eyes away from the puddles to drink in the sea. In front of the light catcher were the ruined remains of her home. Bits of pillars stuck out of the water, left to forever plead for a higher hand to fix what was irreparable. The stone platform that had been so intricately built with love and precision was shattered and strewn about all throughout the realm. Borealis was thankful for the stones' sturdiness while she numbly walked forward, the water lapping at her feet now left forgotten.

Large rocks filled the majority of the expanse. They jutted out like a defective pit of spikes, stretching as high as they could only to fall short of a dream all those who had a light wanted to see. Most of the towering carnage rose in steep, tiny makeshift mountains to offer skykids of all kinds protection from the elements that poured down in an unending hail. Where soft raindrops would once occasionally sprinkle down on a paradise were now unending shards that lacerated skin and drained the light of any poor soul that dared to brave what Eden had to offer. Luckily for Borealis, she had torn hers out years ago.

She walked forward with awe in her eyes. Her breath was just as stilled as the air around her. It was almost suffocating. Borealis felt as though the crystals around her heart had finally developed the strength needed to infiltrate her lungs and choke her from the inside out.

The similarities were uncanny. She was in Eden, but she wasn't at home—where the wind howled a mourning song to remember all those she and her sister had encased within stone for future generations to see. Red shards pelted the crying land in an eternal hail and pierced the soles of all who trekked forward to make a willing sacrifice. Where Borealis stood, there was nothing. Her breaths were an echo in the quiet. There was no wind nor red shards. The rocks, stone and debris were distributed just as awkwardly as she remembered, but nothing felt right. The King's princess felt estranged in her own land.

"You lied to me," said a young, echoing voice. It was familiar, but Borealis didn't recognize who it belonged to. She couldn't connect the voice to a name. She didn't want to. The haunting realization of her situation froze her heart mid-beat, which now pulsed pure ice and electricity through her veins.

Oblivious to her peril, the voice continued, "Please look at me. It's been so long, Borealis. Or is that a lie, too?"

Borealis tried to cover her ears but a cold, hard hand gripped her wrist to stop her. A scream ripped from the edenkid's throat. She whirled around and tried to pull her arm away, but the statue held her hand with a vice grip. She hadn't noticed how close she had been to them before she slowed to a stop. Through the contact, she could neither feel nor hear a heartbeat.

The statue stared at Borealis with her eyes. Light seeped through the cracks within their body like sun rays struggling to part the clouds not unlike the roots of a plant. When she looked at the statue's chest, she saw no light. When she looked beyond it, all of the statues she had previously passed were now watching her with a hatred far beyond that of what her twin once held. Her despair had been enough to destroy their home, but the animosity of the statues' lights within their frozen bodies may as well have been enough to destroy every star in the sky. Their feet dragged against the earth and water while they walked, slowly but surely, steady on their feet. The sound was akin to that of shattering glass. Only this glass was inside of Borealis, clawing at her insides until she was nothing but a husk of the girl she used to be. She had no doubt that the fellow children in front of her would continue to break her body into nothing but dust once she shattered. Borealis knew that she wouldn't be missed. So she ran.

The princess wrenched her arm away from the skykid that attempted holding her back from an inevitable fate. A snap was a thunder strike in the quiet and the following thud was drowned out by the thunder of her footsteps against rubble and water. There was nowhere to go, yet her feet took her to an endless direction. She jumped up and over rubble and the remains of towering pillars that once stood proud and tall like the elders that ruled the realms. The thought made her blood boil and her heartbeat pulse in her ears like a war drum. It wasn't enough to block out the scraping sound that followed her. Every new statue that she passed moved with a newfound breath of life that the wind she stirred up instilled into them. It was easy for her to create distance, but the symphony of the broken and abandoned was a horrific wail. When she first turned around, there were little more than three. Now, there were almost fifteen. Borealis lost count of how many she and her sister had trapped there.

The wind was too strong. Borealis continued on as far as possible until water met sand; up the dune and down until the land flattened into something more stable. The breeze stirred from her parents' prison was wild, tossing her hair and the fabric of her loose clothes. Each step was slowing her enough to match her pursuers', for even the wind wanted to condemn her and push her to a fate worse than being shattered.

Soon, she was knocked down and to her knees. The edenkid was left grasping at the sand to stop herself from being pushed too far back. Never before did Borealis want nothing more than to break through the eye and reach her parents; to beg for forgiveness and be held within the safety of her family's arms. Never before had she ever been more terrified.

The fear she once held towards the elders wasn't fear at all, Borealis realized. That was hatred. This was fear in its purest form.

"Mother! Father!" Borealis cried, reaching out again as though her parents' prison was within reach. Playing pretend was her specialty, but that was impossible now. Not here. "Sister! Help me, please! I need you!"

"We needed you."

Borealis turned around and shouted in fear. When she tried to back away impossibly further, the unseen wall of wind shoved her twice as much toward the army. It looked as though every skykid in the realms had ventured to this strange Eden and turned to stone just to get the opportunity to watch her cower before them. Their faces were stoic despite the cracks and fractures in their bodies. It would kill any skykid within seconds, yet the ones in front of the Eden twin remained held together by something Borealis didn't understand. The word vengeance came to mind much more often than she would like.

The commander was the same soul that had tried to sentence her to an early fate. Borealis wasn't thankful. She was horrified to see that there was a lack of blood that poured out of the shoulder where there was once an arm. Their other lifted to point at her. It felt like a death sentence, so Borealis waited with bated breath. Behind her mask, tears ran down her cheeks and stung her eyes with pins and needles. "You trapped us," said the general. "You killed us when we needed you most."

Borealis exclaimed, "I didn't kill you! Eden did; my sister created the storm! You all chose to accept the offer. You all chose to follow me!"

Her words marked the rise of the conductor's baton, and so began the encore. It first began at piano, then crescendoed into a roar. Borealis covered her ears and shut her eyes but still she could hear the truth as clear as she could her own broken sobs that she didn't deserve to heave. For a terrifying moment, she thought they were in her mind, whispering pleas that would forever go unanswered.

"I trusted you!"

"You said it was safe!"

"You lied to us!"

"You took my light!"

"How can you blame your sister for what you did!?"

"Help me!" Borealis screamed into the sky when she felt a hand graze her shoulder. This time she was faster. She gripped the hard, icy skin and pulled as hard as she could. The short figure didn't budge. So was to the twin's surprise when they let her go. The wind pushed her onwards and made her stumble, struggling to get a grip and find purchase. The crowd's cries of laughter cut at her skin and the pointed fingers at her tall figure while she ran again dug into her wounds. When Borealis passed them they all prodded and pulled until the horrors of all she had done were exposed for the ancestors to see. Blood poured out of every pore. They tore out her crystals one by one, snapping them off into glittering shards that lie scattered with the sand like pixie dust. It would be the only beauty that she would ever be able to leave behind.

Her body was becoming dust and stone just like the rest. Each step was becoming more and more weighted until the tips of her feet dragged against the floor with a scraping sound sharp enough split the estranged realm in two. It didn't rise enough to silence the shouts that continued to chase after her like ghosts. The hundreds of thundering footsteps were a rainstorm, but it had since become nothing but white noise. It failed to flood the land and deliver her a faster relief. If she was going to die, she wasn't going to be slain by the hands she had once so easily guided. The tsunami of a guilty conscience flooded her heart quickly after the thought.

"Return to us, light catcher!" they began to call.

Another voice chimed, "Let's take her light!"

Within the cacophony of taunts and jeers, a third, distinct voice slashed through her throat and spilled a garden of blood and glass onto the grounds of Eden.

"She ripped hers out. Take what's left."

"Sister!" Borealis cried and turned back. A hand flew up to her mouth in horror. Her twin was standing front and center, with a legion of the lost and lonely. Their bodies were battered and bruised beyond belief, yet they all stood proud and tall with the confidence of an elder accepting their position. Every eye stared holes into the one within Borealis' chest, as though they could tear out her crystals by just sight alone. The other Eden twin, with her intact arm, slowly lifted it to point where Borealis' light once lie. When the battalion began to march on once more, Borealis tripped over her feet in her haste to escape. Her body was crystallizing, slowing her movement impossibly further. There was no light to break through the openings that tore through her skin. She screamed to the wind and never dared to look over her shoulder. "No! Please! Please, sister! You don't have to do this!"

The riot raged behind Borealis in a wildfire. The flames of anger were licking her heels and driving her forward, lest she be swept into the hands of the forsaken, eager to rip her to shreds and take what she had taken. There was no way to run or hide. She would inevitably tire out if she continued to flee, and if she hid, they would always find her. There was no way to escape.

But it was the only way. Borealis pressed forward. Her heart was spilling out of the cracks of her body, slowly being replaced by the shallow waters that beckoned her towards its cold, unrelenting grip. Terror was reflected in the water's surface when she practically fell next to a deeper divot of water, but the sound of hundreds of heavy footsteps reminded her that it needed to be done.

The edenkid didn't take a breath before she plugged her head into the water. The force was enough to crack her mask. She felt the need to gasp for air almost instantly. Every nerve, thrumming with adrenaline, ran on instinct and demanded her to thrash around to escape and take a deep breath. Borealis forced her body as still as she could to stay under for as long as possible. Her tears intermixed with the pooling water into something indistinguishable. Not even the tears shed from Eden's princess would be remembered.

When she could stand it no more, Borealis took a deep breath. The water flooded every inch of her body from the inside out, smothering her crystals and blocking out any light. Her screams were a lonely, distorted melody. The infiltration of any cracked crystals were the most painful. It was the same as fire being injected into her veins. Still she gulped the liquid like a dying man in a desert, wholly believing the water would spare him. It was too good to be true, because it was only a mirage.

Minutes passed and her body continued to let out muffled shouts for air, yet the corners of her vision never darkened. Her thoughts were jumbled puzzle pieces and the anticipated lightheadedness never swept her fright away. When she realized this, Borealis jerked her head back with a gasp. She heaved on her hands and knees, coughing and sputtering until she gagged. There was nothing but water. Everything was clear and quiet except for the gentle splashing of water. There was no death here. There was no freedom.

And then she heard the laughter. Borealis clutched at her torso. feeling as though she could cough for the rest of her life and it still wouldn't be enough to expel all of the water she tried to drown herself with. The statues surrounded and pointed at her with accosting fingers. Their laughter never ceased. Everyone's eyes were bright, which only brought more tears to Borealis'. Finally, they were merry again. They were being given the peace they deserved.

Borealis screamed and dunked her head back under a second time, then a third, and finally a fourth. The laughter persisted and so did her screams from under the water. When she resurfaced for the fifth time, her sister stepped forward. Borealis scrambled back until she bumped into the legs of one of the statues. She didn't dare take any step closer to Eden's elder.

The light catcher pleaded, "Please, sister! I beg you; I beg of you all! Please don't kill me! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"

"You're only sorry because you're finally getting karma," said someone from the crowd. A wave of mutters swept through the statues, whispering their agreement. Their giggles were grating to Borealis' ears.

The shorter twin hushed the crowd with only her voice. "You are already dead," she explained. "You removed your light years ago."

"Where am I!?" Borealis demanded. "What are you going to do to me? Why aren't you helping me!?"

Her words elicited another ripple of giggles from the crowd. The elder answered, "You are home, Borealis. We are home."

"Then what are they all doing here? If I'm dead, then where is mother and father? They should be—"

The realization must have been evident on her face, because from behind her twin's mask, Borealis could see her eyes squint with her unseen smile. The light catcher shook her head in disbelief. "No... no, no, no! Please, no!"

She stumbled to her feet and roughly grabbed her sister's shoulders. Her grip was so tight that there was an audible crack. Shortly afterwards, a few pebbles slipped down her sleeves and onto the ground below. The fabric was ripped where her right arm once was, now broken at the elbow. "Who sent you here?" Borealis demanded. "Elisia! Who shattered you!?"

Elisia smiled softly. "You did, Borealis."

The world was crumbling. Borealis shrieked when the statues dove forward and pulled her down, fighting over her wildly like she was the last ray of sunlight in existence. Glass and crystals littered the ground in a monochrome spectra; a glittering, stained glass window rippled as it was broken. Her own life was sharpened into knives. Each shard deemed thick enough was stabbed back into her body, leaving Borealis pinned like a moth on display. Between her screams, she coughed up what was left in a spritz of blood like a breath of mist after the morning rain. None of the statues ever flinched. They took delight in her misery. The light catcher screamed for freedom and forgiveness, but she received none. She shouted for her sister until her throat bled, but no red tinted light could be seen among the carnage. When she was dragged towards her parents' prison, Borealis fought with what little was left of her strength. Not to flee, but to find her sister. To scream apologies not to be understood, but to let her twin know that she truly was sorry for abandoning her when she needed her most. For not turning back to be there for her. For trapping sixty three skykids in the remains of their home to draw the attention of those who had banished her family and herself.

"Elisia! Elisia!"

She didn't need to look for long. Elisia had escaped near to the eye just as Borealis had. The elder opened her arm wide, as though she were about to receive or deliver a hug. Her cape was spread wide and majestic but there was no wind nor light to truly reflect the beauty their elder had blessed her with. Borealis was left wondering once again why they were ever created as twins. Why she was the oldest when Elisia had the weight of the realms on her shoulders. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair.

When Elisia spoke, her voice was not of her own. It was Borealis'. She said, "We have caught the light catcher. Welcome home, sister. I've missed you so, so much."

When Borealis blinked, a krill spike was now in Elisia's hand. The tip was dripping with blood. Around it, shards of a shattered light floated around, frozen in time. Borealis couldn't scream when it was stabbed through her chest, because as the weapon whistled through the air, it carried Elisia's scream with it.

[the-rarest-sexiest-coinkydink]

*breathing heavily*

Vampire Mikey. Male reader. please-

*collapses*

I ran all the way here

Boy, You Look Like Death (But Healthy Guys are Such an Eyesore) - (Mikey Way x male!reader) 

Summary: Mikey’s really been struggling to find the right time to come out to his boyfriend. Not as gay, obviously - it would be a bit concerning if he didn’t know that by now - but as a vampire. Unfortunately for him, he’s the least subtle person in the world, and his boyfriend has more than two brain cells to rub together... 

Word count: 2790 

Warnings: very brief mention of drugs and alcohol (no use by either Mikey or the reader) 

AN: take a moment to catch your breath, dear requester! Recover from that run of yours and enjoy the sweet little tale under the cut 

Also, this title is taken from a song called Eyesore by a band called Salem, they’re a kick ass band and you should definitely go and listen to them because all of their songs are just a wee bit slutty and very vampire-y (the frontman also leads Creeper, one of my favourite ever bands and the loves of my life, and they also slap and you should absolutely listen to them too) 

Anyway that’s enough trying to brainwash you into loving my favourite bands too, on with the story! 

(y/n) knew for a fact that Mikey had no idea that he knew that he was a vampire. The poor, gorgeous boy had been trying incredibly hard not to give the game away, but by the fifth date it had been pretty obvious. And they’d been a couple for three whole months now. So he’d known for a while. 

It had been lots of little things together that made him add all the pieces up and come to the right conclusion - it was the only one that made sense. They’d been to an Italian place for the third date, and Mikey had needed to take some tablets before eating. He claimed he had a slight intolerance to garlic, which (y/n) had believed at the time. There were stranger things to be allergic to, after all, and lots of people were allergic to stuff that others might find surprising. Another thing was, Mikey had only ever taken him on dates after nightfall. This had been explained away by the fact that, as he was in a band, a lot of his life happened at night! Before the dark came he would stay in whichever venue they were performing in, declining offers to go out for food with the excuse that he wasn’t hungry. He often woke up late in the day anyway, given that the parties he’d go to after the shows were over would last until the early hours of the morning. It wasn’t that much of a surprise that he was a little nocturnal. 

But other things in combination had started to make him wonder. Mikey got sunburnt very easily. He hated having his photo taken, blaming it on his insecurities, and photos of him never seemed to come out clearly. There was always some kind of blur, or fuzziness, or strange shadow falling across his face that obscured his features. He was the same around mirrors, always turning his head away whenever he walked past. The first few times, (y/n) had believed the insecurity theory; there’d been times in his life when the thought of looking at his own face for any extended period of time had made him uncomfortable too. 

Then one day, he’d stumbled across an online forum aimed at freshly minted vampires - yes, he’d been surprised to see that they actually existed, too - and everything had started to make sense. For one, Mikey was incredibly pale, and had a bone structure that could almost be called skeletal. He always looked a little bit sickly, like a Victorian child recovering from some deathly illness. It suited him, really - some people just suited being whiter than a sheet of paper - but it definitely made more sense when the vampire idea was applied. Gerard was nowhere near as pale unless he was wearing his stage makeup, and their parents were fairly ordinary in terms of skin tone, so it was one of the most logical explanations. And whenever he stayed over at his flat, he had a mysterious habit of disappearing in the middle of the night for relatively long periods of time. His reasoning for this, when (y/n) had sleepily begged him not to leave again one morning, was that he often had nightmares and didn’t want to wake his lover up. So he would go and hide in the bathroom to calm down before coming back. Again, if it had been that excuse on it’s own, (y/n) probably would’ve believed it in a heartbeat - but along with everything else, it just made his suspicions even greater. 

Now all he had to do was wait for him to come clean about it. 

(y/n) really didn’t want to start that conversation - there was still a miniscule chance that he was wrong, and he really didn’t want to imagine the argument that incorrectly accusing his boyfriend of being a vampire would cause. And unlike his past relationships, this one was going incredibly well! He really didn’t want to risk ruining this over something like that. So his plan was just to wait - either until Mikey slipped up and did something that would make it obvious, or until he flat out admitted it. 

The conversation finally happened one night after a post-show party. They’d been at someone’s house who’s name they’d forgotten before the two of them had even got in the door - it belonged to a friend of a friend of one of the crew, from memory, but there had been so many different people there that names had slipped away like smoke in the breeze. In any case, the two of them had spent most of the time loitering in corners with the rest of the band or tucked away with their tongues down each other’s throats, so it wasn’t like anyone else really mattered. Everyone was sweaty after being packed into a tiny venue all night, and the vast majority of the room was drunk out of their minds. (y/n) was pretty sure that he’d seen some questionable substances being passed around in the corridors - and he knew for certain that Frank had gone outside to join the group smoking weed - but neither he nor Mikey were too interested in that. In fact, the pair of them were pretty much sober, just riding out the adrenaline high that had come from the evening’s gig. 

They’d been together for almost the whole evening, only separating so that Mikey could go to the bathroom. He’d been gone almost fifteen minutes by the time he came back, but that didn’t worry (y/n) at all. He simply assumed that there was a queue, or that his lover had felt unwell and used it as an excuse to get a breather away from everyone for a few moments. When he’d returned, there was something visibly different. His eyes shone a little brighter, there was a new confidence in his step. Something had changed. And he had an idea of what. 

The two of them had left not long after that, craving a cosy evening in with each other, and on the walk home (y/n) spotted the perfect in to that mammoth topic he’d been dancing around for the last few months. There was a little dark smudge at the corner of Mikey’s mouth. And whenever they passed underneath a street lamp, that tiny mark flashed a deep red. The colour of blood. 

Mikey had fed at the party. 

Deciding to wait until they got back to his flat, (y/n)’s heart raced beneath his ribs for the rest of the short walk. His idea was pretty much completely confirmed now, but he still wasn’t exactly sure how to approach things. Saying things the wrong way could still cause a fight even if he was correct in his deductions, and that was the last thing he wanted. 

He switched the light on in the living room, and an idea flashed into his mind like the spark of electricity illuminating the filaments in the bulb. 

“Oh, Mikey! I think you’ve chewed through your lip, baby. There’s some blood on your chin.” 

It didn’t seem physically possible for Mikey to get any paler than he possibly was already, but in this light it really looked like the rest of the blood had drained out of his face. “W-what?” 

“Yeah, there’s not much but it’s still there. Let me clean that up.” As he raised a hand, wanting to brush the dark liquid away with a stroke of his thumb, Mikey flinched back a little. 

“No, don’t, I- it’s not mine...” He trailed off, looking incredibly uncomfortable, wringing his hands anxiously. 

(y/n) stepped back a little, wanting to give him the space to say it. “I don’t understand.” 

“I... oh God, I’m so sorry. I, I should have told you sooner, should’ve been honest with you right from the start so you could get out easily, I-” He stopped, running a hand over his face. “I’ve been lying to you. Well, not exactly lying, I just haven’t been honest. And I’m so, so sorry for that.” 

Seeing just how panicked Mikey was - the poor boy was almost on the verge of tears - he stepped closer again, offering a comforting hand. “Hey, talk to me. I’m worried about you more than anything else. I just need you to be okay.” 

“I... (y/n), I’m a vampire. And I know I should have told you way sooner than this, I was just so scared-” 

(y/n) cut him off with a swift kiss, taking him completely by surprise. Using this to his advantage he slipped his tongue into his boyfriend’s mouth, a little shocked by just how much he liked the hint of iron on his lover’s tongue. It was a surprisingly arousing addition to Mikey’s usual taste. When he pulled away, Mikey’s eyes were almost as wide as dinner plates, and he offered up a reassuring smile. “Baby, I’ve known for a while now.” 

“I-you... what?” 

“Yeah. It wasn’t hard to figure out when I put all the little pieces together. Kinda like, two plus two is four, you know? Pretty simple.” 

“I...” He was pretty much speechless, trembling as the tension he’d been retaining in his muscles all started to fade away at once. He let (y/n) lead him over to the sofa, guiding him to sit down and tucking an arm around his waist. He still struggled with his words for a moment, before managing to spit out a single word. “How?” 

“Well, it was kinda obvious.” He giggled sheepishly, ticking things off on his fingers. “A garlic allergy and scary paleness - which is incredibly sexy on you, might I add - combined with you being mostly nocturnal, disappearing randomly in the middle of the night, and never being clearly visible in a single photo? All together, it only pointed towards one thing.” 

“And... you still stayed?” 

The way his voice cracked broke (y/n)’s heart, and he kissed him with even more passion than the last, desperate to get his point across. “Mikey, I love you! Of course I stayed.” 

There was a moment of dead quiet - neither of them had been brave enough to say those three little words before. 

“Do you really mean that?” 

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.” He stroked the other man’s thigh, trying to soothe him as much as possible. “Look, I wouldn’t have stayed if it wasn’t something I was totally okay with! And honestly? I wasn’t a hundred percent sure until I saw the blood today. All those things added up, but I didn’t wanna bring it up to you and then be wrong. I didn’t wanna fight with you... the thought of losing you was just too much to handle.” He sighed, nudging his forehead against Mikey’s shoulder. “You really do mean a lot to me. I didn’t wanna spoil things by bringing it up before you were ready to talk.” 

Mikey looked entirely baffled: he hadn’t prepared for a reaction like this. In his head, he’d dreamt out a variety of scenarios that could arise in this situation. He’d rehearsed how to handle anger at being lied to, tears stemming from feelings of betrayal, fury, name-calling, the love of his life walking straight out the door and never looking back. But he had simply never pictured pure acceptance - or the fact that he might have calculated the truth all by himself. Maybe he should’ve done. His boyfriend was an incredibly intelligent person, so maybe it was an insult to assume that he wouldn’t work it out. Either way, he had no clue whatsoever on how to handle this. 

And so he settled for crying instead. He hadn’t thought he’d cry in a situation like this, at least not in front of (y/n), but he was just so overwhelmed by the genuine love streaming from the other man that he didn’t know what else to do. He was vaguely aware of (y/n) moving to hug him even tighter, murmuring soothing words in his ear as he rubbed his back. He could hear (y/n)’s blood rushing beneath his skin, his heart beating steadily in his chest. He could smell his usual scent, sweet and strong and so uniquely him. And most importantly, he couldn’t smell any fear. Fear had a scent that was unmistakeable, and there wasn’t a hint of it on him. (y/n) genuinely wasn’t scared of him. And that made him sob even more. 

The two of them stayed like that for several minutes more as Mikey hiccupped his way back to calmness, ever soothed by his boyfriend’s loving words. His tone never wavered, constantly steady and gentle as he held him. (y/n) was overcome with emotion at the thought of how scared Mikey had been, and wanted - no, needed - him to know that he wouldn’t ever be scared of the man he loved. 

When Mikey was finally breathing normally again, (y/n) gently tipped his face upwards, needing him to see the honesty in his eyes. 

“Listen to me, baby. I love you more than I could ever really describe. It’s like you’re the Earth and I’m the moon - I’m constantly being pulled towards you, and now you’re in my life I don’t want to think about you not being a part of it. And besides, you want my honest opinion? I think the fact you’re a vampire is stupidly attractive.” 

Mikey actually managed to laugh at that, wiping away the tears and the last of the blood that lingered on his lower lip. “Really? You’re not just saying that to make me feel good about myself, are you?” 

“No way. Trust me, it’s hot. If I wasn’t into it, I would’ve made an excuse to go back to being just friends with you the moment I came to that conclusion. Pinky promise.” 

“I... I don’t think anyone has ever had that reaction before. Normally most people are... freaked out. Scared of me.” 

“Well, I’m not most normal people, am I?” (y/n) grinned, kissing him on the forehead. “Look, if... if you’re not ready to say, you know, the big three words just yet, that’s totally okay with me. I’m not expecting you to say it back, I swear. I just really, really needed you to know how I feel about you. How much you mean to me. Don’t feel bad if you still need some time.” 

For the first time in that whole conversation, (y/n) looked nervous, and Mikey took very little time to think before responding. This time he was the one to initiate the kiss, passionate and forceful and tender, pouring every ounce of love into that one intimate act. He needed him to know that he felt exactly the same way, and for now words didn’t seem strong enough. 

He didn’t pull away until (y/n) tapped him on the thigh, red in the face from lack of air, and he smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. Sometimes I forget that normal people need to breathe.” 

“I don’t mind that much.” He giggled, kissing the tip of his nose. “I find that kinda attractive too.” 

Mikey blushed as much as he was able to, rubbing his forehead against his boyfriend’s like a cat seeking affection. “(y/n), I am so in love with you. And this? I imagined every possible reaction except this one. I didn’t tell you because I was terrified that you’d turn me away, or hate me. So...” 

“Baby boy, I could never hate you. Not in a million years. I have, like, a million questions I’m dying to ask you though.” He grinned, squeezing Mikey’s hands between his. “But I think we should save that for later on. Right now, the only thing I want is to cuddle up in bed with you. Get all cosy in our little blanket nest and just forget about the rest of the world for a little while. Sound good to you?” 

“Sounds great to me.” 

The duo got up and headed towards (y/n)’s bedroom hand in hand, already dozing off as they got through the door. After a little arguing over which way the spooning situation was going to go, Mikey gave in and let (y/n) be the big spoon, every muscle relaxing as he pulled him against his chest. He turned back for a second, just about managing to press a kiss to his incredible boyfriend’s cheek. 

“I love you so much, (y/n). More than I can ever really say.” 

“I know, Mikey. I love you too - for as long as you’ll let me.” 

“Forever, then.” 

“Yeah, forever. I like the sound of that.” 

[manofmanymons]

Huh

Only 67% of my Survive fics are Kaito-centric

I thought it would be way more than that

...unless you count every chapter of the drabble collection as its own thing

[dyspraxicgamergirl]