#Because the eyes are the windows to the soul; so it symbolizes the loss of a soul on his part… because he ate the soup. He is defeated.

[sluttish-armchair]

NOW I KNOW WHAT THE MINISTRY OF LOVE REMINDS ME OF:

soup.avi

Forever going to picture O’Brien as Ray Ray LOL

[animeyanderelover]

Hello again! Can I have prompt 46 with Ash? Tnx

Recently I told my friend that I had a lot of requests about him and she laughed about it. She doesn't really like him, but she gives him credit since he looks good.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, extreme paranoia, isolation, desperation, mentions of kidnapping,overprotectiveness, mentions of self-harm, Stockholm syndrome

Prompt 46: "Can I...can I kiss you?"

It was nothing less than a miracle that someone like you existed, someone who was cleansed from all the sins of this world and the corruption of humans. You were radiating with everything Ash had wanted for this world, a world that he wanted to give to you. It was the minimum from what she should and would do for you, it was his duty as your very own guardian angel. A role he was utterly dedicated too, devoted to his very own angel who forgave him his sins every time.

It was true, you had forgiven him his crimes already a long time ago as everything around you had started to fade away and you had lost count of how long exactly you had been stuck in here. Somewhere around one and a half years would be your expectation, looking on how the seasons had changed through the large and closed windows which symbolized your loss of freedom. But you didn't mind anymore.

You only needed and wanted Ash, your guardian angel.

There was clear tension in his body, you could feel how he stiffened up under your embrace. He had never really received that sort of affection before from anyone nor would he have ever wanted it from all those worthless lives walking around freely. You were the only person he actually wanted any sort of touches from. That was how pure you were, even causing someone like him craving something and falling victim to his own desires. And it was his own fault for being so weak-minded. He didn't deserve you yet letting you perish outside would be an even greater sin. He had to keep you safe.

"My Queen...what are you doing?"

Being able to keep his composure was important in front of you, though he remembered to have failed multiple times in the past already. Severe punishment was the only thing he could think of to atone for his failures for not being good enough, for proving himself to be so incredibly useless. Even now he could feel some unhealed wounds aching a bit, but you didn't have to know about his weakness and incompetence.

You blinked slightly confused up at him when he asked you such an obvious question, but it soon turned into slight giggling that instantly plunged Ash's heart into painfully warm emotions and forced his eyes to get wet. It had taken a while until you had been able to look so happy after he had quickly rescued you from all the evil waiting to devour you. The distress he had felt back then could never be put in words and no burns, knifes and broken bones had been able to make up for what you had been suffering under. Even now it remained as a anxiety deeply stuck in his heart. But looking at you now, smiling at him and not staring with wide eyes filled with fear at him, was worth much more than his whole life could ever repay you.

"I’m hugging you. It’s just that you always look so worried and stressed over my safety and never appear to take a rest. Just now you did as well so I thought this might help you a bit. A strong hug can be more worth than thousand words after all. That’s what my mother told me at least when I was younger.”, you replied softly, pressing your face deeper into his chest with a content look on your face.

There was nothing Ash could think of for a few moments, instead he seared the scene in front of him deep into his brain, how you were currently buried into his chest, looking so happy and peaceful. So stunning and precious.

Tears were quick to escape his eyes only seconds later, his insides stirring up with warmth that stung him and yet baked him with something he hadn’t felt in so long. Comfort and peace.

This was exactly why he had to protect you with his very own life, no one was allowed to snuff out the light you carried inside of you and that was able to even share it’s warmth with him. You possessed too much kindness to understand, but normal humans only destroyed what they touched, ruining it with their greed.

He wouldn’t let them do the same to you.

He would kill everyone who would even do as much as getting too close.

He just had to guarantee that you would live.

But first of all he had to calm himself down or otherwise he might worry you even more than he seemed to have done already. The tears were quickly wiped away with his sleeves before Ash was able to look at you again, still feeling like he wanted to continue crying. His heart felt like it might burst at any moment.

“You have so much warmth and love inside of you that I don’t think I deserve any of it. You shouldn’t even be concerned about me, I merely do what I have to do as your guardian. If you were to fall victim to this damned place, I would perish as well. What use is an angel who can’t even protect their chosen one?”

Pain was twisting his voice and face a bit when he dared to imagine how a world without you would be, a world filled with grief and darkness for him. Letting his guard down would be a fatal mistake, he had seen the worst of this world and the humans and he knew that it would happen again. That was why he had to be like this for you were his heart beating outside his chest. If something were to ever happen to you...

The angel hadn't even noticed that he had already started crying again, fist tightened and body shaking whilst getting lost in fears of losing the one good and bright thing this world had still left.

"But for me you're more than just a guardian angel. You're my angel and I want you to feel happy as well. I want you to feel loved as well. You do so much for me, but I feel like I only cause you stress and uneasiness. Shouldn't you be happy because of me?", you asked him in slight protest, feeling sadness whilst seeing the man you had come to love like this again because of you. You had never seen him truly relaxed nor had you ever been able to show him your feelings. He wouldn't let you, not thinking that he deserved you.

His reaction was instant, suddenly falling on his knees upon hearing from what you had said that he had disappointed you yet again, the visible look of your sorrow only stabbing his fear deeper into his very soul.

"I-I am so sorry! I didn't know that you felt this way only because I was so selfish to only think about myself like this! I don't deserve your forgiveness and accept any sort of-"

When he felt the soft sensation of your hands cupping his stained cheeks, he abruptly stopped his rambling, trying to not choke on his own breath that had gotten irregular.

"You don't have to apologize to me. I don't want to hear you saying such things about yourself. Don't you understand? I am unhappy whenever you are like this, seeing yourself as so worthless and not deserving of my love. That's what hurts me so much. You're rejecting my feelings. I love you, Ash. And I want to know if you do too. Because if you do, please stop talking like this and behave so distantly."

Your voice conveyed every bit emotion that was going on inside of you in that moment, something that Ash noticed with widened eyes as well.

Silence was cut short by him when he realized that you wanted something crucial from him which he would gladly give you. He had never considered that you would ever consider his love as something you wanted, consider him as someone you loved. When had been the last time someone had been truly kind to him and loved him? He couldn't remember anymore.

"Of course I do. You should never doubt my feelings for you. I love you more than you could ever imagine. It's impossible to function without you.", he managed to reply with a shaking voice as he grabbed both of your hands in his own.

"Then why are you acting like this? Everyone deserves someone who loves them. Without love it's a very painful life, isn't it? That's why I am hurting as well. Let me love you and I promise that you'll be able to feel peace as well.", you muttered slightly embarrassed out, leaning your head down so your forehead could rest against his own.

Slight sobs were starting to catch up to Ash as he was staring in pure awe at you.

"Thank you. I'll be better and make sure that I won't cause you sadness anymore.", he pressed out, tightening his grip on your hands only the slightest bit so he wouldn't hurt you.

"I'm glad to hear that.", you replied with a sincere smile on your face, joy stirring your heart up just by seeing that for the first time since he had abducted you, Ash was looking relieved and less tense. He just looked extremely grateful.

"May I ask you for a favor then?", you requested with a certain idea in mind.

"I'll do anything for you.", Ash replied, sounding very emotional.

"I want to do something for you for once since you normally do anything for me."

Hesitation and clear dislike instantly shadowed his face, the thought of him asking something from you going against Ash's belief in all the wrong ways. You shouldn't have to do him favors.

"It doesn't have to be something difficult. It can be a really simple thing. Just...something that I can do for you this once. Please.", you begged slightly, seeing the angel already struggling. You knew how he felt about such things, he hated letting you do something for him and he had never done it before either. Ash saw it only upon himself to serve you which was another thing that sometimes made you feel guilty. You wanted to do more for him as well.

"Can I...can I kiss you?"

Maybe that had been more a slip of his tongue, but he had been slightly panicking since hadn't want to sadden you again nor had he wanted you to do physical work for him. It was supposed to be the other way around.

So when he had stared for a moment at your face, eyes locked on your lips, he had considered somewhere deep in his mind possibilities which he had been fantasizing about a few times before, but hadn't thought that they would actually have a change of happening.

In his opinion they were still sinful, it would take a while for him to get used to the idea that you wanted to receive physical affection and love from him. The first impulse when he realized what he had said was instantly apologizing, only to be interrupted before he could even start saying anything.

You had already leaned down to fulfill him his wish before he could take it back again.

[scarecrow-supremacy]

A/N: Oookieee, so I decided to start writing a new fic bc I have great ideas for a story line. Yet I can’t bring myself I writing an actual beginning. Like I’ve already written some random chapters, but I can’t do anything with them because they don’t really make much sense without the context of the rest of the fic/my ideas. Like this chapters is where the romance/actual x reader gets into actual action. Hopefully you get the gist of what the plot is, and aren’t confused as hell from this part. Sorry if it’s a bit long, it’s around 4.8k-ish words. Enjoy 💜

Hatake Kakashi wasn't one to celebrate his birthday.

He simply thought that they were foolish excuses to let loose and party. To Kakashi, birthdays were no reason to be happy and celebrate. They were just reminders of how long he had endured the pain of living. Each year marked another without the people he once held close in his heart. His father, his sensei, his teammates, and (y/n)...

The day that (y/n) gone on that horrible mission was his special day. The mission he was supposed to go on, but (y/n) filled in for because she wanted him to go celebrate with Gai and the others. So much for having the day of joy...Kakashi thought to himself mournfully.

With a great sigh, he grabbed the last of his belonging, shoving them in his mission pack. He'd promised to take his students out of a group mission for the day, but it had been mostly for selfish reasons. Kakashi had hoped that this would take his mind off of the weight in his soul, yet knowing that his efforts would be futile. The loss would never leave him, it would always follow him like a darned shadow. It would forever haunt him. There was not letting go of the horrors of his past.

Slowly, Kakashi strolled to the gates of Konoha to meet his kids, shoving his hands in his pockets as he mumbled a little tune under his breath. The dark cloudy sky and drizzling rain seemed to mirror how he felt inside.

Drip, drop. Drop, drop. Drop, drop.

Each raindrop fell upon the dirt paths of the town, dampening Kakashi's Jonin uniform. If only he'd gone on that mission, if only he hadn't let (y/n) take his place. If only so many things that happened hadn't. If only he felt whole again. He could feel the heavyweight of guilt on his shoulders, spreading pain throughout his body. Sure, Team 7 filled the void, but they could only do so much. If there is one thing I wish for, it is that these kids will grow up to be happy.

A soft smile played upon Kakashi's face as he approached the three teens. "KAKASHI-SENSEI!" His hyperactive blonde student, Uzumaki Naruto, yelled at him, "YOU'RE LATE-TTEBAYO!" He raised his fist in anger. Sakura glared at both Kakashi and Naruto, slapping the boy's back to calm him down. Off to the side stood Sasuke, his hands in his pockets as he briefly kicked the dirt and pebbles around him to form his clan's symbol. "Usuratonkachi," he grumbled at the group. To be honest, Kakashi did feel a little guilty about keeping the kids waiting for him. They were being held back just because he was wallowing in self-pity. And Kakashi felt ashamed of that; ordering his mind to push his thoughts further to the back of his mind.

Kotetsu and Izumo, guards of the gates, turned to the team and smiled in greeting. "The gate opening mechanism is broken, so we have to manually open the gates," they explained. "Heading out yet again, eh?" Kotetsu chuckled. "I thought you lot just came back from a mission. Ya leaving so soon?" Izumo asked. Naruto pumped his hand into the air, "Yeah! Dattebayo! It's only a C rank, but it'll be fun-ttebayo!"

He's a lot like you, eh Obito, Kakashi's mind wandered as he looked up at the clouded sky, a drop of rain fell upon his nose and slid down his mask. If only you, Minato-sensei, and Rin were here to see us in action. You would be proud.

But what about (y/n)? Part of Kakashi was surprised that he didn't think of her immediately. Did he still believe that she could've been alive? After the Hokage had told him that he'd lost contact with (y/n), Kakashi didn't know what to think. It had been 3,650 days since she left. 3,589 since she was supposed to come back. And 3,529 days since they fully lost contact. What were the chances she'd come back, alive or injured? Kakashi wanted to believe that she was still alive. Was that realistic?

"She's gone, Kakashi! You need to understand that!" He flashed back to when Asuma, Gai, and Kurenai had tried to slap some sense into him. Well actually, Kurenai had slapped him. "Kakashi-sensei?" Sakura gently tugged his sleeve, straining her arm up so her red umbrella would also cover his head. "Are you okay? You've been spacing out a lot lately." She whispered as she looked up at him.

"I'm fine, Rin," Kakashi weakly smiled, "It's nothing that you should worry about." Sakura flashed him a questioning look, "Rin?" Sucking the air, Kakashi's whole body tensed up, "Sorry." He looked away, turning his attention to the bickering Sasuke and Naruto. "Just a little mix-up, Sakura." He put on a fake smile, breaking up the boy's fight. "Let's go, shall we?"

"Alright! Shanaroo!"

"Dattebayo!"

Kotetsu and Izumo went to open the gates but stopped to exchange worrisome glances. "Someone just knocked from the other side of the gates. Which is weird because our list says that we shouldn't be expecting anybody." Izumo knit his eyebrows together. Kotetsu, who had been looking through a glass which allowed him to see the incomer, hastily urging Izumo to help him. "ANBU!" He had barked at his partner, "Bleeding! Dying, wounds, whatever! They need medical attention!" That had caught Kakashi's attention, he got ready to act as the guards opened up the gates, heaving on the rusted hinges. Yet he was not mentally prepared for what awaited on the other side of the grand doors.

There she stood. Uniform torn, stained and ripped up. The wakizashi sword that was strapped to her hip was blunt and scratched, the sheath dented. Skin scratched and bruised, wounds dripping with blood and gore. A long x shaped cut on the inner side of her left thigh. Gasping and choking for air, she started to wobble, blood dribbling down her limbs and stomach. The rain continued to fall, now hard and heavy; burning and searing the wounds of the lady. Yet she still managed to keep her face from wavering In an instant, Kakashi recognized who the woman was based on her cracked porcelain ANBU mask. (y/n).... "Sakura! Go alert the hospital. And you two boys, clear the way for Sakura so she can get there. Quickly!" Kakashi ordered them as he took the heavily wounded woman in his arms. Anger and fear coursed through Kakashi's veins as his heart thumped erratically. He could feel (y/n)'s body twitch in pain. "Izumo, go let Hokage-sama know that Ibara-hime has returned." Kakashi let out one last demand before zipping off to follow his kids.

"Kakashi..." (y/n) mumbled out his name, "Kakashi..." she shakily rose her hands up to gently cup his masked cheeks. "What is it?" He whispered, gently rubbing her skin through a torn patch of her ripped uniform. "Happy birthday, Hatake..." She softly breathed, her tight grip of Kakashi's chest loosened as her eyes dropped closed. Please don't die, (y/n)... I've waited all the fucking years. You aren't leaving me again. A tear formed in Kakashi's eye, flying off with the rain as he bolted towards the hospital. Stay with me a bit longer, will you?

"My sensei will be here any second with an ANBU woman in need of immediate medical attention!" Kakashi heard Sakura's voice quiver as he barged into the hospital. "I'm here, kids. Go to Gai-sensei and stay with him until I'm back." He quickly barked, flashing all of the nurses who flowed into the room a nervous look. "Please, help her. I'm begging you." He pleaded with the staff uncharacteristically. I need her to live. Need. "We do what we can, sir." One of the medic-nin nodded, putting (y/n)'s unconscious body onto the stretcher. If (y/n) lives, that would be the best birthday gift ever.

Kakashi jogged after the nurses and doctors, peering into the emergency clinic room through the window. "I'm sorry, Sir, but you won't be able to visit the lady until all the major injuries have been cleaned up and treated." A male nurse out his hand in his shoulder from behind. "But..! Okay..." Kakashi let out a sigh, "Isn't there any paperwork that needs to be filled out?"

The nurse shook his head, "The Hokage has come and is speaking to one of my colleagues about it. Don't worry about it. You won't have to take care of any of that." He tried to reassure the angsty shinobi, "The woman is part of the ANBU ranks, right? Her mask is of the uniform." Kakashi nodded his head, biting his lip inside of his mask, "Yeah...she is... but it's kinda complicated." The nurse raised his eyebrow but just shrugged. "Can I speak with the Hokage?" The Hatake requested. "Come this way," the other man sighed, leading him away.

Kakashi let out a deep and long sigh as he held (y/n)'s scraped hand in his gloved ones. He had been told by the same nurse from before that (y/n) was in a decent state to accept visitors, yet was still unconscious. He could tell that the nurse was hiding something from him, but he was too worried about (y/n) to give it a second thought. Hesitantly, he brought her hand to his masked lips, gently pressing them against the fabric. "Ya know, (y/n). After you left, I decided to give those goddamn books a try. And you're right, they are addictive. Thanks for the gift," Kakashi sadly chuckled before pausing for a moment.

"Those books, they helped me a lot. They helped me get through my days, just like you told me."

"They also helped me realize something. They helped me realize that I don't hate you. I don't want to hate, and I never should've."

"I've realized that I was such a dick to you at the beginning and that it was all my fault that our relationship became how it was. I regret it... So when you wake up again, I just want to start over again. Maybe not entirely, but just so that we can leave all the hate behind us. How does that sound?"

Kakashi stared at the sleeping (y/n), her chest heaving up and how slowly and rhythmically. It hurt him to see her like that, her skin swollen in the places of the stitches and anointed bruises. "Listen, (y/n). I'd never been able to tell this to you while you're conscious, so I might as well let it out now. I...I love you." Kakashi rightly shut his uncovered eye. "After feeling your loss, my dumbass self finally realized how much you are worth. After they pass on, you and the others were all I had left. But then you also left me, that hurt like hell." His tone started to break.

"Lord Hokage told me about the whole fake-death move, and I was relieved that you weren't gone for good. And then we lost contact, everybody assumed the mission had been finished, and your squad sacrificed your lives for it. I couldn't let the fact that you could be a dead sink in. It didn't feel right. Gai, Asuma, and Kurenai tried to get me out of another depression cycle. Kurenai even went to the lengths of quite literally slapping some sense into me." Kakashi played with a loose strand of (y/n)'s (h/c) hair.

The muscles of (y/n)'s hand twitched ever so slightly. Kakashi's drooping head snapped up; he'd almost fallen asleep in the chair. "(y/n)?" He murmured as her eyes started to flutter, "(y/n)?"

(y/n) chapped lip parted ever so slowly, taking a big breath of air, her (e/c) eyes squinting. "Hatake..?" She shakily managed to mumbled, her voice hoarse and dry. She tried to prop herself up on the bed, but Kakashi eased her back into her resting position. "Rest, (y/n), you're not ready to stress yourself yet." Kakashi to her, "I'll be back with a nurse and some water for you, alright?" (y/n) opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She simply looked down and nodded.

Moments later, Kakashi came back with the nurse and water. "Here," he carefully put the cup to her lip, gently tipping the cup, "Good." He turned to the nurse, who seemed to be scribbling something down from the little monitor to his clipboard. Kakashi's eyes followed the cord attached to it, to the long x shaped hash in (y/n)'s inner left thigh. What worried Kakashi was the anxious look on the nurse's face.

"(l/n)-san, your vitals are doing alright, but you'll have to stay here for a night or two just so that we can keep an eye on something's that may need monitoring." He curtly nodded his head, "Lord Hokage wished to speak to you. So, sir, that means you may have to leave."

Kakashi tried to reason with the other man, but (y/n) reached to weakly squeeze his thigh. "It's okay, Hatake. You can just drop by later." (y/n) tried to smile. "Fine," Kakashi grumbled, leaving the room and letting Hiruzen in.

After what seemed like an eternity, Hiruzen came back out. "How's (y/n)?" Kakashi asked him impatiently. The Hokage put his hand on Kakashi's shoulder as if trying to soothe him, "She'll be better soon. Don't worry, alright." The silver-haired shinobi let out a small grunt, "I know that she'll get better with time. But what about now?"

Kakashi knew that Hiruzen loved (y/n) almost like a daughter, he cared about her deeply. Hence the elaborate cover-ups to protect (y/n) and her squad on the unconventionally lengthy mission. The Hatake could see the sadness that had tried to be tucked away in the Sarutobi's eyes. "The main concern of the moment is the poison in the gash on her left thigh. The medic-nins have tried to extract as much of it as possible, and try to find something that will counteract the effects." The elderly man explained to him. "Did they find an antidote?" Kakashi questioned.

"That is where the problem lies," Hiruzen explained, "There is a certain medicinal herb that is used alongside a jutsu to nullify the effects, as the poison has traces of chakra. We have a few medics on hand who support the skill to perform the jutsu, but we don't have the plant. Even so, that won't be a permanent cure." Kakashi knit his eyebrows together, "How would it not be a perfect cure? Plus, since there are traces of chakra, could we possibly track down the person who created the poison and make them fess up on the cure?" He questioned.

"Great thinking, but..." Hiruzen groaned, "(y/n) said that they performed a self-destruction jutsu just after striking her. He probably thought that it would be in their best interest to take their secrets to the grave with them." Kakashi cursed under his breath, "Fuck... This is terrible."

Hiruzen nodded in agreement, "No duh."

Kakashi's head shot up, "Uh?!"

The elder man's eyes widened, "Did I use the term correctly?! I'm trying to pick up on the phrases the kids are using these days..."

Kakashi gritted his teeth, "Right idea of the meaning, I guess. But the context and timing...wasn't quite fit." Looking ever so slightly dejected, "Oh...alright." Smoothening out the wrinkles in his robe and putting in his cob pipe, "Kakashi, if you are going to stay here with (y/n), could you at least pick up some good food. The food in the hospital canteen is quite bland." Kakashi nodded his head and obliged, only to be stopped in his tracks by Hiruzen.

"Kakashi, I'd like to ask you something?"

"What is it?"

"What caused your change in actions towards (y/n) change so much?"

"What do you mean?"

"I've observed you two whilst you were in the ANBU together, and you never got along that well. And suddenly you act so attached to her, Kakashi. You don't need to answer. It's just that as your leader, I want to understand what is going on in the heads of some of my most trusted people." Hiruzen explained to Kakashi, puffing out a cloud of smoke from his cob pipe.

Kakashi frowned from behind his mask, trying to figure out how to explain his change of feelings in a professional manner. "I think that after I was given the impression that she was gone, I noticed that I cared about her. It made me realize that I was wrong to not see how much she meant in my life." He tried, his voice fading off into a whisper. Hiruzen smiled and nodded, "You really are something else, Kakashi."

Kakashi silently strolled over to Ichiraku's to grab some takeout. The paper lanterns lit the nearly empty streets of Konoha, creating a soft and soothing ambiance. The smell of the rain and moisture still clung to the air, the dirt roads had muddy dampness to them. "Yo! Kakashi, my eternal rival!" A boisterous and friendly voice greeted the said man. "Hey, Gai," Kakashi responded, he noticed his students sitting alongside each other and gave them a quick wave and smile. Naruto and Lee were arguing about who'd get Sakura. Sakura insisted that Sasuke would come around in her favor. Sasuke was quietly eating his food. And Neji and Tenten were discussing a new sword they saw in the windowsill of a weaponry shop.

"I'll take two eggplant miso soups with brown rice noodles," Kakashi leaned over the counter space between Lee and Naruto to order his meal, also effectively stopping the argument. "Thanks, Ayame," he thanked the daughter of Teuchi, owner of the quaint place. "No problem, Kakashi-san!" She chirped.

"Kakashi?" Gai raised his brushy brow, "Your kids told me about what happened this morning..." Kakashi sighed and pulled him aside so that they were at a comfortable distance, "It was (y/n)..." he told his best friend, "She's back and in the hospital because she's not in good health at the moment. I just came here to pick up a meal for her." Kakashi watched as Gai's jaw dropped, "(Y/N) IS ALIVE!" He exclaimed a touch too loud for his eternal rival's taste, "CAN I MEET HER?!" Tears of youthful joy waterfalled down the jumpsuit-clad man's cheeks. "I'll see if you can come tomorrow, alright Gai." Gai smiled broadly, "This is very...unusual. Youthful, nonetheless!" He grinned.

Kakashi rubbed the back of his head and nodded, "I'm glad she's back..." he murmured barely loud enough for Gai to hear. Knowingly, Gai patted Kakashi's back. "Oh! Yeah! Happy birthday, my youthful rival!" He gently punched his comrade's shoulder. A smile formed on Kakashi's lips, "Thanks, Gai." He flashed his eccentric friend his signature close-eyed smile.

"I'll see you later."

"Bye, Kakashi! Have a good night!"

Knock knock, Kakashi rapt (y/n)'s door, "Can I come in?"

"Come in," (y/n) murmured, a small moan of pain escaping her lips, "Ouch..."

Kakashi quickly set the takeout on a little table, rushing to (y/n)'s side. He wrapped his arm tightly around her waist and helped her to the table. "I got us dinner because the food at the canteen isn't that good." He explained with a slight shrug. "Thanks, Hatake," a weak smile formed on her lips. The silvered-haired Jonin served them their meals. "Itadakimasu," they both mumbled.

Heavy tension filled the room as they ate in silence. (y/n) knew that Kakashi had his mask down, but didn't look up. "It's been a while..." Kakashi breathed, in hopes of hearing (y/n) speak, "Too long..." The kunoichi rested her forehead on her palm, "I- Yeah..." she mumbled, eyes growing classier by the second. So much for trying to start a conversation... Kakashi thought sadly as they resumed their meals without a word. The silence seemed to be killed him. Kami, it had been 10 goddamn years! 3650 days since he had gotten to talk to the woman. He missed her. Hell, he could even say that he missed all of their little spats. Hatake Kakashi missed everything about (y/n).

"I missed you..." was all Kakashi mumbled as he pushed his finished food away and pulled up his mask, "All these days, months, and years."

Hot tears slipped down (y/n)'s cheeks, forming a puddle on the table. "I-I came back be-because I didn't want-want to hurt you and the r-rest. Dying on passed down pain to the people who love you. I can't afford to c-carry the guilt of t-that." She mumbled shakily, "I promised to be back, a-and I held up the promise." Kakashi sadly smiled as he awkwardly reached under the table to gently caress (y/n)'s thigh.

"You care about others so much, but you should really take a moment to care about yourself, (y/n)." Kakashi scolded the injured kunoichi, "You had me scared for you; all those gashes and open wounds... You could've died," he knit his eyebrows together in worry. "Don't do that ever again."

(y/n)'s dull smile faltered as Kakashi spoke on, "Now you know how I felt when I saw you doing all those suicidal stunts back then on those missions. It was like you were in a hurry to die... I mean, I was too, but you did some seriously dumb shit," she giggled emptily. Kakashi sweat-dropped, "I see... I guess you are right..." (y/n) rolled her (e/c) eyes as the masked shinobi let out a drained sigh, "I'm always right, Hatake."

"Really, (l/n)? You've been through torturous pain, and you still act like a child." Kakashi groaned, "All these years..." (y/n) shot him a hard glare, "All these years and you still think you're in charge of me." He cast a confused look, "It's my duty to protect you, as a comrade." As a comrade... "I guess, but you're just annoying, Hatake," she huffed.

"I'm sorry about ruining your birthday with my arrival and stuff. I probably ruined your plans with those kids." (y/n) looked down, breaking the silence that had fallen upon them, "I could hear you guys through the gate; they seemed pumped about going out. I'm sorry, I didn't think about the flaws in my whole plan." Kakashi's head snapped up from its resting position on the table, "It's fine, they don't even know it's my birthday," he paused, "But you planned to come here? As in, today in particular. With all those injuries, (l/n), you should've just tried to take care of yourself. My birthday isn't as important as your health."

The (y/n) shook her head, "I was going to stay at a small village pretty far from here before finally coming home. I planned to just heal up there and see how things went from there. I even considered settling down there. But that just didn't feel right," (y/n) face set in a frown, "Once I realized that your birthday wasn't that far off, I decided that I couldn't stay and needed to come back. I doubted I would even live to be back. But here I am..." she said with a soft wince of pain. "It was terrible, I hated every second of it," Her (s/t) fingers made their way to the raw mark on her inner thigh, “I’d already lost so much; there was nothing for me to lose at that point.” Kakashi's face softened as he understood what she meant. (y/n) wasn't put in the mission alone, she had her team. They all must've been killed with time.

"Ouch!" (y/n) yelped as she let out a moan of pain, clenching the fabric of her hospital-issued pajama pants. “Shh..." Kakashi whispered into her ear, quickly leaning in to soothe her, "What's causing all this pain?" He asked with a frown as (y/n) bit her lip. "It's the thing in your thigh, right? Lord Hokage and the nurse told me a bit about it. But I still don't fully understand it and how it can't fully be cured."

(y/n) buried her face in her hands, "Oh..." She mumbled, "The poison can't de be removed because it's already been inside of me too long. And since it is laced with chakra, the properties of it aren't completely like normal poison." She blinked back the stinging agonizing tears in her eyes, "The herb that I need is just going to ease the effects in my body, whilst the jutsu will seal it from triggering anything that was layered in with the chakra." (y/n) explained. Kakashi could tell she was trying her hardest to keep her face straight, pushing back the pain and hurting inside. "The thing is–"

"What?" Kakashi asked the pained woman, his tone soft and soothing, "I can help if I know what's going on."

Warily, (y/n) agreed to speak on, "The place where the mission was stationed at was just underground of the nuke-nin outpost I was from. And the guy who poisonous me was one of the other kids' experiments were done on, along with me. He was a few years older than us, and his name was Hiroto Myoga. His parents were in owed debt to the rogues, they were forced into being test subjects until they died. Which left Hiroto in the nuke-nin's hands." She rubbed the temple of her head pushing away the images that sent a shiver down her spine, "Something similar had happened in the case of my parents and me. But unlike me, when the ANBU did the raid, Hiroto was snuck away just in time."

Kakashi's heart sank as he heard what she was telling him. (y/n) had never known much about her past, the damned curse seal had caused. “Since he was older than most of the other kids there, the nuke-nin's of the outpost decided that they needed to trust their information. It was all precautionary, just in case they were taken down. And that's just what happened. Hiroto was the one ordered to put memory restriction curse seals on us, the kids, before he fled to be underground, where the actual harm was being done. That meant that all this time Hiroto had been working in those old plans." (y/n) closed her eyes tightly, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.

With a subtle groan, Kakashi supported (y/n) up from the chair and rested her in her cot. "Don't stress yourself, (y/n). You can just tell me later; it's getting late anyway." He told her. "It's fine, Hatake. Letting this out helps me feel better." She reassured him.

"The ANBU caught wind of suspicious activity in that area and decided to send out a squad to go check out. I overheard Danzō arguing with Lord Hokage about it, and got interested. It was really dumb, but I just wanted to go to learn more about what happened in my past. I learned, but that can with lots of twists and turns. 10 years of going undercover..." (y/n)'s (e/c) eyes met Kakashi's single uncovered black one, "It wasn't long before Hiroto became suspicious of us, slowly narrowing the group down till it was just me." (y/n) took a deep breath and continued, "After Hiroto killed himself in our final fight, my curse seal was lifted. That's how I suddenly was able to remember all of the past. All of it."

A pit formed in Kakashi's stomach as he watched (y/n) cry in silence. He wanted to help her feel better, he really did. But he was afraid that he'd make things worse; dealing with feelings just wasn't his thing. "I'm here for you, (l/n). We've been through so much together, you've helped me through it all," Kakashi tried to reassure her, "It's my turn to look after you. Please, just don't cry." He reached out his hand to brush a tear-off of her streaked cheeks.

“Are you okay with me staying here for the night?" Kakashi asked (y/n) as they sat at the bay window, looking down upon the empty moonlit streets of Konoha. The soft light cast down by the moon seemed to make everything look beautiful, serene, and at peace. "(l/n)?" He asked again, turning to look back at her. A gentle smile played on Kakashi's lips as he saw that she'd fallen asleep. (y/n) had been through so much throughout the day, she not only deserved to rest for a long time but also needed to. "Good night, (y/n)..." he carefully lifted the sleeping beauty and placed her on the cot. Sitting back at the bay seat, Kakashi took in a deep breath. "I love you."

She's finally back.

She's finally home.

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

it should’ve been you

summary: you and spencer never got along since you joined the bau, mostly because you made a mistake that costed the life of one of his colleagues. 

word count: 3,761                                                                                     reading time aprox: 15 mins

masterlist

“Mistakes are a fact of life. It is the response to error that counts.” said Nikki Giovanni. Although the expression only extends to the limitation of ending someone else’s life because of a mistake. With the existing dichotomy of religious patrons adherent to celestial beings and men of psychology claiming that trauma and fault can enhance cognitive development, the question still stands whether the slight improvement in the human schema is worth the life of an individual. 

Why is the essential nature of living ‘to flourish in someone else’s misfortune’?

Is it so, once they’ve experienced this misfortune they can be placed in the shoes of the fortunate soul, with the inability to recall their previous position; causing another individual to fall into the paradigm?

This philosophy is circumstantial, spontaneous even, pertaining to life itself no matter what socioeconomic standing you hold or religious scripture that you accredit. Regrettably, this philosophy stripped the BAU of an agent and the team, of a colleague. 

At its core, it was my fault. I was the lucky son of a bitch that flourished in his misfortune. 

Despite most of the team seemingly differing this proclamation, it was my choices that led a man to be deprived of the life ahead of him. The only other individual who didn’t side with the rest of the team was Spencer Reid. 

Agent Ryler, Darrison Ryler is was a single man who lived in his eclectic condo with the accompaniment of his golden retriever, Sam. He served as a confident to the team, specifically to Spencer according to my observations of their relationships prior to the incident.  

He died an honorable and ardent man, even in the most grotesque situations his concern only derived from the conditions of his partners. For 10 years he’s served the BAU, only for a rookie as myself to completely decimate his entire life’s meaning by killing him in the field. 

-

“Ryler, you and Morgan flank the left side, we’ll file in after” Hotch ordered signaling to a door with corroded blue paint chipping off that was located at the end of the hallway we were posted at. 

The supposed unsub lived in Manhattan, NY and was responsible for the homicide of five women that resembled his late wife. The unsub had been categorized as a sexual sadist in the midst of a psychotic break, deriving from denial. 

The SWAT team lingered behind us, awaiting orders from the team leader. The atmosphere of the situation penetrated my nerves, causing a natural sense of uneasiness from my parasympathetic, fight or flight, nervous system. Moonlight infiltrated through the ragged curtains that hung above a window at the end of the hall, which seemed to be slightly ajar; letting crisp air into the corridor. 

I could already feel the little fibers of hair on the back on my neck stand, an obvious indication of my apprehension. Despite that signal, I was determined to follow through with the decision I’ve fought for. To elaborate, it was me who had convinced Hotch to let me journey into apprehending the unsub regardless of my inexperience of being physically out in the field with the team. 

-

I was naive and selfishly driven to expose myself to such an atmosphere I thought I was ready for. I pushed and pulled to expedite my training in order to fulfill my hero complex. Nevertheless, I never consider the possibility of killing a man to satisfy that. 

-

Morgan had completely obliterated the door as it was now swaying from it’s hinges. Ryler followed him from behind, gun pointed at his surroundings as he announced he was FBI. 

The rest of the team filed in, SWAT included. Reid had entered after me as we both surveyed the perimeter. Hotch nodded at us, pointing Reid one way and me the other. As I left to inspect other areas of the apartment of the unsub, the shuffling of feet emitted from the loud stomps of the SWAT members increased my heart rate. I convinced myself that it was normal since it was my first time being out in the field. I swept the area, checking the master bedroom and bathroom with a few members of the SWAT, until we heard commotion in the living room. 

We hurried to the scene not wasting a breath to calm myself. When I had arrived the men that were with me had dispersed to shooting positions as I stood behind a wall that was directly adjacent to the unsub.

I had taken the opportunity to peek out, gauging the altercation and to my misfortune, the unsub had Agent Ryler in a choke hold with dagger lined up to the major artery in his throat. The unsub began spewing heinous accusations such as “you took her away from me” or  “you killed her, not me, you killed her you fucking pigs”. He screamed and shook, rationality draining from him as fast as the saliva gushed out from his lips. 

Hotch took the opportunity to calm the unsub down, playing at the factor of remorse he showed in his previous victims. Hotch sheathed his gun back to it’s holster, promptly raising his hands up in surrender while coaxing the violent man into dropping the weapon. 

Although these were fruitless attempts, the unsub grew to be more erratic as Hotch approached him. With this I made my presence known to Hotch, shifting to a better position to engage the unsub from behind. The rest of the team stood gawking at the entire scene with anticipation gnawing at their fingertips, agitating to shoot if necessary. 

I drew my gun out, my hands becoming slightly shaky from the anxiety that heightened when the reality of the situation came to mind. 

I might kill a man today

The unsub maintained his gaze at Hotch and the army of guns that surrounded him. “Fuck you, you fucking pigs. You killed her! You. Killed. My, Kerrie. Now one of yours will die!” He threatened, pressing the blade harder on Ryler’s skin earning a repressed wince from him. The men from the SWAT team cocked their weapons causing Hotch to command them to ‘stand down’. I met Hotch’s gaze again, a distinctive look flashed in his eyes, the hesitation clear on his face as he motioned for me to inch closer to the unsub. 

“Please, we just want to-” Rossi spoke up lifting his palm up as a symbol of sympathy, but in reality beckoned me to close in on the individual. 

“Shut up! Shu-shut the fuck up!” The unsub screeched, wiping his forehead with the arm that held the blade as he blinked rapidly. “Thi-this ends today, I-i, this is for my Kerrie!”

With one swift motion the unsub raised the knife to slice Ryler’s throat, but in a moment of weakness, Ryler was able to apprehend the man, overpowering his grip as he flipped their positions. 

“Y/N! NOW!” 

My surroundings moved in slow motion, similar to the speed of the slideshows Garcia would show us as she presented cases. My vision blotted, feeling every sweat droplet begin to dampen the palms of my hands. I felt every crevice of my body writhe in dread and apprehension, feeling the sudden weight of the weapon I gripped in my hands. I took in a breath, setting my eyes on the unsub. Finally, I squeezed the trigger, acknowledging the life that would be taken away. 

A loud bang and a grunt surged through the air

I closed my eyes expecting the gun to retaliate it’s force, yet I felt nothing. I opened my eyes to gauge at the scene before me, realizing that my gun hadn’t fired. 

-

I took a life that day, however it wasn’t the life I was expecting to take. Morgan had taken the shot to eliminate the unsub, but only after the unsub was able to plunge the dagger into Ryler’s pericardial cavity, nicking the side of his aortic wall. 

He bleed out on the scene. DOA.

I later figured out that my gun had been on safety the entire time we were infiltrating the, now deceased, unsub’s apartment. I could still hear Spencer’s cries of protest and disbelief when he grasped the gravity of the situation. But most of all, I can distinctively remember the menacing look he wore in his eyes as he fixated at me. The genuine enmity and contempt that swam in his pupils spoke the message that his lips couldn’t convey, it was an expression that you didn’t need an eidetic memory to recall. 

After that incident, Spencer did nothing but express his vexation at the very existence of my being. He ‘mindlessly’ knocks case files off of my desk occasionally, talks over my presentation of theories, and has undermined the suggestions I would pose during investigations.

It’s been approximately 6 months since the loss of Ryler and the mourning period seems to have curtailed over the course of the year. The heavy somber  air that was consistent in the bullpen began to dissipate and the fellow agents painted a more positive light on the life of Ryler, reminiscing on his various accolades. Despite this plateau, Spencer’s resentment hadn’t shown any modifications.  

We were on a plane routed to New York City, another homicide had taken place and there was evidence of the case being serial. Hotch was on the phone with the chief of the NYPD gathering new information that had surfaced about the unsub. Morgan wore his headphones loosely with his eyes closed, bobbing his head to 90s music while Emily and Rossi played a game of chess. 

Spencer on the other hand, had his nose in a book, his eyebrows furrowed as his long fingers dragged along the pages, scanning them at light speed. His bottom lip had become entangled between his teeth, chewing the muscle in deliberation. 

I sat across the jet, complementary to where Spencer resided. I fixated on the copy of Jane Eyre that I brought with me, although my mind had decided to overflow with a multitude of transpiring thoughts. 

“Okay, thank you very much chief, we’ll be landing soon” Hotch bid adieu, closing his cellphone and tossing the device on the table with a heavy sigh. “They just found another body” He announced, earning sympathetic and discontented stares from the team. “Kate Walsh, 36 years old, had a husband that worked in a law firm with two children. She was found dead at a Manhattan apartment on the Upper East Side” Hotch noticed the glances of the onlookers before him, although he spared a glimpse at a special brunette who practically harbored his face in a book. “It’s the same location where Ryler’s case took place 6 months ago” Hotch informed. 

Nobody dared to inspect the reaction that had been elicited from Spencer. Although his fingers grew noticeably rigid, imprinting the cover of the novel with discernible markings. His chest heaved as he took in the information, yet his composure remained cold and impervious to the circumstances. 

Morgan looked to Reid in equivocation before reverting his attention to Hotch. “Do you think there could be a connection to the case we worked there?” He inquired, sneaking another glance at Reid in the process. But to no avail, Reid remained motionless. 

“Possibly” Hotch returned, reciprocating the perturbed looks Morgan had directed. “This unsub has the same MO, same victimology, but different signature compared to the case we worked before” He reached over for the case files flipping through the images of the victims and laid them down at the table where he sat at. 

Emily had approached the table, looking over the images. “If you look at the stab wounds on the abdomen of the victim, doesn’t it look familiar to you?” She pointed to the punctures evident on the victim. 

“They resemble the wounds the unsub inflicted on women on the case we had with-” Rossi spoke, pausing mid sentence. “-when we worked that Manhattan case” His voice faded out, dwindling in apprehension to make any mentions of Ryler. 

“Yeah- and if you look at the depth of the wounds, they indicate hesitation marks-” Emily expressed. 

“Our unsub is remorseful” I butted in. 

“That contradicts with the excessive and deliberate overkill this unsub displayed” Spencer muttered, catching the attention of his teammates, although his immersion in his literature didn’t falter. 

“W-well, yeah, I’ll go to the station to start a geogra-”

“Actually, I’ll build the geographic profile for the case to ensure that more people don’t get killed by human error” Spencer disputed, directing his astringent words towards me without losing focus. 

“I guess I’ll go talk to the family of the victim” I stuttered, ducking my head behind my chair to avoid the questionable stares I knew were headed my way. An unrelenting hold tugged on my heart strings, my conscience spiraling in revelations of self resentment. 

“Actually, Y/N, me and Morgan had already contacted the family and said that we were going visit them soo-” Emily corrected, motioning to her and Derek with lamentable eyes. “But, if you really want you can-” She interjected, the tone of her voice exponentially growing to be amiable and motherly. 

“I think it’s better that you and Morgan go, Emily, so we can get an accurate profile on the guy. Maybe this time we can catch him early enough without going in guns blazing, it decreases the statistics for weapon mismanagement” Spencer suggested, this time laying his book flat on the seat next to him, peering at Emily as he insinuated the proceedings of last year’s case. 

“Reid” Hotch warned, a menacing tight lipped expression planted on his features. In defiance of the team leader’s cautioning, Spencer continued to antagonize the situation, justifying his response in order to cover up his personal agenda. 

Hotch sighed diffusing the latter of the interaction by distributing the rest of the details of the case and certain tasks that needed to be done. “Y/N I’m going to need you to go to the Coroner’s office and find out if there’s any new information or if any reports from forensics came back yet” Hotch ordered. 

I nodded in agreement, not meeting his gaze while I fidgeted with my fingers. Unbeknownst to me, the team, excluding Reid, shared a similar expression as they interpreted the tense atmosphere that encompassed the room. 

I picked at my fingers, pulling at various strings of loose skin at the bed of my nails. I bounced my knee in uneasiness, my thoughts beginning to revolve around the case we faced 6 months ago. The same memory of Reid’s apathetic eyes that were fixated on me replayed in my mind, making the feelings of self doubt resurface at the base of my skin. Anger flooded freely throughout my system as if it was welcome and well deserved. I clenched my fists around my novel, doing so in the same way Reid did. 

“At least this time she’ll be looking at dead people instead of causing them” Spencer mumbled under his breath. Despite his certainty in himself to be reticent, it didn’t seem to catch his realization that his chastising comment was coherent enough for the entire team to hear, including myself. 

“Okay, I get it, alright. It was my fault, it was my mistake that killed Ryler but you can’t just sit there alienating me from any case we work on-” 

“No, Y/N you don’t get it. You don’t get to justify you murdering Ryler because you couldn’t do your job” Spencer lashed out.

“Reid-” Hotch attempted to disrupt his malicious annotations, but was promptly shut down by Reid. 

“No Hotch. You always emphasized how important it is to be vigilant in our job, yet you let her inject herself in the investigation knowing she was completely incompetent in the field” 

“Spencer, I’m war-” Hotch was interrupted again by me this time. 

“I WAS TRYING TO BE A GOOD AGENT. Can’t you understand that Spence, I-” 

“Don’t fucking call me Spence” Spencer retorted gritting his teeth, venom practically dripping from his lips as he articulated his words. At this time he stood up from his chair with his chest heaving and hair tousled from running his hands through it. “You don’t get to call me Spence, Ryler called me Spence and you took that away from me, so don’t think you have any authority calling me that”. 

He began his stride towards me, only to be obstructed by Morgan’s arm that held him in his position. 

“Look Spencer, I know I can’t take back what I did and yes, I made a stupid decision-” I spoke coolly, dictating every syllable with an understanding and remorseful tone in order to diffuse the taut ambiance. “But, I’m sorry and I want you to know that I regret everything that I did” I explained. 

Spencer broke Morgan’s restraint on him, shoving his arm away forcefully as he took a few determined steps towards me. 

“Tell that to Mary Anne Ryler, Amina Ryler, and Timothee Ryler” 

“Spencer-”

He moved in closer.

“I had to walk up to their house and tell them that their brother/son had died in the line of work” He explained, setting his hands on the table in front of me. “I had to tell them that he died an honorable death and that he died protecting people” He stared at me with the same deadly eyes at the day of the incident, no sense of remorse palpable on his expression. 

“But he did die an honorable ma-” 

“NO Y/N! I LIED TO THEM” He slammed a firm hand on the tabletop, making the surface rattle as I did when the booming sound met my ears. I crouched down in my seat, feeling my silhouette diminish in his large shadow. 

“Now Reid that’s enough” Hotch bellowed, although he was unsuccessful in alleviating Reid’s onslaught of defaming words. 

“I WANTED TO TELL THEM THAT YOU KILLED HIM BECAUSE YOU DID FUCKING KILL HIM”. Spit flew from the corners of his mouth landing on the leather covers of the airplane seat. “YOUR MISTAKE KILLED HIM”

“IT. WAS. A. MISTAKE. REID” I retorted, feeling my blood begin to boil as Spencer scolded me. I stood up to his level, slamming my hands down to reciprocate the malicious gesture he had displayed previously. “I ALREADY BLAME MYSELF ENOUGH JUST BACK OFF!”

By this time, the rest of the team had readied themselves to intercept if our back and forth became violent. They were the audience of constant bickering that occurred between the two agents for quite some time now, but nothing has ever amounted or elevated to the dispute in front of them. 

“YOU BLAME YOURSELF?!” Spencer began to laugh in a patronizing matter. “YOU BLAME YOUR FUCKING SELF. That’s a fucking joke, well newsflash Y/N, YOU SHOULD!” 

“That doesn’t give you an excuse Rei-” 

“WELL YOU KNOW WHATS AN EXCUSE?” He pulled my chin with the tips of his fingers. “You. You’re a sorry ass excuse for an FBI agent” He whispered disdainfully through gritted teeth, butting my face away with an incredulous expression on his face. His eyes had completely blackened, the hazel hue that resided in his irises dissipating as they were clouded in animosity. 

My impulsivity became too much to subdue as my rising blood pressure took over what little rationality I had. Without thinking, my palm autonomously met Spencer’s cheek with a violent hit, causing him to stumble backwards with his face in his hands. 

The rest of the team jumped into action, separating the both of us. Morgan and Hotch coming to Spencer’s side as Emily and Rossi came to my aid. I maintained my attention to Reid, him doing the same, as we stared at each other with malevolent gazes. I noticed the pockets of blood surface on his cheek, a portion of his curls masking the prominent dark red tint forming on his visage. 

Emily asked of my condition, Rossi reciprocating the same questioning. I assured them of my state and encouraged them to believe that I was fine.

But I wasn’t. 

I could feel every nerve in my system rattle and shake. I felt every pore on my body excrete sweat from the hysteria that I experienced. My head pounded and my body felt like it was being pulled in numerous directions. I took a few shallow breaths to convince myself of a normal composure, but my eyes told the truth of my state. 

Emily wrapped a comforting arm around my waist to steady myself and to regain a sense of stability. Rossi maneuvered back to his seat, taking a second glance at Reid whilst shaking his head in discountenance. 

Silence engulf the jet, the hum of the engine combined with the shifting of the seats was the only sound to be heard. Soft murmurs came from the other side of the room where Morgan and Hotch spoke to Reid in attempt to console him. 

It had been a few minutes after the confrontation, the petulant air of the scene plateauing to a more reasonable space for conversation. I battled with the idea of speaking up, but something needed to be said. 

“Look Reid” I began, penance laced with every word that I spoke. “It was my fault, I made a mistake that costed Ryler’s life and I’m sorry. It’s something that I can’t take back and my job will always revolve around the mistake I made” I continued. 

No response

I took this as encouragement to sustain an explanation. “But with the mistake I made, I know that this will make me a better agent and that I’ll be able to save more lives out there” I sighed, feeling Emily’s hand grasp mine. “I’m sorry Spencer for all the pain and hurt I’ve caused you, but please let me do my job- or at least give me the opportunity to do my job” 

No response again. 

“I know you won’t forgive me, but I hope in time that-” 

“It’s you” He finally spoke up, meeting the line of my gaze. Although his was unreadable, expressionless almost. 

“What?” I ceased my apology, furrowing my eyebrows at him in confusion. 

Chills ran up my spine as I looked into the windows of his eyes. It was like staring into the mind of a serial killer. Uneasiness climbed it’s way back into my skin as I gripped on Emily’s hand. 

“It should’ve been you who died that day Y/N” He spat, disgust and hostility radiating off of him. 

“It should’ve been you”

part 2

-

A/N:

yes there will be a part two, I’m just finishing up requests atm ❤️❤️

[brynhildr-valkyrie-voldsom]

"The eyes tell all.. Unless you don't allow them to.."

Verses:

The Warrior: Asgard

//Brynhildr is essentially an Angel, a Shield maiden of Asgard known as a Valkyrie in old norse. Due to the duty given to her by the Aldafaðr (Odin). She is to transport the worthy dead and dying to Valhalla (the heavens). While obtaining this title/role, Odin had made her leader of the Valkyrior and gifted her with the knowledge to choose which is worthy and which is not. Along with that gift came power, a swirling energetic light within that only surfaced once her emotions got the better of her (Applies with all other verses. This is a headcanon of my own design). Feeling so much but, keeping it bottled up (because, of her stubborn nature) causes that light to seep out from time to time. Evidently her sál (soul) becomes too full and needs to release some of the pent up source. Hence why her eyes shift to gold. As the proof of the term "Eyes are the windows to the soul".

Headcannon: Hel

This Valkyrie/Brynhildr is based on the MCU but, has characteristics of my own design aswell as parts of the background from Norse mythological legends. During the epic battle with Hela back in the 1st Millennium A.D she was nearly decapitated and now has a faint winding scar surrounding the base of her throat (headcanon), which she tries to hide with high collared/leather cloakes and tunics. Usually a worrior is proud of their scars and she has many that she is but, this particular one is a sore spot for her since it is a symbol of her failure, her downfall with the goddess of death, Hela. Aswell as the loss of her lover (Ásta) and Valkyrior sisters. Followed by self banishment.

Scrapper 142/King Valkyrie: Sakaar/New Asgard (Tønsberg, Norway)

At one point she had chose Sakaar to reside on, deciding that the trash planet would be the perfect place to lick her wounds, wallow in self misery, get highly intoxicated on it's liquors and some day die. Another role she had was capturing new species/fugitives that fall through the magnestar wormholes and transport them to her "boss"/ruler of the planet, Grandmaster to fight his "Champion" (Hulk). Being his favourite she gets away with most things and is first on the guest list to most of his gatherings/parties which she attends unwillingly. Everything had been going "swimmingly" until both Loki and Thor were thrust through the wormholes. Loki had been first and she had taken him to the leader (unwilling but easy enough) to which the god of Mischief then became his favourite "toy". Loki and Val developed a sort of love hate relashionship and occasionally got on and then REALLY got on.. If you catch my drift. *brow wiggle* (headcanon)

Thor arrived, he was slightly harder to subdue but, she managed to get an obedience disk attached to his neck and threatened to send thousands of volts throughout his hulking frame everytime he either pissed her off or looked at her oddly. They eventually became friends after he convinced her to help him save Asgard and put a stop to Hela once and for all. She even took to calling him "Your Majesty" once again serving a king but, a kind fair one this time.

Loki finds out about her heritage, brings up some painful memories with a telepathic link that reveals her horrificmemories. They try to kill eachother. She ends up knocking him out and tying him up, throwing things (cans, empty bottles) at him from afar to amuse herself and allow him to feel a minuscule of pain she was feeling from his mind "voodoo"

Fast forward: Thor, Hulk and Val escape Sakaar through the Devil's Anus (Giant Magnestar wormhole in the centre of the trash pile) back to Asgard. Loki's left behind but, eventually catches up, bringing along the Statesman. Ragnarok happened, Asgard, the realm was destroyed but, the Asgardians still remained thanks to using the Statesman as an escape pod/transporter.

They retreated to Midgard (earth) where New Asgard was born and built. Thor didn't want the responsibilities of being king anymore so he handed the role down to Valkyie after a epic and devastating battle with Thanos. (Loki's not dead in this universe)

Valkyrie is now King of New Asgard and is a humble yet stubborn ruler. Her people are number one priority and they want for nothing.

(If you'd like any other information or just have general enquiries about my character, please don't hesitate to messgae me in PM and ask! I'm lovely, I swear. 💜)

(NSFW threads and posts will be tagged under "Naughty Angel" so if you'd like to avoid that, then please scroll past it.)

[gagosiangallery]

Sterling Ruby at Gagosian Athens

April 8, 2021

STERLING RUBY THAT MY NAILS CAN REACH UNTO THINE EYES

May 13–July 31, 2021 22 Anapiron Polemou Street, Athens _________ And are you grown so high in his esteem Because I am so dwarfish and so low? How low am I, thou painted maypole? Speak! How low am I? I am not yet so low But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. —William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream (act 3, scene 2) Gagosian is pleased to present THAT MY NAILS CAN REACH UNTO THINE EYES, an exhibition of new paintings and ceramics by Sterling Ruby. In an oeuvre encompassing sculpture, ceramics, painting, drawing, collage, video, and textiles, Ruby engages art history, his own autobiography, and balances of social power. Creating disruption by contrasting clean lines and recognizable objects with rough and uncanny forms, his works interrogate the canon of art while seeking to critique the institutions and shortcomings of modern society. Ruby composes his WIDW paintings (2016–)—the series is titled after an abbreviated form of “window”—with thick, vibrant coats of acrylic and oil paint, also adhering squares of cardboard and patterned fabric onto canvas. These collaged elements demarcate the canvas into halves and smaller rectangles, transforming the compositions into gridded windowpanes that offer a glimpse into the physical and cerebral strata of Ruby’s working process.

In this new body of work inspired by William Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Ruby makes allusions to theater, likening the vantage of a window frame to the proscenium. Taking a cue from the play’s contrasting settings of judicial ancient Athens and the mystical forest beyond, Ruby bisects each canvas vertically with a strip of painted cardboard, introducing a pillar-like barrier that bright pigments rebound against or cower behind. Featuring dynamic bursts of pink, teal, white, and gold, Ruby’s paintings evoke the fertile yet impermanent aura of springtime. Opposing realms—order and chaos, love and violence, civilization and wilderness—are key to his works, which dwell in moments of transformation. Exploring the liminal space between these dichotomies, Ruby taps into the loss of self that occurs when the identities and innermost desires of the play’s protagonists become enmeshed within a collective subconscious. The exhibition is divided in half between both floors of the Athens gallery: visitors enter a suite of black-grounded “night” paintings before ascending the stairs to reach a set of ethereal “daylight” paintings. Passing through physical space and metaphorical time of day, the viewer follows a path akin to Shakespeare’s characters in their passage from luminous dreamscapes to bright-hued works that impart a vivid psychological clarity. Also on view is ACHERON (2021), part of Ruby’s Basin Theology series (2009–). The sculpture’s title refers to a line in A Midsummer Night’s Dream—“The starry welkin cover thou anon / With drooping fog as black as Acheron”—that invokes the name of the river in Greek mythology that carried the souls of the dead through the underworld to Hades. To make ACHERON, Ruby gathered broken pieces from previous ceramics projects in a flat-bottomed vessel, fusing everything through the firing process. Glazed in volcanic black and lustrous turquoise, the fragments emerge from the kiln in a reincarnated form reminiscent of entombed remains. Employing a similar technique for MORTAR. KISSING WALL’S HOLE (2021), Ruby references text from the play in which a “wall’s hole” creates an access point for forbidden lovers, rendering the ceramic work as a symbolic opening between spaces and people. Sterling Ruby was born in Bitburg, Germany, in 1972, holds American and Dutch citizenship, and lives and works in Los Angeles. Collections include the Tate, London; Centre Pompidou, Paris; Moderna Museet, Stockholm; Museum of Modern Art, New York; Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York; Whitney Museum of American Art, New York; Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago; Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles; Los Angeles County Museum of Art; and San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Exhibitions include DROPPA BLOCKA, Museum Dhondt-Dhaenens, Deurle, Belgium (2013); STOVES, Musée de la Chasse et de la Nature, Paris (2015); Belvedere, Vienna (2016); Ceramics, Des Moines Art Center, Iowa (2018, traveled to Museum of Arts and Design, New York); and Institute of Contemporary Art, Miami (2019–20, traveled to Institute of Contemporary Art, Boston). In June 2019, Ruby launched his clothing label, S.R. STUDIO. LA. CA., after debuting at Pitti Uomo Immagine in Florence, Italy. At the invitation of the Fédération de la Haute Couture et de la Mode, Ruby presented a collection during Paris Couture Week in January 2021. Concurrently, a selection of ceramic sculptures by Ruby will be exhibited within the permanent collections of the Museum of Cycladic Art in Athens. The installation, Sterling Ruby at Cycladic: Ceramics, will also extend to the museum’s temporary exhibition wing and will be on view from May 12 to June 14, 2021, with dates subject to national public health guidelines. _____ Sterling Ruby, WIDW. KNACKS. TRIFLES. NOSEGAYS. SWEETMEATS., 2020, acrylic, oil, elastic, and cardboard on canvas, framed: 73 7/8 × 53 7/8 × 3 1/4 inches (187.6 × 136.8 × 8.3 cm) © Sterling Ruby. Photo: Robert Wedemeyer

[michaelbogild]

Quotes by Fernando Pessoa

All I’ve ever done is dream. That, and only that, has been the meaning of my existence. The only thing I’ve ever really cared about is my inner life. My greatest griefs faded to nothing the moment I opened the window onto my inner self and lost myself in watching. I never tried to be anything other than a dreamer. I never paid any attention to people who told me to go out and live. I belonged always to whatever was far from me and to whatever I could never be. Anything that was not mine, however base, always seemed to be full of poetry. The only thing I ever loved was pure nothingness.

And I have the others in me. Even when I’m far away from them, I am forced to live with them. Even when I’m all alone, crowds surround me. I have no place to flee to, unless I were to flee from myself.

And, like the great damned souls, I shall always feel that thinking is worth more than living.

At first I felt dizzy - not with the kind of dizziness that makes the body reel but the kind that's like a dead emptiness in the brain, an instinctive awareness of the void.

Being tired of all illusions and of everything about illusions – the loss of illusions, the uselessness of having them, the prefatigue of having to have them in order to lose them, the sadness of having had them, the intellectual shame of having had them knowing that they would have to end this way.

Blessed are those who entrust their lives to no one.

Eternal tourists of ourselves, there is no landscape but what we are. We possess nothing, for we don’t even possess ourselves. We have nothing because we are nothing. What hand will I reach out, and to what universe? The universe isn’t mine: it’s me.

Everything around me is evaporating. My whole life, my memories, my imagination and its contents, my personality - it's all evaporating. I continuously feel that I was someone else, that I felt something else, that I thought something else. What I'm attending here is a show with another set. And the show I'm attending is myself.

I am nothing. I'll never be anything. I couldn't want to be something. Apart from that, I have in me all the dreams in the world

I bear the wounds of all the battles I avoided.

I carry my awareness of defeat like a banner of victory.

I feel as if I'm always on the verge of waking up.

I know nothing and my heart achesto know how to think with emotions and to feel with intellect…

I realize that I was all error and deviation, that I never lived, that I existed only in so far as I filled time with consciousness and thought.

I suffer from life and from other people. I can’t look at reality face to face. Even the sun discourages and depresses me. Only at night and all alone, withdrawn, forgotten and lost, with no connection to anything real or useful — only then do I find myself and feel comforted.

I wasn’t meant for reality, but life came and found me.

I'd woken up early, and I took a long time getting ready to exist.

I'm sick of everything, and of the everythingness of everything.

I've always rejected being understood. To be understood is to prostitute oneself. I prefer to be taken seriously for what I'm not, remaining humanly unknown, with naturalness and all due respect

I've never done anything but dream. This, and this alone, has been the meaning of my life. My only real concern has been my inner life.

In order to understand, I destroyed myself.

In the ordinary jumble of my literary drawer, I sometimes find texts I wrote ten, fifteen, or even more years ago. And many of them seem to me written by a stranger: I simply do not recognize myself in them. There was a person who wrote them, and it was I. I experienced them, but it was in another life, from which I just woke up, as if from someone else's dream.

In this metallic age of barbarians, only a relentless cultivation of our ability to dream, to analyse and to captivate can prevent our personality from degenerating into nothing or else into a personality like all the rest.

I’ve dreamed a lot. I’m tired now from dreaming but not tired of dreaming. No one tires of dreaming, because to dream is to forget, and forgetting does not weigh on us, it is a dreamless sleep throughout which we remain awake. In dreams I have achieved everything.

Life is an experimental journey undertaken involuntarily. It is a journey of the spirit through the material world and, since it is the spirit that travels, it is the spirit that is experienced. That is why there exist contemplative souls who have lived more intensely, more widely, more tumultuously than others who have lived their lives purely externally.

Life is what we make of it. Travel is the traveler. What we see isn't what we see but what we are.

Literature is the most agreeable way of ignoring life.

Lord, may the pain be ours, And the weakness that it brings, But at least give us the strength, Of not showing it to anyone!

Man shouldn’t be able to see his own face – there’s nothing more sinister. Nature gave him the gift of not being able to see it, and of not being able to stare into his own eyes. Only in the water of rivers and ponds could he look at his face. And the very posture he had to assume was symbolic. He had to bend over, stoop down, to commit the ignominy of beholding himself.  The inventor of the mirror poisoned the human heart.

Masquerades disclose the reality of souls. As long as no one sees who we are, we can tell the most intimate details of our life. I sometimes muse over this sketch of a story about a man afflicted by one of those personal tragedies born of extreme shyness who one day, while wearing a mask I don’t know where, told another mask all the most personal, most secret, most unthinkable things that could be told about his tragic and serene life. And since no outward detail would give him away, he having disguised even his voice, and since he didn’t take careful note of whoever had listened to him, he could enjoy the ample sensation of knowing that somewhere in the world there was someone who knew him as not even his closest and finest friend did. When he walked down the street he would ask himself if this person, or that one, or that person over there might not be the one to whom he’d once, wearing a mask, told his most private life. Thus would be born in him a new interest in each person, since each person might be his only, unknown confidant.

My hapless peers with their lofty dreams--how I envy and despise them! I'm with the others, the even more hapless, who have no-one but themselves to whom they can tell their dreams and show what would be verses if they wrote them. I'm with those poor slobs who have no books to show, who have no literature beside their own soul, and who are suffocating to death due to the fact that they exist without having taken that mysterious, transcendental exam that makes one eligible to live.

My past is everything I failed to be.

My soul is a black maelstrom, a great madness spinning about a vacuum, the swirling of a vast ocean around a hole in the void, and in the waters, more like whirlwinds than waters, float images of all I ever saw or heard in the world: houses, faces, books, boxes, snatches of music and fragments of voices, all caught up in a sinister, bottomless whirlpool.

My soul is a hidden orchestra; I know not what instruments, what fiddlestrings and harps, drums and tamboura I sound and clash inside myself. All I hear is the symphony.

My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same. Everything interests me, but nothing holds me.

My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same. Everything interests me, but nothing holds me. I attend to everything, dreaming all the while. […]. I'm two, and both keep their distance — Siamese twins that aren't attached.

No intelligent idea can gain general acceptance unless some stupidity is mixed in with it

Sit still with me in the shade of these green trees, which have no weightier thought than the withering of their leaves when autumn arrives, or the stretching of their many stiff fingers into the cold sky of the passing winter. Sit still with me and meditate on how useless effort is, how alien the will, and on how our very meditation is no more useful than effort, and no more our own than the will. Meditate too on how a life that wants nothing can have no weight in the flux of things, but a life the wants everything can likewise have no weight in the flux of things, since it cannot obtain everything, and to obtain less than everything is not worthy of souls that seek the truth.

The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd - The longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are.

The unnatural and the strange have a perfume of their own

There are metaphors more real than the people who walk in the street. There are images tucked away in books that live more vividly than many men and women. There are phrases from literary works that have a positively human personality. There are passages from my own writing that chill me with fright, so distinctly do I feel them as people, so sharply outlined do they appear against the walls of my room, at night, in shadows... I've written sentences whose sound, read out loud or silently (impossible to hide their sound), can only be of something that acquired absolute exteriority and a full-fledged soul.

There are no norms. All people are exceptions to a rule that doesn’t exist.

There are ships sailing to many ports, but not a single one goes where life is not painful.

To be great, be whole; Exclude nothing, exaggerate nothing that is not you. Be whole in everything. Put all you are Into the smallest thing you do. So, in each lake, the moon shines with splendor Because it blooms up above

To have opinions is to sell out to youself. To have no opinions is to exist. To have every opinion is to be a poet.

Today I suddenly experienced an absurd but quite valid sensation. I realized, in an intimate lightning flash, that I am no one. No one, absolutely no one.

Today, suddenly, I reached an absurd but unerring conclusion. In a moment of enlightenment, I realized that I'm nobody, absolutely nobody. When the lightning flashed, I saw that what I had thought to be a city was in fact a deserted plain and, in the same sinister light that revealed me to myself, there seemed to be no sky above it. I was robbed of any possibility of having existed before the world. If I was ever reincarnated, I must have done so without myself, without a self to reincarnate. I am the outskirts of some non-existent town, the long-winded prologue to an unwritten book. I'm nobody, nobody. I don't know how to feel or think or love. I'm a character in a novel as yet unwritten, hovering in the air and undone before I've even existed, amongst the dreams of someone who never quite managed to breathe life into me. I'm always thinking, always feeling, but my thoughts lack all reason, my emotions all feeling. I'm falling through a trapdoor, through infinite, infinitous space, in a directionless, empty fall. My soul is a black maelstrom, a great madness spinning about a vacuum, the swirling of a vast ocean around a hole in the void, and in the waters, more like whirlwinds than waters, float images of all I ever saw or heard in the world: houses, faces, books, boxes, snatches of music and fragments of voices, all caught up in a sinister, bottomless whirlpool. And I, I myself, am the centre that exists only because the geometry of the abyss demands it; I am the nothing around which all this spins, I exist so that it can spin, I am a centre that exists only because every circle has one. I, I myself, am the well in which the walls have fallen away to leave only viscous slime. I am the centre of everything surrounded by the great nothing. And it is as if hell itself were laughing within me but, instead of the human touch of diabolical laughter, there's the mad croak of the dead universe, the circling cadaver of physical space, the end of all worlds drifting blackly in the wind, misshapen, anachronistic, without the God who created it, without God himself who spins in the dark of darks, impossible, unique, everything. If only I could think! If only I could feel!

We all have two lives: The true, the one we dreamed of in childhood And go on dreaming of as adults in a substratum of mist; the false, the one we love when we live with others, the practical, the useful, the one we end up by being put in a coffin.

We are two abysses - a well staring at the sky.

We never love anyone. What we love is the idea we have of someone. It's our own concept—our own selves—that we love.

We worship perfection because we can't have it; if we had it, we would reject it. Perfection is inhuman, because humanity is imperfect.

What Hells and Purgatories and Heavens I have inside of me! But who sees me do anything that disagrees with life--me, so calm and peaceful?

When all by myself, I can think of all kinds of clever remarks, quick comebacks to what no one said, and flashes of witty sociability with nobody. But all of this vanishes when I face someone in the flesh: I lose my intelligence, I can no longer speak, and after half an hour I just feel tired. Talking to people makes me feel like sleeping. Only my ghostly and imaginary friends, only the conversations I have in my dreams, are genuinely real and substantial.

Whether or not they exist we are slaves to our gods.

Without madness what is man But a wholesome beast, Postponed corpse that begets

[doodle-empress66]

Hazbin Hotel: Perma Frost Full Bio

General

“It’s BULLSHIT that I’m down here! Stuck in this ugly ass form! I did the shit I did to SURVIVE! No one has ever watched out for me! So I watched out for myself the best way I knew how!”

- Perma Frost to Charlie

Full/True name: Petra  

Nickname(s) or Alias:  

Perma Frost, Perma

Perm

 The Killer Frost Demon

Kid (By Husk)

Ice Queen (By Angel)

Little Girlie (Niffty)

Young Miss (By Alastor)

Bruja de hielo (By Vaggie)

Gender: Female

Species: Human (formerly), Ice Demon

Age: 14

Birthday: Jan 6th 

Sexuality:   Autochorisexual-Aegoromantic

Nationality: Icelandic

City or town of birth: Vik, Iceland

Currently lives: The Outskirts of Pentagram City

Native language: Icelandic  

Relationship Status: Single  

Appearance  

Height: 5'5   

Figure/build: Slender, somewhat curvy build, with long, dark blue icicle-like fingers. Powder blue skin

Hair color: Light Blue (Normally),   Transparent light blue (when angered or frightened)

Hairstyle: Long and unruly  

Eye color: A glowing icy blue hue that shifts

Tattoos: A snowflake on her back    

Preferred style of clothing: ALWAYS wearing a large hooded jacket/coat that covers the entire top half of her body. Large black snow boats. And navy blue tights

General Past life  

Human Name: Petra (She renounced her last name)

Birthday: 6th Jan 2005

Age of Death: 14

Cause of Death: Froze to death/Blood loss

Death day: 23 Aug 2019

Personality 

Perma is an intense, cautious, volatile, and resentful teenager. She’ll do whatever it takes just to make it through the day regardless of who she has to harm or fight. She loathes adults and doesn’t trust them or their judgement, and always believes they're going to hurt her. Nor does she like being told what to do. So she often gets into a lot of fights with older demons, Perma will at times rush head first into a fight without thinking things through due to being blinded by her violent nature and past trauma. She has little to no friends or acquaintances because of the sheer brute force of her powers, somewhat lack of control and unwillingness to listen to people. Despite being unapproachable most of the time, deep down Perma wants a kind soul to turn to for love and guidance. But, pushes away this feeling due to the bad hand life and death has handed her. 

 History  

Born in Vik, Iceland in 2005, since she could walk; Petra knew nothing but misery and neglect. Abused and mistreated by her egg and sperm donor, growing up in a strange cult certainly didn't help little Petra. Forced to deal with going hungry and cold from the old shredded clothes she was forced to wear. As well as participating in her mother's questionable practices. Her family often took part in the ancient art of Icelandic witchcraft. Writing questionable symbols everywhere in the blood of animals they caught. Reading from old books with disturbing otherworldly images. Even carving up their own bodies as a sign of devotion to some strange dark entity. Petra didn't understand these events but knew only bad things could come from it.

Life didn’t get much better for the young Icelandic when she was set up to be a sacrifice in one of the cult's shamanic ceremonies, she managed to slip away and ran until she arrived at an old rundown village. Only 9 years old at the time. From there, the next 4 years were awful. Petra had to survive on scraps she found in the trash or steal food and clothing from unsuspecting villagers. Years on the street, being treated like dirt from those around her, a child no one wanted around, caused Petra to grow hateful to world and the vile people who inhabited it. No one had any concern for her. No one cared about her. Her life meant nothing to ANYBODY. So after that, the lives of others didn’t mean a damn thing to her.

At 11, Petra committed her first murder. She was low on scraps and slowly starving. Following a frail elderly woman with a bag full of food, Petra took out an ice pick she had swiped from some workers and drove it into the back of the woman’s head. 

Soon after, the dreaded streets Petra wandered were now becoming littered with the bodies of the people she stole from. Little did she realize, these malicious acts were changing in ways that were beyond human understanding. Something malevolent and cold started growing inside her body. Warping her soul.

Two years, this continued...until Petra chose the wrong target. A lanky young man, who looked a few years older than her, was smoking in an alley. Driven by survival, bloodlust and greed to what type of goods the man had on his person, Petra struck with her signature ice pick. Too bad, the man wasn’t unarmed. Nor was he alone. That’s all she remembered from that specific day. And how she wished she just kept walking.

The man was part of a group of sex traffickers looking around for young girls and women to add to their market. And 14 year old Petra was added to that collection.

The following year was a new level of Hell for the young girl. Beaten, abused, used in the most vile of ways by these men and others. Petra resisted at each turn but the suffering increased more and more. Then the vile concoction, meth they called it, they forced her to take each day. Told her that it would make her more “enjoyable company”. Some days and nights blurred into each other. This...drug made her forget the pain, the misery, the horrid existence she was subjected to. But reality came back full throttle to punch her in the face once it wore off. It made Petra feel disgusting and free at the same time. Just like the girls around her, empty shells with blissful smiles on their faces.

  She was right at the edge of just ending it, but the stubborn part of her refuse to give her tormentors the satisfaction. One night, while she was getting prepared for a client, Petra managed to break away and shank one of the guards with an icicle she snatched from outside of a window. That kill was easy, but the second guard managed to let out a shout before Petra rammed the spike into his eye.

Petra rushed out into the winter forest, away from the building she was held captive. Wearing nothing but a pair of booty shorts and a flimsy tank top and armed with a bloody icicle. The traffickers hot on her trail with guns and rope. Each day of hiding, running, and avoiding bullets was made worse with trying to fight the freezing cold. One bullet managed to pierce her side. On that night, Petra finally found a small cave to duck into, her feet and hands black and swollen. She was practically a light blue.

Using the last of her strength to make a small, pitiful fire, Petra packed her bullet wound with snow as a sad attempt to stop the bleeding. She leaned against the cave wall and closed her eyes. Thinking back to all the events that transpired that lead her to this. The memories slowly getting darker and darker...

She woke up abruptly from crashing down onto the ground. The teen shot up, disoriented and looked around. Her eyes fell onto a large sign reading, “Welcome to Hell.”

Sins committed to get into hell: Theft, Murder, Assault, Manslaughter, Prostitution (Not her choice)

Any regrets in what they have done: No...depends 

Likes:  

Doing whatever she wants

Warm food

Parkour

Heavy metal music

Necessary Violence

Beating up adults

Animals

Children

Being left alone

Dislikes:  

Adults

Being touched

Limited freedom

Being told what to do

Guns

Silence

Drugs

Anything sex related

Short clothing

Frozen Food

Fears/phobias:  

Men touching her/being near her

Being tied up

The sight of her own blood

Dark rooms

Cults

Sexual acts of any kind

Being drugged

Favorite color: 

White 

Hobbies:  

Ice/snow surfing

Brawling/Street Fighting

Reading scary stories

Parkouring

Stealing

Talents/skills:

Great at the drums

Ice skating (lol)

Parkouring

Intimidation

Fighting

Very Observant/ Quick Learner

Favorite food(s):  

Skyr (Yougurt)

Harðfiskur (dried fish)

Reykjavik's Hot Dog

Favorite drink(s):  

Slushies

Pineapple Soda

Hot Chocolate

Significant/special belongings:  

Her icepick

Spiked choker

Combat  

Fighting skills/techniques:  

Very good street fighter/brawler

Excellent stabbing and hacking skills

Weapon of choice (if any):  

Ice Pick

Unique Abilities:

Cold Magic- is able to perform a form of magic that allows them to utilize cold, either magically manipulating it

Cryokinesis- can create, shape, move, control, interact and manipulate ice.

Cold manipulation- can create, shape and manipulate cold by reducing the kinetic energy of atoms and thus making things colder

Atmospheric Freezing- an freeze the air/atmosphere itself regardless of air quality, abundant and trace gases, air temperature, etc., allowing her to either convert that air/atmosphere directly to ice or simply super chill it.

Absolute Freezing- can freeze anything, from tangible targets to intangible energy such as fire, or concepts such as time, even a person's mind.

Cold Embodiment- acts as the personification or manifestation of cold in their reality and has limitless control over coldness and can use coldness in different ways.

Cold Breath- able to generate and manipulate cold energy within her in a way that allows her to shape the exhaling of the effect.

Cold Presence- has the ability to project a field that lowers the temperature around her, creating a constant chill.

Cold Weaponry- create or wield weaponry with power over cold, which grants Perma a wide variety of cold-based abilities, including slowing down molecules, freezing a target solid, and limiting healing.

Cryo-Phasing- combines intangibility and ice powers to freeze the objects she passes through.

Cryogenic Bodily Fluids- possesses freezing cold bodily fluids (blood, sweat, saliva, etc.

Cryokinetic Creature Creation- is able to create beings of ice or shape existing ice into wanted shapes and purposes. She can grant the beings varying levels of independence (controlled, automatons/programmed, semi-independent) and existence (momentary to permanent) and delete the creature once she is done with them.

Cryokinetic Claws- can project and retract razor-sharp claws of ice from her fingertips for offensive purposes.

Cryokinetic Combat- able to utilize ice manipulation with her physical combat, allowing her to both create tools and weapons for attack and manipulate the environment for her advantage

Cryokinetic Cloning- can create clones of herself, others and/or objects by using ice.

Cryokinetic Surfing- controls the ice in a way that increases her ability to move and/or maneuver either by granting her abilities she otherwise lack or allowing them to ignore normally needed equipment.

Cryokinetic Regeneration- can use ice to regenerate her bodies with the amount of ice used defining the speed of healing.

Demonic Ice Manipulation- One of her most powerful attacks. She can generate and manipulate mystical demonic ice, which cannot be melted by mortal means, drawn straight from the darkest fears sentient minds have about winter, ice and arctic areas, including the fears of treacherous ice breaking, burying/devouring, damaging or tripping the victim in malicious awareness.

Demonic Ice Breath - able to generate and manipulate demonic ice within her in a way that allows her to shape the exhaling of the effect. These shapes can include bursts, streams, spheres, even a mist of it from the mouth.

Dark Ice Manipulation - More powerful attack. She can create, shape and manipulate the ice of a darker, detrimental nature; that which damages, destroys, and consumes anything/everything she comes across, representing the hazardous destructive side of ice, which in turn ignores most of the limitations and weaknesses of the normal ice. In essence, this is about solely controlling the negative dark powers of ice.

Frostbite- can freeze up any part of an enemy's body where she can turn the tissues and flesh into solid ice making the victim shatter into pieces due to freeze drying, or cause a swelling making it hard to move for the victim.

Frozen Surface- can cause surfaces (often floor) to emit ice/cold, causing ice/cold-damage on anything in contact with her or the ice.

Hail Generation- can generate and project hail.

Ice Aura- can release and surround herself in/with ice/cold for defensive and/or offensive purposes, possibly becoming almost untouchable and granting her various abilities/attacks.

Ice Vortex Creation - can generate spirals/vortices composed of ice. The vortex can be projected as a long ranged attack or as a tornado of ice for both offensive and/or defensive purposes.

Omnidirectional Ice Waves- can release massive amounts of ice in every direction at once for almost unlimited scales. This power allows Perma to dispatch many foes at once and destroy large areas like cities/villages.

Snow Ball Projection- able to launch spheres of snow at targets with varying degrees of force.

Snow Solidification- can solidify or give solid-like properties to snow-based substances with the level of solidity going from loose jelly to metal-like hardness or beyond. Alternatively, Perma can also harden snow to make it denser and harder to break.

Un-melt able Ice- can generate and project snow/ice that is extremely difficult to or cannot by melted by normal means, such as extreme heat or fire.

Weaknesses in combat:  

Intense heat/fire

No control when pushed too far

Turns to solid ice when she goes overboard

Due to her constant chill, she can’t sneak up on people

Strengths in combat:  

Wide and short range attacks

Nearly indestructible ice walls

Hidden demon form 

Wild unpredictable street fighting style

Can create ice creatures, structures, and weapons

Relationships

Past life Relationships

Parents: Unknown 

Siblings: None  

Other Important Relatives: None  

Children: None 

Best Friend:   None yet

Other Important Friends:  None yet

Acquaintances:  None yet

Pets: None  but wants one

Enemies:  

Anyone who tries to mess with her.

Alastor (Frenemy-ish)

Hazbin Relationships: 

Charlie- Put off by her eagerness and determination to redeem sinners. Didn’t trust her at first and kept her distance. Slowly warmed up to Charlie’s kindness and learned to trust her and others.

Vaggie- Disliked her attitude, and authority. Would tick her off with snide comments and constantly freezing her and/or Charlie. Started to bond over their dislike of Alastor and men a bit. Told Vaggie of her life and hardships, now have a big sis/little sis connection.

Angel Dust- Because of his sexual nature, she was terrified of Angel and avoided him. Even freezing him solid a few times out of fear/self-defense. Calm down a little once, she learned that he’s gay. The two became close once Angel shared his own stories of abuse. Also adores Fat Nuggets.

Alastor- Instantly loathes Alastor due to his disregard for personal space and creeper smile. Sees him as a closet pervert and often talks trash about his radio broadcasts and calls him an "a limp dick old man". Perma was unaware of Alastor's reputation, but sees him as a sicko who likes to inflate his own ego and harrass those he sees as beneath him. One of the few demons who doesn't fear Alastor, but that's due to her own ignorance and inexperience. Often tries to start fights with him by crude derogatory comments. Or freezing him.

Husker- Didn't think much of Husk at first, but liked the fact the he's a cat. The two barely interacted until she sang to herself in German and Husk responded back. They slowly began to converse with each other more and more. Husk actually listening to her woes and offering some advice. Vice versa. Due to Husk keeping to himself and respecting boundaries, Perma respects and listens to Husk more than anyone. Calms down whenever he's around. The two soon form a father/daughter like relationship.

Niffty- Was put off by Niffty's persnickety and energetic persona. Also irritated her by the frost she leaves behind. But they grow to tolerate each other over time.

Trivia 

Sin - Wrath

Can speak 5 languages: Icelandic, German, Polish, English, and Dutch. This is due to the men she came in contact with during her time on the streets and while trafficked

The spiked choker she wears was a gift from one of the older trafficked girls. It was the first time she was given ANYTHING nice.

Speaks with a thick Icelandic accent

Her lips are dark  blue from her cold

Given her sexual abuse, Perma doesn’t just hate sex, she’s TERRIFIED of it.

Perma keeps to herself and talks to no one unless confronted. 

She knows nothing about the Overlords or power scale.

She keeps her distance from friendly people. To her, everyone is out to get something.

Perma loves heavy metal, it helps her release the pain and fury she feels

With enough patience and practice, Perma could fight on par with an overlord

She likes animals, they never harm you

She eats warm food, to feel ‘alive’. 

One negative act towards her, no matter how small, can set her off

[mcfanely]

Golem AU

For @razzle-zazzle‘s Golem AU, because I can’t get enough of it

Gaia Brookstone could do many things, She was a dancer first and foremost, something that had caught the eye of her now husband, Lou; she was creative, imaginative, and gifted with incredible powers passed down through her family lineage. The Earth seemed to bend to her guidance, shift and form under her steady hand. Maybe that was why ceramics and pottery came so easily to her? But faced with the inability to have her own biological child, she resorted to something only she would think was possible. A clay Golem, one with free will. Guided not by instructions, but by heart and soul, by magic. He would be her masterpiece, a worthy inheritor of her elemental powers. He would be her son, Cole. 

Part 1: Spells and Sigils, 2477 words

Cole found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror again. 

He would have thought that he was used to what he looked like, since not that much ever really changed about him on a day to day basis, yet sometimes he still caught himself staring. 

Staring at the water dripping from his hair following the morning shower, carving a path that was crafted by the muscle on his shoulder and down his chest. Then it eventually met its routes end, dropping off, missing the towel he had wrapped around his waist and hitting the wooden floor of his bedroom in the monastery. More drops of water followed in its wake. Cole still stared. 

It was probably because of the day. That was it, it was because of the day he was looking at himself in a different light that didn't make itself known on normal days. 

It was only once a year, when this day came about. The anniversary of the day his mother had finished her magnum opus, a project that she'd put her life and talents and everything into. Something she'd crafted so lovingly, skilled hands moulding an immense amount of clay; painting perfect and exact amounts of glaze onto the visage of an adolescent male. Months and months of work coming to fruition in the form of something she'd always wanted but had always eluded her. 

This was the day that she'd brought her son into the world. 

The day that she had finally filled him with magic and life, the day she'd created an extremely unique being. 

Well, with the elemental power of Earth along with an innate grasp of magic courtesy of her parents and pure talent for ceramics, it was no wonder that she'd managed to create something that had never been done before.

A clay Golem, this time guided by a soul. A Golem with elemental powers, one that wasn't controlled by instructions on a small piece of paper or stone tablet placed under the tongue every morning. 

There was free will. The ability to speak, to walk around, to eat and enjoy food, to feel emotions and love. All due to a neat and flowing script of runes dutifully marked over his body. 

Cole lifted his hand and slowly ran his fingers over the scripture situated above his left collarbone. The words were a deep black colour, easily mistaken for a tattoo; the colour had faded just a little from what it used to be but the glyphs were still clear. 

'Speech' or 'The act of speaking', was the literal translation. 

Everything he was, was held in these short symbols on his skin, and without them he was literally nothing but a soulless automation with nothing else. No emotion, no self-awareness, no thoughts -- he'd been there before. Twice, actually. 

The first time was on the Dark Island, and a misplaced swing from a stone warrior had taken a good chunk of stone from his shoulder and rendered the speech rune useless. 

Then there was Chen's island, where all of the runes had been blurred due to the loss of his elemental abilities and with them his soul. That hadn't been a fun experience, from what he could remember of it. He was lucky he'd been able to plan for the scenario. 

But the runes were a part of him, always had been. 

He was Cole Brookstone, son of Lou and Gaia Brookstone, and today marked the ninth year of being given life. 

His birthday. Even though, technically, he wasn't born by conventional means. 

Even though he wasn't even human. 

Cole let out a small breath and went over to his bed to get ready for the day, pulling his gi over his still sodden hair. At least he didn't need to keep his lack of humanity a secret anymore, since a damaged rune and Misako with an in depth knowledge of old magic made keeping everything under wraps pretty hard.

Though he had been lucky in some respect, since if Misako hadn't been there to explain the situation and help fix the rune, then Cole would have found it very hard to guide his then very concerned family as to how to properly put a broken Golem back together when he literally had no words to use. No voice. Nothing. 

Still, birthday or not, there was no rest from training; not when the resident electric chicken had some method of finding its way into anyone's room who wasn't awake and in the courtyard on time. 

Cole shuddered at the notion and towelled off his hair as best he could, though his gi had definitely not been spared from the water. 

Today was just a normal day. A regular day. Birthday celebrations were never his thing anyway. 

If he could just have a relaxing day training, then he'd class that as a win.. 

Though that went out the window as he swung open the door to his room, and the blue blur that was Jay shot past without so much as a 'Look out!'.

"Hey, watch where you're going, Ozone Breath! Some of us are still waking up!" Cole shouted down the hallway as he stepped out, his hands absentmindedly tightening his belt a little. Something to fiddle with. 

Jay turned back with a grin and a raised eyebrow, "Someone hasn't had his morning coffee!" He shouted back, then turned and made his way outside. 

How he had any energy at that time in the morning, Cole wasn't entirely sure. But he could put it down to him staying up all night playing video games, and running on leftover adrenaline and fumes. 

At least that meant training would be a breeze. 

Cole walked outside. 

Everyone else was already there, and in a mixed state of wakefulness. Zane, as per usual, was sitting down in a meditative position near the centre of the pavilion; Kai was swinging his sword randomly at a training dummy before a large yawn broke free from his mouth. 

Cole liked to think he was awake enough for early morning training, but the fuzziness in his vision and his slightly dragging feet even after a good shower said otherwise. 

One good thing about the day was that no one was the wiser to it's significance. They just got on with everything, and for that he was thankful. 

"Ever think we should move training into the afternoon." came Lloyd's voice as he walked out into the courtyard, stretching his arms above his head. If Sensei Wu had been within ear shot, those words would have earned a sharp tap to the head with his bo-staff. 

Jay sighed, "We tried that once, but Sensei said we were wasting the day."

"And what better time to get things done?" Cole raised an eyebrow, spreading his hands as he walked towards the general middle of the group. "Train in the morning, then we have the rest of the day to do whatever."

"Morning should start at nine, not at six."

He couldn't help the eye roll at Jay's remark. "You know, maybe if you went to sleep instead of playing games all night you might not feel like walking roadkill. It's not like we're doing it for no reason, being a ninja is a full-time job." Cole looked around the group, "And I don't want Sensei to start messing with us again."

There seemed to be a unanimous thought that ran through the team in a second, and acknowledgement that no one wanted to go through that experience again. Even Zane winced at the memory of a booby trapped monastery. 

Cole clapped his hands once. 

"Right, sooner we start, sooner we'll finish. Sparring with weapons today, no powers."

"Ha! Because Kai is always losing his!" 

There was a growled, "Shut it, Jay!” then Kai turned to face Cole, “Anyway, who said you were deciding what we were doing?" The question was general, and expected. 

"I don't see anyone else with any plans. Plus, we need to learn to not rely on our abilities. We've all lost them before at some point or another."

"Yeah, but when we lose our powers we don't become decor." Jay said. 

Cole rolled his eyes. He was used to that, the teasing, it actually made him smile slightly. If you couldn't laugh at your flaws--

He went over to the weapons rack and hefted a hammer. Heavy, but balanced. Perfect. 

"Jay, you're with me."

Jay spluttered, "What? But I was going to go against Zane!"

"You can go against Zane afterwards, as well, if you want." Cole gave a slight smile, resting the head of the hammer against the ground, "Don't want to fight me? Scared or something?" 

There was a laugh from behind him, and it sounded like Lloyd. 

That just seemed to spur Jay on, his voice growing an octave. "Me, scared of you? Not in a million years, dirt clod." 

"Really? You know, you had me fooled. I thought I saw you shaking in your boots."

Arcs of lightning flickered briefly over the chain of Jay's nunchucks before they died down just as fast, "I'm not-- You know what, fine! Just don't cry when I put you on your ass." 

"I don't cry."

There was a brief pause, "Is that like a Golem thing? Or--" 

"No, no, it's a choice. I just do the exact opposite of what you do and I haven't cried in years."

Cole could see Jay getting riled and tightened his grip on his hammer, but otherwise didn't move a muscle.

"You can fight Zane. I get it, don't want to go against me. No shame in admitting that you're--" 

The first strike came as fast as lightning, and he'd barely shifted out of the way before the second one descended. 

This wasn't Jay using his powers, he was just scary fast. Which was why the choice of sparring partner was to both of their advantages. Jay was fast, Cole was strong. They both had contending qualities that they needed to learn to fight against. 

On the third strike, he lifted his hammer, supporting it with two hands and received a reverberating clang of metal through his arms when both the weapons made contact. 

Though the fight didn't stop there, it was only getting started. 

Cole already felt wide awake. 

He stepped forwards and swung his weapon, missing Jay by a hair breadth. 

The next blows were traded sharply, fluidly. Moving from offence to defence in less than a second. 

Cole would be lying if he said he didn't like sparing against Jay. He was a formidable opponent, especially when he stopped cracking jokes and focused. Which was rare enough. 

"Come on, Sparky, you really think some fancy nunchuck spins are going to beat me?" He took a small step back to catch his breath. He didn't know what the rest of the team was doing, but with the amount of area they were using up for this spar, they were probably watching what was happening. 

Then in the next second Jay was right in front of him, and the nunchucks connected with his cheek a millisecond later. 

Cole's face snapped sideways, though he held his ground. His feet barely even moved from their position, if only for a minor step back. His eyes widened, though he opened and closed his jaw as if to check it was still working, and still connected to his face. 

His reaction to the strike, or lack thereof, seemed to translate over to Jay. 

Jay, who stood there, slack jawed and nunchucks held loosely in his grip. "You just--! What?" He shouted, "You didn't even move! Did you even feel that?" 

Cole carefully ran his fingers over his cheek. If that hit had been any harder, or with a more formidable weapon, it could have caused a bit of damage. "I felt something." He admitted, then raised an eyebrow at Jay, "Definitely something." 

"You-- what? Was that like--" Jay paused, his hands moving a mile a minute, as if he was trying to find the words. "That was a Golem thing, wasn't it? That better have been a Golem thing!" 

"It was a Golem thing." Cole admitted, then rolled his shoulders. "Try harder next time, you might make me take two steps back."

Famous last words. 

They traded blows for another minute before Jay got another solid hit in. 

This time a direct downwards strike to his shoulder, and Cole's hand immediately shot up to the site of the impact with a pained grunt. 

Jay, meanwhile, seemed elated he'd got another hit in. 

"Ow." Cole mumbled, wincing as he fingering at a gash that was now sliced into his gi. It was just washed, fresh on that morning and now he'd either have to stitch it or bin it. 

No, Jay was going to fix it, if he was so happy to have caused the damage in the first place. 

Cole straightened himself up, lightly waving off an approaching Zane with a small smile, then he wheeled around to the blue ninja dancing about the courtyard. 

The hit had hurt, and whilst they were no stranger to bumps and grazes from training, they didn't purposefully aim for injury. 

Jay had. Whether he'd realised it or not, he'd gone in with the intent to make contact again. Maybe get a better reaction than the brick wall one he'd gotten beforehand. 

If Cole had been any closer to human, that strike would have shattered bone.

"Jay, you i- i-" Cole faltered for a second, the word catching sharply in his throat. He gave a small cough to clear it, and dropped his hammer down onto the stone inlay. 

"Y- you i-." Cole frowned. He knew what he wanted to say, he knew what word he wanted to use. 

It just wasn't coming out.

"Cole?" He saw Kai walking over, his eyebrows furrowed. "Are you okay?" 

"I- I'm f- f- fine." He ground out, then brought a hand up to quickly cover his mouth.

Cole looked around the group, at their analysing and confused expressions; one hand was still cradled tightly over his shoulder. 

"Are you hurt?" came the question, though Kai had probably already established an answer for that. 

Cole definitely had. 

Yet physically he felt fine, sure his shoulder stung and his words were jamming in his throat, but he was fine… 

He was--

His words.

He quickly felt over his shoulder, his fingers moving in a calculated motion, small circles. Down over his chest, up to his neck, over his collarbone--

Then they dipped into a prominent crevice that hadn't been there that morning. A crack, he didn’t even need to look to know that. He could feel it, the flaking clay, the rough edges and the fissure that marred once smooth skin.

A crack, over his collarbone. 

Directly through the runes.

____

Cross-posted to AO3

Part 2 coming soon!

[hungover-and-broke-student]

esthetics for the entities, part i.   bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. rest of the fears here.  this is based on a horror podcast;  potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

i.  the buried.   weighed blankets.  drowning.  the comfort of a loved one’s weight.  soil and sand piling on top of you.  hugging so hard it hurts a little.  cramped hiding spots.  letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.  walls pressing in on you.  not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little.  dragging the last second before you have to inhale.  lonely subways.  feeling like one with the earth.  a layer of dirt on you.  looking for something below.  cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts.  hands calloused from digging.  knowing that your purpose is just below the surface.  entering your final resting place before it kills you.  a storm drowning you out.  dust and sand speaking to you.

ii.  the corruption.   insects.  a close imitation of the natural course of life.  an illness in a community.  a rag that dirties more than it cleans.  an untreated wound.  containment.  breaching containment.  unbreathable air.  fungi.  one with that you love.  one with what loves you.  a corpse unfit for a glass case.  hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs.  honeycomb patterns.  an ecosystem within a person.  a curse passed on.  the hubris of a scientist.  an ugly death where a glorious one is owed.  blood on a handkerchief.  parasites.  something pushing up the sewer.  a mask to keep something out.  trypophobia.  knowing you belong.  death weeks after impact.  fever.  food that’s gone off.  pandora’s box.  death behind a glass.

iii.  the dark.   shadows.  lights that turn off by themselves.  the feel of cold marble.  a beaked creature in the night.  the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing.  touch of something you can’t see.  hiding under a blanket.  white, clouded eyes.  months without going outside during sunlight.  pouring dark.  unscrewing lightbulbs.  black matter.  light sensitivity.  a starless night.  time before light was created.  a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.  withering plants.  a world without a sun.  footfalls in an empty house in the night.  a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.  desperate reach for a flashlight.  clothes that hide your shape.  staying unperceivable.  winter months in the north.  an empty church.

iv.  the desolation.   senseless pain.  warmth of faith.  wax where skin should be.  a blazing fire.  heat without a source.  the third or fourth tragedy in the family.  losing everything you’ve ever held dear.  so much to live for, gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline.  touch that scars.  coffee cup that never goes cold.  scorch marks on wood.  inescapably warm air.  a child born in fire.  death of a loved one.  a candle without a flame.  an altar in the middle of the woods.  animals with burnt fur.  plastic explosives.  burning hot metal.  sweating in an interrogation room.  never touching a loved one.  disfigurement.  a kiss that ruins you.  the scent of burning fat.  a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.  the agony of hellfire displayed as art.  auburn hair.  little clothing in cold weather.  a ripple in the air.  trying to cool down in vain.

v.  the flesh.   body horror.  factories.  a hunger for something more filling.  never quite happy with how you look.  the terror of an animal waiitng for slaughter.  a very good meal.  the liquid of a perfect steak.  fighting your worst survival instincts.  a twisted bone.  long nights working out.  more than one heart.  appearance that shapes like clay.  a bag of bones.  bone broth in a pot.  knowing to fear pigs.  the butcher’s shop.  plastic surgery.  something alien inside your body.  a hunger in the gaze laid upon you.  unwitting cannibalism.  forgetting what you used to look like.  being admired for your appearance and appearance only.  teeth marks on skin.  scars from wounds that should’ve killed you.  cooking in scarcity.  fenced in with one way to go.

vi.  the end.   the last page of a book.  nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares.  a skeletal hand.  the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.  existential pain.  ivory dice.  flatlining in a hospital.  gambiling with death.  as old as the universe.  soul and spirit tied to an object.  a dream where you die.  closing your eyes for the last time.  the plead of a dying one.  knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it.  a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.  skin that’s freezing to the touch.  an act of desperation.  someone’s life for yours.  an eternity spent alive.  the cost of your selfishness.  watching your own burial.  causing your own burial.  the smell of death.  numbness to fear.  words from someone gone.  meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe.  multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

vii.  the eye.   googling something you shouldn’t have.  eureka moments.  the unforgiving lens of a camera.  witness reports.  hidden libraries.  eyes of different colours.  feeling of being watched.  a death recorded in tape.  a tragedy you can’t watch away from.  endangering yourself for knowledge.  truth.  analog records.  a symbol of an eye.  a watch tower.  compulsion to document.  turning on recording devices without thinking about it.  saving the evidence before the person.  extracting information.  truth or dare, without the dare.  a thirst for knowledge.  books that speak to you.  coordinated shelves.  cataloguing systems.  voyerism.  police report you can’t put down.  reasoning your way out.  smell of old papers.  books that read you back.

viii.  the hunt.   sharp canines.  sore calves after a run.  the scent of blood.  an adventure for the journey’s sake.  the adrenaline right before the kill.   a whistle’s echo.  the woods.  the doe eyes of a prey animal.  your own breath in the air.  sharpened claws.  being tracked.  fear of someone knowing your every movement.  hunting down monsters.  hide and seek.  running away only to end up where you started.  staying alive purely because the enemy enjoys seeing you run.  a set of footsteps behind you.  blood dripping from bare hands.  barks and growls.  focused eyes.  a victim going limp under your hands.  a mouth full of fresh blood.  catching the scent of something monstorous.  perfecting your craft.  peering into the dark and running after it.

ix.  the lonely.   an apartment too small for a double bed.  completely vacant streets.  waking up to see everyone gone.  fog.  point nemo.  a house too big to hear your family members in.  alone in a faceless crowd.  a mask with nothing behind it.  separated cubicles.  a deafening silence where joy should be.  a blinding spotlight.  the least missed in your friend group.  streets without lights in the windows.  isolation.  not truly knowing your friends.  your friends not truly knowing you.  need for silence.  fear of crowds.  staring into space knowing nothing is looking back at you.  a ship alone at sea.  depression.  knowing your friends are better off without you.  talking to someone only to realise they’re gone.  a family too large to notice you there.  safety in being alone.

x.  the slaughter.    a game of tag.   senseless violence.  a true crime hobby.  improvised weapons.  blinding rage.  intent to kill.  a horrific day in a quiet community.  a medal of bravery.  holding on to what validates your anger.  history books that spare no details.  an injury you want revenge for.  war.  counting kills.  songs of soldiers.  a knifeblock on the counter.  a pool of blood.  shellshock.  unspeakable horrors.  anger pushing you forward.  unimaginable pain.  not seeing who will hurt you but knowing the pain is coming.  a fully human monster.  an authority sending its lessers to their deaths.  kill or be killed.  unedited wartime memoirs.  a weapons collection.  not knowing the names of who you kill.  too many to remember.  loss of hope.  there’s no heroes in war.

xi.  the spiral.   sleep deprivation.  corridors you can get lost in.  maze puzzles that loop back on themselves.  losing possessions.  losing people.  losing your sanity.  corkscew curls.  rows of funhouse mirrors.  optical illusions.  a separate reality.  walking through the wrong door.  delusions.  not knowing what your hands are doing.  blank spaces in documents.  hallucinations.  wrong proportions.  a nameless thing.  a place that has never existed.  doubting your own mind.  blind faith.  losing track of names, labels, categories.  distorted sound.  an imperfection in a glass that twists the view.  loss of time.  a garish colour.  doors that open to nowhere.  lies.  an unnatural laugh.  jokes and tricks.  illusions.  a doorway.  a sculptor with a wild imagination.  limbs in impossible angles.  doing what’s fun, not what’s sensible.  fractals you can get lost in.

xii.  the stranger.   wax figures.  a close approximation of a human face.  a borrowed appearance.  a strange smell.  glass eyes.  furs and pelts.  a dance.  a song of a choir.  the uncanny valley.  stitching yourself together.  the colours of a circus.  a puppet with no strings.  mannequins.  glitter and sequin.  a stranger you’ve always known.  someone strange in the place of someone you knew.  stolen identities.  stolen skins.  a machine imitating humanity.  the anonymity of a service worker.  hiding in plain sight.  uncomfortable to look at.  a faked accent.  concealing.  forgetting who you are.  forgetting who others are.  a replacement no one notices.  images that look posed.  the only one seeing the false face of someone.

xiii.  the vast.   open spaces.  carnival rides going up and down.  fear of heights.  endless infinity around you.  your insignificance in an universe.  stomach turning at a drop.  fear of not the crash down but the moment you slip.  the sway of a cable car.  an adventure holiday.  losing track of where the surface is.  miles and miles of nothing around you.  staring at the sky and feeling like you may fall into it.  loss of control.  a fall that doesn’t end in death.  glass floor to the view below.  terminal velocity.  the sound of wind in your ears.  a reach over the railing.  a jump from the top of the building.  falling into nothing.  feeling your feet let go of the ground.  a leap of faith.  motion sickness.

xiv.  the web.   undecipherable code.  a puppeteer holding the strings.  power over the weak-willed.  strings of fate.  manipulation.  an arranged accident.  a hundred minions doing your bidding.  cobwebs.  spiders.  a laid trap.  never voicing discomfort.  outwitting a cheater.  doing things without realising it.  red string across a corkboard.  finding something lost where you were sure you checked.  power over the unrealiability of chance.  watching others dance for you.  an entangled death.  a thousand tiny lengs and fangs.  shady forum threads.  something important gone missing.  suspiciously disregarded case.  a missing witness.  connections.  the world wide web.  power of victimhood.  gullibility.  no control over your own decisions.  an invisible leash.  mass psychology.  a horror film in the making.  scapegoat.  never remembering to ask for a name.

+  the extinction.   the end of an era.  apocalypse movies.  the alarms of warning systems.  a desolate landscape.  end of the world cults.  nihilism.  the last written history.  a changed world.  no survivours.  old prophecies.  a thousand predicted ends.  a new chapter.  an end with no escape.  catastrophes.  a calendar counting down.  breaking point.  overindulgence.

TAGGED BY:  @brokentoys

TAGGING: steal it! @monomaniiametus @tricksterreformed-a @acriminallawyer

[goldenreign]

@wratheart / @godbanes​ said :   ❛   it will be alright.   we’ll solve this problem as we’ve solved all the others before.   ❜   - tarquin   //   a very ancient meme.

she's been denying what they meant to one another for so long now,   to protect them both in the situation they were in under amarantha's reign of terror.   she can still remember,   past the loss of the day she became high lady,   the first time she'd sensed that bond between them.   perhaps it had been them both coming into the powers of their courts that had been the catalyst,   but she had known with certainty that day that tarquin meant FAR more to her than she could ever admit  to anyone down there,   even herself.   and so she had blocked that part of herself off,   keeping her relationship with him to little more than friends.   there had been times,   in her loneliness,   where she had been tempted to reach out to him to see if he had this new sense,   too;   but the risk had been too great.

now she sits at a table with him,    at a beach house on the western coast of her court,   the two of them truly ALONE for what feels like the first time in decades.   amarantha is gone,    but that does not solve all their problems.   she is no longer a princess of dawn;   she is HIGH LADY,   and he is now a HIGH LORD of a different court.   if the other courts were to discover they were mates,   after so many years of subjugation,   it would likely be seen as a threat.   mates.   it feels strange to even allow herself to think it,   with how long she has refused to accept the bond between them.   had that hurt him as much as it had her?    teal gaze meets crystal blue and her soul feels like it might weep if she must spend another moment denying this truth.    with the warm breeze floating in through the open windows,   she picks up the untouched bowl of ice cream she'd scooped out,   slowly and deliberately bringing it over to tarquin and setting it down in front of him.   it's more symbolic than anything,   because she doesn't really give him the opportunity to pay it any attention as she moves to lean her forehead gently against his,   their noses brushing lightly against each other.   "    i know,   "   she breathes,   her arms looping around his neck and a shiver tracing down her spine as his hands come to rest at her waist,   "   i trust you,   tarquin,   and i have faith in us...   and i don't think i can stand to pretend you don't mean EVERYTHING to me anymore.   "    she pulls away just so she can look into his eyes again,   heart skipping,    because she has to know,   "   do you...   want this,  too?   "

[gigis-ff-blog]

Hey might as well.

A Little Slice Dreams: The Meta Knights Play a Fun Game of Uno

What could go wrong? Those poor knights asked themselves this question as if nothing could.

But Everything. Everything could, will, would, and did absoluteley go wrong.

They sat around a giant round table in the lounge of the Halberd, soaring at least 200 feet above sea level. The night was cold, crisp, and dark. Sword, Blade, Captain Vul, and Sailor Dee sat on one end of the table. Across from them were the four main Meta knights: Axe, Javelin, Mace, and Trident.

Sailor and Mace were determined in their craft. It was down to one of them in their anxious, sweat driving game. The winner would receive a delectable frozen trophy. The looser would have to watch in tears as the winner took the glory.

It was down to two cards for each player. But it was Sailor's turn. The fee slammed down a turn skip card And gave a sickening grin at Javelin.

"No...NO!" Mace shivered in his seat.

Sailor started cackling as they held up their last remaining card.

"I hope you have good cards looser!" Shouted Sword, while Blade babbled in an incomprehensible accent, basicly stating the same thing.

"This is too much! I think im gonna drop dead!" Axe flailed around the table.

"I think you and Mace gonna have simultaneous strokes after this." Javelin said in their robotic tone.

Yeah your screwed, signed Trident.

"I'll be right back I'm gonna go get the reward for Sailor." Vul stated in an almost certain tone.

Sailor ceased their cackling and drew a deadly glare at Mace. As if their eyes shot daggers through Mace's soul.

"Uno..."

Sailor slammed a draw four on the table, prompting Mace to dramaticly scream "no" and cry, slamming his fists on the table.

"I-I was so c-c-close...WAAHHHH!"

"You challenged Sailor in uno. You knew what grave you were digging yourself into," Axe said, "and speaking of digging into things!"

Vul brought out Sailor's reward. An ice cream parfait stacked a mile high, dripping with fudge and marshmallow coating. The frozen Vanilla custard sat delicately above the hot brownies under it, and under that, the crunchy crumbs of canoli crust. Chocolate decoration perched itself on top of the display like a fine peice of jewelry. The reward was perfect in every way. Fitting for a satisfyingly sweet victory in an uno game.

Mace continued to cry as Vul handed Sailor the ice cream. As the glass was handed to them, Sailor's eyes lit up.

"Thank ye Captain!" They elongated every vowel in appreciation for their edible trophy.

"I'd say you earned it, 'Sir Uno champion Sailor Waddle Dee.'" Vul spoke to Sailor but looked at Mace as he continued to weap at his loss.

Blade and Sword cheared on Sailor as they scarfed down the whole desert like Kirby inhales a whole feast, while Tident, and Axe sighed in second hand defeat and consulted Mace as he sobbed. Javelin cheared on Sailor as well.

"WOOO! GO SAILOR!"

"H-H-Hey! Y-Your supposed to be rooting for m-m-me. Sniff."

"You didn't win."

As Sailor finished the dish. They realized they left the chocolate decorations for last. They thought that this would be such a great time to rub it in Mace's face that he lost with the chocolate.

"Hey Mace."

"H-huh?"

"Look."

Mace thought he knew what was going on. "YOU WERE THE NICE ONE DON'T TOURTURE ME LIKE THIS!"

"Here." Sailor gave the knight a chocolate decoration. "For you, because ye played good."

Mace's eyes lit up. "R-really?" He stifled a sniff. "For me?"

"Yeah. For you."

"Oh your too kind. I..."

As Mace took the chocolate, a hint of fear went into his eyes. The symbol on it sent a chill down his spine.

"Vul..."

"Yes Mace?"

"Which freezer did you get this ice cream out of."

"Why the one in the lounge of course"

"The mini blue freezer or the big silver freezer?"

"The mini blue one with all of bosses ice creEAAM OH SWEET NECRODEUS WHAT HAVE I DONE?"

Blade turned sharp to Vul and panicked, falling backwards into an incomprehensible blabber.

Sword shook. "THATS BOSS'S ICE CREAM FRIDGE!"

"You stole Meta Knight's ice cream?" Cried Javelin.

Trident signed an oh no in shaking paws.

"We're all gonna be dead by dawn in our stone graves! And the writings gonna say we died cold and chocolatey!" Axe shouted.

"He's gonna kill me the most I ate the damn thing!" Sailor squealed and almost started to cry. They sweated up a storm in their anxiety.

Vul attempted to be reassuring. "He will not kill us for one mess up." The captain wasn't to sure of this. "I'm sure everything is going to be-"

A door slammed open to reveal an enraged pair of golden-red eyes and a maskless, meta knight wearing them, and pink bunny slippers and a fluffy robe.

"Who..."

"Oh no."

"WHO!"

The shout sent echoes through the room. Cracks formed on the floors, walls and cealing. Some of them went tumbling into the hallway, others flew out of their seats. The glass that contained the ice cream hit the floor and shattered into a million pieces like a golden glass mirror.

Sword, like everyone else, was horrified of consequence. He jumped up on the table, cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled "SCATTER!" As though it were some kind of party with alcohol and the police just got there.

Everyone ran in different directions. Sword and Blade searched for hiding places, Mace and Javelin jumped to the ceiling. Trident and Axe tried to break a window so that they could fall into the orange watters below. Vul and Sailor darted into the hallways, not looking back to the flapping sounds that echoed through the battleship.

Sailor took a sharp left and shakingly pulled out a phone from their hat. They searched through their contacts to find people that could save them from whatever punishment they would face.

Kirby was unavailable, probably sleeping. Bandee was also probably sleeping. Or training at three am like an insane person for that smash bros invitation. Dedede was the only person that picked up. In the background you could hear some trash comedy in the most of a clear crunching of popcorn.

"Yo."

Sailor spoke in a hushed yet anxious tone. "Sir, ye gotta get over here and help I think we're gonna die!"

"Did you steal his ice cream?" A crunch was heard clearly.

"It was an accident we were just-"

Vul's scream came blasting through the halls.

Sailor had a mild panic attack. "OH SHIT! CAPTAIN!"

The phone dropped to the floor and rattled. Dedede, on his end, looked at the phone with utter confusion and hung up.

Vul was backed into a corner by the furious borb, spoon in one paw.

"Do you know how long it took me to make that? THREE DAYS!"

Vul took hold of a nearby pipe and found to it for dear life. Eyes wide fearing death.

"I was saving that for today specificly! I was going to watch Mama Mia!

"Oh God sir I'm sorry!"

"Sorry doesn't give me back my ice cream Vul!"

"WAIT!"

Sailor came running out of the halls and in front of Vul to protect him.

"It was an accident sir. We were just playin a game and he grabbed the wrong ice cream. Don't hurt em!"

"Why... would I hurt anyone...I'm just angry."

"You look like you're gonna f%#king kill someone!"

Vul stepped out of his "gripping onto the pole for dear life" position just to scold Sailor for swearing. "Hey! What did we talk about?"

"Oops. Sorry." They turned back to Meta Knight.

"I... apologise if I seem a little harsh. It's wrong to terrify someone in the middle of the night over something so minuscule." Meta knight held his paw out for Vul to shake."Is all forgiven?"

Vul was more than relieved. "Absoluteley sir!"

Meta knight looked at the bird andd produced a laugh, but in the middle of it they stated most seriously that "You owe me another bowl." This didn't ease the captain's fear.

"We still have the ice cream we didn't eat in oyur fridge," Sailor stated, "you can have that."

Meta Knight turned. "What flavor is it?"

"Vanilla with chocolate and marshmallow swirl."

"I'll take it...but..."

Sailor was confused. "But what?"

"Due to my outburst I would find it fair that I would have to earn the desert, rather than just taking it. Besides, I'm DVRing the movie so I can watch it later."

"Wait wait wait. Earn it how?" The captain let go of Meta's hand and looked down at the small, Kirby esque orb.

"I'm thinking...Uno?"

Sailor's eyes sparkled. "Now that's a chalanged! You're on!"

[notstolen]

aesthetics for the entities. bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. this is based on a horror podcast;  potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

i.  the buried.   weighed blankets.  drowning. the comfort of a loved one’s weight. soil and sand piling on top of you.  hugging so hard it hurts a little.  cramped hiding spots.  letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.  walls pressing in on you.  not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little. dragging the last second before you have to inhale.  lonely subways.  feeling like one with the earth. a layer of dirt on you.  looking for something below.  cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts.  hands calloused from digging.  knowing that your purpose is just below the surface.  entering your final resting place before it kills you.  a storm drowning you out.  dust and sand speaking to you.

ii.  the corruption.  insects.  a close imitation of the natural course of life.  an illness in a community. a rag that dirties more than it cleans.  an untreated wound.  containment. breaching containment.  unbreathable air.  fungi.  one with that you love.  one with what loves you.  a corpse unfit for a glass case.  hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs.  honeycomb patterns.  an ecosystem within a person. a curse passed on. the hubris of a scientist.  an ugly death where a glorious one is owed.  blood on a handkerchief.  parasites. something pushing up the sewer.  a mask to keep something out.  trypophobia.  knowing you belong.  death weeks after impact.  fever.  food that’s gone off.  pandora’s box.  death behind a glass.

iii.  the dark. shadows.  lights that turn off by themselves.  the feel of cold marble.  a beaked creature in the night. the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing.  touch of something you can’t see.  hiding under a blanket.  white, clouded eyes.  months without going outside during sunlight.  pouring dark.  unscrewing lightbulbs.  black matter.  light sensitivity.  a starless night. time before light was created.  a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.  withering plants.  a world without a sun.  footfalls in an empty house in the night.  a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.  desperate reach for a flashlight.  clothes that hide your shape.  staying unperceivable.  winter months in the north. an empty church.

v.  the flesh. body horror. factories. a hunger for something more filling.  never quite happy with how you look.  the terror of an animal waiting for slaughter.  a very good meal.  the liquid of a perfect steak.  fighting your worst survival instincts.  a twisted bone. long nights working out.  more than one heart.  appearance that shapes like clay.  a bag of bones.  bone broth in a pot.  knowing to fear pigs.  the butcher’s shop.  plastic surgery. something alien inside your body. a hunger in the gaze laid upon you.  unwitting cannibalism. forgetting what you used to look like.  being admired for your appearance and appearance only.  teeth marks on skin.  scars from wounds that should’ve killed you. cooking in scarcity.  fenced in with one way to go.

iv.  the desolation.  senseless pain.  warmth of faith.  wax where skin should be.  a blazing fire. heat without a source.  the third or fourth tragedy in the family. losing everything you’ve ever held dear. so much to live for, gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline. touch that scars. coffee cup that never goes cold.  scorch marks on wood.  inescapably warm air. a child born in fire. death of a loved one.  a candle without a flame.  an altar in the middle of the woods. animals with burnt fur.  plastic explosives.  burning hot metal. sweating in an interrogation room.  never touching a loved one. disfigurement.  a kiss that ruins you.  the scent of burning fat.  a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.  the agony of hellfire displayed as art.  auburn hair. little clothing in cold weather.  a ripple in the air.  trying to cool down in vain.

vi.  the end. the last page of a book. nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares.  a skeletal hand.  the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.  existential pain. ivory dice.  flatlining in a hospital.  gambling with death. as old as the universe.  soul and spirit tied to an object. a dream where you die.  closing your eyes for the last time.  the plead of a dying one.  knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it.  a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.  skin that’s freezing to the touch.  an act of desperation.  someone’s life for yours.  an eternity spent alive.  the cost of your selfishness.  watching your own burial. causing your own burial. the smell of death.  numbness to fear.  words from someone gone.  meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe.  multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

viii.  the hunt.   sharp canines. sore calves after a run.  the scent of blood.  an adventure for the journey’s sake.  the adrenaline right before the kill.   a whistle’s echo.  the woods.  the doe eyes of a prey animal.  your own breath in the air.  sharpened claws.  being tracked.  fear of someone knowing your every movement.  hunting down monsters. hide and seek. running away only to end up where you started.  staying alive purely because the enemy enjoys seeing you run.  a set of footsteps behind you. blood dripping from bare hands.  barks and growls. focused eyes.  a victim going limp under your hands.  a mouth full of fresh blood.  catching the scent of something monstrous.  perfecting your craft.  peering into the dark and running after it.

vii.  the eye. googling something you shouldn’t have.  eureka moments. the unforgiving lens of a camera.  witness reports.  hidden libraries.  eyes of different colours.  feeling of being watched. a death recorded in tape.  a tragedy you can’t look away from.  endangering yourself for knowledge. truth. analog records.  a symbol of an eye.  a watch tower.  compulsion to document.  turning on recording devices without thinking about it.  saving the evidence before the person.  extracting information.  truth or dare, without the dare.  a thirst for knowledge.  books that speak to you.  coordinated shelves.  cataloguing systems.  voyerism. police report you can’t put down.  reasoning your way out.  smell of old papers. books that read you back.

ix.  the lonely.   an apartment too small for a double bed. completely vacant streets.  waking up to see everyone gone. fog.  point nemo.  a house too big to hear your family members in.  alone in a faceless crowd. a mask with nothing behind it.  separated cubicles. a deafening silence where joy should be.  a blinding spotlight.  the least missed in your friend group.  streets without lights in the windows. isolation.  not truly knowing your friends.  your friends not truly knowing you.  need for silence.  fear of crowds.  staring into space knowing nothing is looking back at you.  a ship alone at sea. depression.  knowing your friends are better off without you. talking to someone only to realise they’re gone.  a family too large to notice you there. safety in being alone.

x.  the slaughter. a game of tag.   senseless violence.  a true crime hobby. improvised weapons.  blinding rage. intent to kill. a horrific day in a quiet community. a medal of bravery. holding on to what validates your anger.  history books that spare no details.  an injury you want revenge for.  war.  counting kills.  songs of soldiers. a knifeblock on the counter. a pool of blood. shellshock.  unspeakable horrors.  anger pushing you forward. unimaginable pain. not seeing who will hurt you but knowing the pain is coming.  a fully human monster. an authority sending its lessers to their deaths. kill or be killed. unedited wartime memoirs.  a weapons collection.  not knowing the names of who you kill.  too many to remember.  loss of hope.  there’s no heroes in war.

xi.  the spiral. sleep deprivation. corridors you can get lost in. maze puzzles that loop back on themselves.  losing possessions. losing people.  losing your sanity. corkscew curls.  rows of funhouse mirrors.  optical illusions.  a separate reality. walking through the wrong door.  delusions.  not knowing what your hands are doing.  blank spaces in documents.  hallucinations.  wrong proportions. a nameless thing. a place that has never existed. doubting your own mind.  blind faith.  losing track of names, labels, categories.  distorted sound.  an imperfection in a glass that twists the view. loss of time.  a garish colour.  doors that open to nowhere.  lies.  an unnatural laugh.  jokes and tricks.  illusions.  a doorway.  a sculptor with a wild imagination.  limbs in impossible angles.  doing what’s fun, not what’s sensible.  fractals you can get lost in.

xii.  the stranger. wax figures.  a close approximation of a human face.  a borrowed appearance.  a strange smell.  glass eyes.  furs and pelts.  a dance.  a song of a choir.  the uncanny valley.  stitching yourself together. the colours of a circus.  a puppet with no strings. mannequins.  glitter and sequin.  a stranger you’ve always known.  someone strange in the place of someone you knew.  stolen identities.  stolen skins. a machine imitating humanity. the anonymity of a service worker.  hiding in plain sight. uncomfortable to look at.  a faked accent.  concealing.  forgetting who you are.  forgetting who others are.  a replacement no one notices. images that look posed.  the only one seeing the false face of someone.

xiv.  the web.   undecipherable code.  a puppeteer holding the strings.  power over the weak-willed.  strings of fate. manipulation.  an arranged accident.  a hundred minions doing your bidding.  cobwebs.  spiders.  a laid trap. never voicing discomfort. outwitting a cheater.  doing things without realising it. red string across a corkboard.  finding something lost where you were sure you checked.  power over the unreliability of chance.  watching others dance for you.  an entangled death.  a thousand tiny legs and fangs.  shady forum threads.  something important gone missing. suspiciously disregarded case.  a missing witness.  connections.  the world wide web.  power of victimhood.  gullibility.  no control over your own decisions.  an invisible leash.  mass psychology.  a horror film in the making.  scapegoat.  never remembering to ask for a name.

xiii.  the vast. open spaces.  carnival rides going up and down.  fear of heights.  endless infinity around you.  your insignificance in a universe.  stomach turning at a drop.  fear of not the crash down but the moment you slip.  the sway of a cable car.  an adventure holiday.  losing track of where the surface is.  miles and miles of nothing around you. staring at the sky and feeling like you may fall into it.  loss of control. a fall that doesn’t end in death. glass floor to the view below. terminal velocity. the sound of wind in your ears.  a reach over the railing.  a jump from the top of the building. falling into nothing. feeling your feet let go of the ground. a leap of faith.  motion sickness.

+  the extinction. the end of an era. apocalypse movies.  the alarms of warning systems.  a desolate landscape.  end of the world cults.  nihilism. the last written history. a changed world.  no survivours.  old prophecies.  a thousand predicted ends.  a new chapter.  an end with no escape.  catastrophes.  a calendar counting down.  breaking point.  overindulgence.

tagged by: stole it from one of my other blogs

tagging: @xwhiterabbitx, @lonexwolfe, @desolationtrial ( for ari since i think you might’ve done this for norman already? )

[twiceblackvelvet]

hiii can i request a for a little joyrene angst with soulmarks please? it's up to you whether you wanna make it happy in the end or not :))

A/N; i live for joyrene angst. thank you for requesting two of my favorite things together. honestly, i ended up hurting myself with this one.

As far back as Joy can remember, the world has been obsessed with the ritual of soulmate searching. The small patch of darkened skin in the shape of building blocks on her left wrist is a reminder every day that there’s someone out there she’s supposedly destined to fall in love with. However, the symbol will only show it’s true colors whenever you’re within five meters of said person and Joy’s has remained blackened since the day she first took notice of it. Many friends, family members, and passing strangers have casually bumped into their matching symbol, and yet, she’s had no luck herself.

Of course, there are ways to narrow down the search as technology has advanced over the years. Simply snapping a picture of the unique marking and uploading it to one of the thousands of forums dedicated solely to pairing the symbols together will send you a direct match if your soulmate has done the same thing. But, the world seems to enjoy playing cruel jokes on Joy as the few she has posted to have yet to gain any form of traction whatsoever.

Dating someone besides your soulmate is heavily frowned upon in society, meaning life for those unable to find theirs is a miserable road that for many has resulted in addiction, mental health deterioration, and ultimately premature death. People who have managed to survive without their soulmates are often a source of interest for those matched up. In a cruel, twisted joke, they’re paraded around on television being interviewed for not having the perfect life everyone else seemingly does. Because if life wasn’t already difficult enough without someone to fall in love with, why not treat them as outsiders in the world?

It is said that if you don’t meet the person sharing your soul mark before the age of thirty, you’re unlikely ever to. But that isn’t an issue quite yet for Joy, there are still plenty of years ahead to find the very person who has been alluding her for way too long now.

She is stuck in a monotonous cycle, working to pay off the same bills every month that seemingly become more expensive during the day, whilst at night she roams the streets of her hometown desperately seeking another lost soul who could be the one meant for her. Many would find the entire thing more and more disillusioned the longer they search. But not Joy. For giving up would be similar to accepting a death sentence, so every morning is met with a brave smile whilst every night is met with a hopeful one that tomorrow will finally be the day she can fulfill her destiny.

As the wind whistles through the street, a cold shudder settles itself across every bone in Irene’s body. Winter has always been the most difficult time of year but it seems this one is desperate to bring about a severe decline in her already poor health. A small piece of cardboard rests beneath her frozen limbs whilst a warm coat previously belonging to a cousin she has since lost contact with is all she has to cover herself up with.

Loss is easy to accept when it’s the only card you’ve been dealt, yet losing her life is something Irene has never truly considered a possibility until recently. It was a quick downfall, her parents’ decision to date outside of their soulmate and birth children was met with hatred and she was considered a plight to humanity for being the spawn of two of the soulless. Her own marking is far more faded than anyone else’s due to her not being a full soul child making it much more difficult for anyone other than her to see. The lines have also faded with age and wishing to destroy it during her teen years. But it’s still there, a constant reminder that she’s something people fear or consider evil.

No one was willing to allow the soulless to live in their homes, thus, they adapted to lining the streets with their unwanted bodies out of sheer desperation someone one day would take pity on them. It has yet to happen and Irene has lost all hope for it ever to.

She can’t recall how long it has been since she decided to leave her family behind and venture off into the world on her own, but she knows that it was a mistake. At least with her family, there was a small amount of compassion and someone to take care of finding your next meal whenever you’re too weak to do it yourself. Life alone is bleak with no escape from your own dark thoughts.

Exhaustion quickly overtakes any and all instincts as Irene allows herself to enter the one place where she’s free to dream of a better life. A place where she isn’t homeless, struggling to stay alive and stuck with this stupid title of being soulless that doesn’t grant her the same luxuries as those who have met and fallen in love with their soulmate. Seconds before her eyes shut, Irene could have sworn she saw a little glow lighting up the building blocks on her wrist, however, her body is much too weak to remain conscious.

A purple block, green block and finally yellow. Joy’s eyes remain trained to the various different colors for several seconds before her brain finally kickstarts that her soulmate must be close. Her eyes search the seemingly deserted street desperately for anyone lingering in the darkness. However, the only companion she has is the sub-zero temperature and a cup of hot soup she prepared before leaving home.

The wind picks up slightly as she continues walking aimlessly checking every single alleyway and house window for someone, anyone. Nestled down on a doorstep Joy finally spots what looks to be a body, curled up into a ball and seemingly sleeping but what gets her attention is the not-so-bright soul mark matching her own on display on the wrist tucked under the person’s head as a pillow.

She kneels before the woman gently. Her skin is cold, pale but dirty, hair matted and stuck to her head like glue whilst her plump lips are dry, completely blue.

Joy desperately shakes the frozen stiff body, yelling for whoever this person is to wake up. Without noticing, tears have begun to fall down her cheeks and land on the girl beneath her forehead. Fluttering eyes land on Joy’s wrist as her soul mark radiates brightly and a small unsettling smile creeps across Irene’s face at the realization she wasn’t seeing things and that some unfortunate soul has been tethered to her this entire time.

The same eyes close shut once more and the smile fades. The girl who wanted nothing more in life than to find her soulmate achieved her dream. It just so happens that person is someone who represents everything bad about this system Joy had put all of her hopes into and can’t possibly be the person Joy wants her to be.

A breathless whisper is all Irene can manage before her body gives up and grants her freedom from the cold, dark world that has shunned her for years.

“You found me.”

[cloakedinfall-a]

aesthetics for the entities bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. this is based on a horror podcast;  potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

i.  the buried.   weighed blankets.  drowning.  the comfort of a loved one’s weight.  soil and sand piling on top of you.  hugging so hard it hurts a little.  cramped hiding spots.  letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.  walls pressing in on you.  not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little.  dragging the last second before you have to inhale.  lonely subways.  feeling like one with the earth.  a layer of dirt on you.  looking for something below.  cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts.  hands calloused from digging.  knowing that your purpose is just below the surface.  entering your final resting place before it kills you.  a storm drowning you out.  dust and sand speaking to you.

ii.  the corruption.   insects.  a close imitation of the natural course of life.  an illness in a community.  a rag that dirties more than it cleans.  an untreated wound.  containment.  breaching containment.  unbreathable air.  fungi.  one with that you love.  one with what loves you.  a corpse unfit for a glass case.  hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs.  honeycomb patterns.  an ecosystem within a person.  a curse passed on.  the hubris of a scientist.  an ugly death where a glorious one is owed.  blood on a handkerchief.  parasites.  something pushing up the sewer.  a mask to keep something out.  trypophobia.  knowing you belong.  death weeks after impact.  fever.  food that’s gone off.  pandora’s box.  death behind a glass.

iii.  the dark.   shadows.  lights that turn off by themselves.  the feel of cold marble.  a beaked creature in the night.  the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing.  touch of something you can’t see.  hiding under a blanket.  white, clouded eyes.  months without going outside during sunlight.  pouring dark.  unscrewing lightbulbs.  black matter.  light sensitivity.  a starless night.  time before light was created.  a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.  withering plants.  a world without a sun.  footfalls in an empty house in the night.  a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.  desperate reach for a flashlight.  clothes that hide your shape.  staying unperceivable.  winter months in the north.  an empty church.

v.  the flesh.   body horror.  factories.  a hunger for something more filling.  never quite happy with how you look.  the terror of an animal waiitng for slaughter.  a very good meal.  the liquid of a perfect steak.  fighting your worst survival instincts.  a twisted bone.  long nights working out.  more than one heart.  appearance that shapes like clay.  a bag of bones.  bone broth in a pot.  knowing to fear pigs.  the butcher’s shop.  plastic surgery.  something alien inside your body.  a hunger in the gaze laid upon you.  unwitting cannibalism.  forgetting what you used to look like.  being admired for your appearance and appearance only.  teeth marks on skin.  scars from wounds that should’ve killed you.  cooking in scarcity.  fenced in with one way to go.

iv.  the desolation.   senseless pain.  warmth of faith.  wax where skin should be.  a blazing fire.  heat without a source.  the third or fourth tragedy in the family.  losing everything you’ve ever held dear.  so much to live for, gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline.  touch that scars.  coffee cup that never goes cold.  scorch marks on wood.  inescapably warm air.  a child born in fire.  death of a loved one.  a candle without a flame.  an altar in the middle of the woods.  animals with burnt fur.  plastic explosives.  burning hot metal.  sweating in an interrogation room.  never touching a loved one.  disfigurement.  a kiss that ruins you.  the scent of burning fat.  a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.  the agony of hellfire displayed as art.  auburn hair.  little clothing in cold weather.  a ripple in the air.  trying to cool down in vain.

vi.  the end.   the last page of a book.  nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares.  a skeletal hand.  the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.  existential pain.  ivory dice.  flatlining in a hospital.  gambiling with death.  as old as the universe.  soul and spirit tied to an object.  a dream where you die.  closing your eyes for the last time.  the plead of a dying one.  knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it.  a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.  skin that’s freezing to the touch.  an act of desperation.  someone’s life for yours.  an eternity spent alive.  the cost of your selfishness.  watching your own burial.  causing your own burial.  the smell of death.  numbness to fear.  words from someone gone.  meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe.  multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

viii.  the hunt.   sharp canines.  sore calves after a run.  the scent of blood.  an adventure for the journey’s sake.  the adrenaline right before the kill.   a whistle’s echo.  the woods.  the doe eyes of a prey animal.  your own breath in the air.  sharpened claws.  being tracked.  fear of someone knowing your every movement.  hunting down monsters.  hide and seek.  running away only to end up where you started.  staying alive purely because the enemy enjoys seeing you run.  a set of footsteps behind you.  blood dripping from bare hands.  barks and growls.  focused eyes.  a victim going limp under your hands.  a mouth full of fresh blood.  catching the scent of something monstorous.  perfecting your craft.  peering into the dark and running after it.

vii.  the eye.   googling something you shouldn’t have.  eureka moments.  the unforgiving lens of a camera.  witness reports.  hidden libraries.  eyes of different colours.  feeling of being watched.  a death recorded in tape.  a tragedy you can’t watch away from.  endangering yourself for knowledge.  truth.  analog records.  a symbol of an eye.  a watch tower.  compulsion to document.  turning on recording devices without thinking about it.  saving the evidence before the person.  extracting information.  truth or dare, without the dare.  a thirst for knowledge.  books that speak to you.  coordinated shelves.  cataloguing systems.  voyerism.  police report you can’t put down.  reasoning your way out.  smell of old papers.  books that read you back.

ix.  the lonely.   an apartment too small for a double bed.  completely vacant streets.  waking up to see everyone gone.  fog.  point nemo.  a house too big to hear your family members in.  alone in a faceless crowd.  a mask with nothing behind it.  separated cubicles.  a deafening silence where joy should be.  a blinding spotlight.  the least missed in your friend group.  streets without lights in the windows.  isolation.  not truly knowing your friends.  your friends not truly knowing you.  need for silence.  fear of crowds.  staring into space knowing nothing is looking back at you.  a ship alone at sea.  depression.  knowing your friends are better off without you.  talking to someone only to realise they’re gone.  a family too large to notice you there.  safety in being alone.

x.  the slaughter.    a game of tag.   senseless violence.  a true crime hobby.  improvised weapons.  blinding rage.  intent to kill.  a horrific day in a quiet community.  a medal of bravery.  holding on to what validates your anger.  history books that spare no details.  an injury you want revenge for.  war.  counting kills.  songs of soldiers.  a knifeblock on the counter.  a pool of blood.  shellshock.  unspeakable horrors.  anger pushing you forward.  unimaginable pain.  not seeing who will hurt you but knowing the pain is coming.  a fully human monster.  an authority sending its lessers to their deaths.  kill or be killed.  unedited wartime memoirs.  a weapons collection.  not knowing the names of who you kill.  too many to remember.  loss of hope.  there’s no heroes in war.

xi.  the spiral.   sleep deprivation.  corridors you can get lost in. maze puzzles that loop back on themselves.  losing possessions.  losing people.  losing your sanity.  corkscew curls.  rows of funhouse mirrors.  optical illusions.  a separate reality.  walking through the wrong door.  delusions.  not knowing what your hands are doing.  blank spaces in documents.  hallusinations.  wrong proportions.  a nameless thing.  a place that has never existed.  doubting your own mind.  blind faith.  losing track of names, labels, categories.  distorted sound.  an imperfection in a glass that twists the view.  loss of time.  a garish colour.  doors that open to nowhere.  lies.  an unnatural laugh.  jokes and tricks.  illusions.  a doorway.  a sculptor with a wild imagination.  limbs in impossible angles.  doing what’s fun, not what’s sensible.  fractals you can get lost in.

xii.  the stranger.   wax figures.  a close approximation of a human face.  a borrowed appearance.  a strange smell.  glass eyes.  furs and pelts.  a dance.  a song of a choir.  the uncanny valley.  stitching yourself together.  the colours of a circus.  a puppet with no strings.  mannequins.  glitter and sequin.  a stranger you’ve always known.  someone strange in the place of someone you knew.  stolen identities.  stolen skins.  a machine imitating humanity.  the anonymity of a service worker.  hiding in plain sight.  uncomfortable to look at.  a faked accent.  concealing.  forgetting who you are.  forgetting who others are.  a replacement no one notices.  images that look posed.  the only one seeing the false face of someone.

xiv.  the web.   undecipherable code.  a puppeteer holding the strings.  power over the weak-willed.  strings of fate.  manipulation.  an arranged accident.  a hundred minions doing your bidding.  cobwebs.  spiders.  a laid trap.  never voicing discomfort.  outwitting a cheater.  doing things without realising it.  red string across a corkboard.  finding something lost where you were sure you checked.  power over the unrealiability of chance.  watching others dance for you.  an entangled death.  a thousand tiny legs and fangs.  shady forum threads.  something important gone missing.  suspiciously disregarded case.  a missing witness.  connections.  the world wide web.  power of victimhood.  gullibility.  no control over your own decisions.  an invisible leash.  mass psychology.  a horror film in the making.  scapegoat.  never remembering to ask for a name.

xiii.  the vast.   open spaces.  carnival rides going up and down.  fear of heights.  endless infinity around you.  your insignificance in an universe.  stomach turning at a drop.  fear of not the crash down but the moment you slip.  the sway of a cable car.  an adventure holiday.  losing track of where the surface is.  miles and miles of nothing around you.  staring at the sky and feeling like you may fall into it.  loss of control.  a fall that doesn’t end in death.  glass floor to the view below.  terminal velocity.  the sound of wind in your ears.  a reach over the railing.  a jump from the top of the building.  falling into nothing.  feeling your feet let go of the ground.  a leap of faith.  motion sickness.

TAGGED BY:  stole it. 

+  the extinction.   the end of an era.  apocalypse movies.  the alarms of warning systems.  a desolate landscape.  end of the world cults.  nihilism.  the last written history.  a changed world.  no survivours.  old prophecies.  a thousand predicted ends.  a new chapter.  an end with no escape.  catastrophes.  a calendar counting down.  breaking point.  overindulgence.

TAGGING:  @theaterism <any of them> @dcigrxtia @tragicblood @runnerkiller @pickdroses @fartemis-crock @rxdhairxdsirxns @nullcide @discipulusmaleficus @bustcdkneecaps <elias>

[venomous--fics]

Security.

A/n: just some dumb emotional blurb about what it’s like being a spider-person. Had this idea after writing tag, but wasn’t sure how tag was going to do, so i waited and kept this in my notes. anyways, i hope you guys enjoy it! 

Warnnings: It’s a bit angsty? mentions of death, negative emotions, just kinda sad for a while. A real somber tone, if you would.

It was your typical night of patrolling. You were lounging on the roof of a building, unphased by the lack of crime happening. You were starting to think that criminals were actually scared of you and Peter. Maybe they were, and they were right for feeling that way. 

You were admiring all the glowing lights of the city, paying no mind to the various noises of the night. You and Peter hadn’t spoken a lot since you’d gotten out here, but again, that was typical. Peter liked to focus, and you never felt the need to bother him. Normally, he’d speak first. ….Normally, it’d be some pop culture joke. But not tonight.

You heard a sniffle, and that’s what snapped you out of your daydream. It wasn’t cold enough to cause your nose to run, and besides, Tony had installed those heaters into the suits. So even if you were chilly, the suit would recognize that and heat you back up. Was Peter….Crying?

“Pete?” you asked quietly.

“Oh!” he cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter, “Yeah? See something?”

“Are you okay?”

He hesitated, “I’m…Alright.”

You moved closer to him, “You’re a bad liar, Peter.”

Peter slouched once more and made sure he was out of anyone’s view before he took off his mask. He held it so gingerly in his hands, looking down at it. You couldn’t read his face, there were too many emotions. You took off your mask as well, setting it in your lap, “If you wanna talk…I’m here.”

Peter didn’t break eye contact with the mask, “I’ve never told anyone who wasn’t my aunt May, but..Sometimes..”

You tilted your head a little after hearing his voice crack on the last word. “Why do bad things happen to good people?”

That was a lot …Heavier than you were anticipating, but then again, you often thought that yourself. You waited a moment and let out a breath, “I… I don’t know, Pete. I’m not sure. I was always told that things happen for a reason.”

Peter thought about that last bit. It was true. Everything that happens, always has a reason. He became Spider-man to protect people.. But on the other side of the coin, it costed him a lot more than what he was willing to ever sacrifice. It costed him everything, if he was being truly honest.

It took one of the people who truly meant everything to him away. He finds himself thinking about what happened more often than he’d admit. He remembers that night. He remembers the crowd of people. He remembers pushing through them and immediately regretting that decision.

He remembers every detail about Uncle Ben that night. He could even tell you the brand of shirt he was wearing. That wasn’t important to any ordinary person, but to Peter, it was everything.

A carjacker, they said. A shooter, one corrected. Peter didn’t care which one it was. He can only remember holding Ben’s hand until Ben couldn’t anymore. He could tell you how awful it was to watch the life fade from Ben’s eyes as his breathing stopped. He remembers the onlookers gasping or some crying, and he remembers the sobs that came out of himself. He wanted it to be him. It was his fault. He remembers hearing where the murderer was heading, and he remembers going after him.

He could tell you the hatred he felt in that moment. He could tell you how he cornered the man, and accidentally killed him. He could tell you, moment for moment, what it felt like to watch the man as he tripped and fall out of the warehouse window. The last thing he will ever remember about that man was the way he had reached out his hand and begged for help as he fell back, but all Peter did was watch.

He hadn’t meant to let the man die, but something inside of him let it happen. And he still doesn’t regret it. He knows Ben would’ve been upset, but Peter thought it was justice. And it was also the moment after looking out the broken window that he realized he needed to protect this city, and the world if he could. 

He needed to protect everyone so ensure that there would never be another Ben. He never wanted to relive that moment of going home. He never wanted to hear aunt May cry again. He never wanted to remember the look on her face, or the way she dropped the phone. He never, ever wanted to relive the moments of having to tell her what had happen. He wished he didn’t have to live through the aftermath of it all. He never wanted to remember the feeling of watching Ben being lowered into his final resting place. It was something he’d seen too much of.

It brought back the memories of his parents. He was so young, and couldn’t fully understand. All he remembers is that they went away for work one day and never came home. All he can recall is May helping him fix his child sized dress top as they prepared to head out for something. A funeral, May had told him. He had never been to one of those.

He remembers seeing so many sad people, but never asked why.

He remembers not going home to his bed that night, mostly because his things were already at May’s place. They stayed there for a long time. Until he grew out of them, if he remembers correctly. 

He never went home.

So young and fragile, May had sheltered him from the pain, and did her best to ease him into this new life with her and Ben. It was a good life. There was plenty of books to read, meals to eat, places to sleep. He still didn’t understand. Then one day he did. 

There was a picture of his parents that was always by his bedside, on the wooden night table his parents had bought for him years ago. He remembers his small hands carrying the picture to May. He asked why they didn’t want to take him home.

That was the day he learned what misery was. It all made sense to him. That was the day that little Peter Parker had made a promise to himself.

There would be no more misery in this world so long as he was around. It was this series of moments that made him Spider-man. He became a hero built on pain, loss, and unbelievable grief. And he’s used it for good. Or so he thought. Most days he wasn’t too sure of himself.

“Peter?”

He looked over at you with a tear running down his face, he quickly looked back down at the mask. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he just began replaying a mantra in his head.

“My uncle,” Peter said almost as if he wasn’t sure where to begin or end, “He always told me that great power came with great responsibility.”

You lifted a hand to gently put on Peter’s back, but stopped midway when his words caught you off guard.

“What if I ….Don’t want the power.. Or the responsibility…Anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I,” he sighed, sounding selfish, “I have these powers and I chose to be Spider-man, but what if I choose to be something else instead.”

You really wanted to make a joke to lighten the mood, but you knew better. You set your hand back on the cool cement of the roof and looked away, “I don’t think you get that choice anymore. I don’t think any of us do.”

“Being Spider-man costed me everything….It costed me my uncle, it….I..”

You rubbed your arm, feeling a stitched up wound reopen as your heard your own voice cracked, “It costed me my mom.”

It was in that moment that Peter realized something. Something very important that he had forgotten over the last few weeks. Spider-man was not a symbol of loss, but a symbol of hope and strength.

“I didn’t mean to cut you off,” you didn’t bother to look at him, “I just thought maybe…You’d..Know you were alone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for? You didn’t ask to lose someone important to you..” You wiped your eyes and finally turned back to look at him, “I just want you to know that I get it, Peter.”

Peter looked you over for a moment or two. It was so bizarre and jarring to see you cry. He had only see you cry once, but that’s because you found his joke so funny that you had actually started crying. But now you were crying out of pain, and he wasn’t sure how to feel. Maybe this was a good thing.

“I never like to get personal because, well,” You sighed, wiping your face again before looking down at all the city lights again, “It was just so sudden..She was always sick, but, we thought she was getting better.”

Much like Peter, you remember every tiny detail about that day too. You remember how her hair was styled, you remember how she had been so happy and full of joy just a few hours before. It was a curse having to remember it all.

It was a curse remember how the nurses had to drag you out of the room screaming. It was a curse knowing that there was nothing you could do. Despite having powers, you were utterly powerless. 

It was a curse remembering what her grave looked like. It was adorn with all her favorite flowers that you had swung around the city gathering. You never wanted to tell a soul how god awful it all felt.

You never wanted to get close to another living thing out of fear that this would happen again. But Peter kinda messed that up. You had already gotten close to him. You didn’t mean to, it just happened.

You remember how approving your mother was of him. She was even fond of him, constantly telling you that you should ‘make a move.’ You always got embarrassed and told her it wasn’t like that, but she could always see right through you. 

She always knew what you wanted, even when you thought you didn’t. She knew you. She loved you.

The morning after everything, you had woken up to an empty home. In fact, it wasn’t home at all. She wasn’t singing anymore. Her bed was cold. Dishes from the days prior were still in the sink. You didn’t want to be there.

It didn’t feel right. 

It didn’t feel like home anymore.

You had found yourself staying at Peter’s place most nights. May never minded, she never really did. You took the top bunk of Peter’s bed. The nights were always silent and heavy. Both of you knew something was bothering the other, but neither of you wanted to talk first. 

Most of the nights you laid so you could look out the window. You looked up at the sky and wondered which star was your mother. Was she there at all? Maybe this was all a bad dream and she was waiting for you at home. It was thoughts like that that really made it sink in. She just wasn’t there anymore.

You knew better than to let anyone see you cry, so you kept it all in. You had to pick up the pieces and try to make the most out of what was left. It didn’t seem fair, and it wasn’t, but life wasn’t fair. It would never be fair.

“I just..I don’t know..” You looked at your hands, “I still can’t wrap my head around it. Not to mention that I have no idea where I’m going to be moving to-”

“Moving?”

You remembered that you weren’t going to tell Peter that last bit because you didn’t want to hurt him. It was a big legal mess. Now that your sole guardian was gone, you were currently staying with your grandparents, but they were getting too old to do much, so they thought it’d be best to move you out of state to live with your aunt. That was your only option. You had no other family, and no other family in New York, for that matter.

“My grandparents can’t take care of me, and my aunt is a last resort.”

“What about your dad?”

Another sour note has been struck, but you kept a brave face. You honestly didn’t know what to say exactly. Your mom was always so secretive about who he was. You thought for the longest time it was out of shame, but you realized, it was just because she had moved on. She made a good life for you, so she didn’t think i twas really necessary to stress you out with the ‘I don’t know’’s and the 'I’m not sure’’s.

“I don’t know him,” you smiled a little at the thought that ran through your head, “All I remember is my mom describing him as some suave, rich party boy. Always told me he was some sort of famous celebrity. Never bothered to try to find him, mainly because I’m a nobody, you know?”

Peter looked out at the lights as well. It was so quiet now. You were leaving? Peter didn’t want to admit it, like most things, but you were like his rock. You were the only person who truly understood because you were exactly like him. Sure, Ned knew, but Ned would never know how it truly feels.

For a second, Peter thought that maybe if you’d found your dad, you could stay. But there was a long list of famous party men in New York, and he didn’t have time to just go down the list. And of course, Peter being who he is, and knowing the people he does, the first party goer that came to mind was Mr. Stark, but Tony never seemed like the type of guy to just do something like that.

Then again, he wasn’t always responsible. Okay, he is never responsible. He was the type of man who loved danger almost as much as he loved his music. Or Pepper, but he’d never tell anyone that. Why would he? 

“Of course you know,” you said after the long silence, “You’re the biggest nobody I know, Peter.”

“How comforting. Thank you.”

You chuckled, “Kidding. Kidding.”

The mood in Peter’s head shifted completely. He was no longer weighed down by this darkness. Sure, he still felt a little bit like hot garbage, but hey, you were here. He liked that. He liked you. He liked your laugh, the design of your suit, the way you said his name. He liked most things that other people would hate. He loved how ridiculous your handwriting was. He loved how sometimes you could outsmart him, or even when you constantly tapped your writing utensil on things. If you left, who would he have? May, of course. Tony, obviously. Ned, most of the time. Who would he sit with on the rooftops at midnight when 95% of the city was sleeping? Who would occasionally bring snacks or extra homework supplies when they knew he needed them? Nobody.

“So,” Peter swallowed hard, “When, uh, when do you, uhm…Leave.”

“Not sure.” you shrug, trying not to seem bothered by it, “If only I knew who my dad was, and by some miracle he was in New York, this wouldn’t be an issue.”

“I’ll help you.” he blurted out.

“What?”

“Find your dad. I’ll help you.”

“Why the sudden interest?”

“You can’t leave,” he sighed, “You just can’t.”

“I don’t have a choice-”

“You always have a choice. Just like you chose to be Sp-”

“I think the law is just a little different from being a vigilante. I could be wrong, but-”

You were caught off guard by Peter pulling you into a hug. This was new, he’s never done this before. Normally you two awkwardly fist bumped or high-fived. Peter was too shy and too awkward for anything else. 

“Oh, uh, okay.”

You slowly wrapped your arms around peter and rested your head on his shoulder. You felt safe and secure, and you wondered if he felt the same. He had to. Either way, you didn’t want it to end.

You wanted to stay here and just let Peter know that nothing will ever hurt him again. You wanted to tell him how you felt. You just wanted to stay with him. He made you feel strong when you didn’t even want to say the word weak. You didn’t want to seem cliche and say you needed him, but you did. Peter was home to you.

He was there for you after your mom died, even though tyou hadn’t told him why you were upset, he just assumed you were stressed about school. You two obviously were there for each other after the freak accidents that turned you into these weird scientific miracles or abominations, depending on who you ask.

“Just don’t leave. Okay?”

“I’ll try not to.”

Peter clung to you a little tighter, as if you were really his rock and he was about to be swept away and into the unforgiving sea. There’s so much he still wanted to tell you if he got the chance. He wanted to tell you how he felt, how wonderful he thought you were. He wanted to tell you that you were right. Things do happen for a reason.

Everything that happened with his parents. Everything that’s happened since moving in with May and Ben. Everything that happened to Ben. As bittersweet as it was to say, it was all meant to happen. Becoming Spider-man? Also meant to happen. Meeting you, being with you, falling in love with you? He wouldn’t trade it for anything. He understands that now. 

“It’s getting late.” you said quietly.

Peter sighed a little, still holding you in his warm embrace. He smiled a little, enjoying the moment, and he promised himself to enjoy any moment like this from now on. If you did have to leave, even after everything, there was one thing Peter would not hesitate to tell you. You were the best thing that has ever happened to him.

“Just a little longer.”