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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 2 months ago

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Hiya there! Can I request a Paul Lahote piece? He imprinted on you but you’re having a hard time coming to terms with it so you try and distract yourself with dating other guys. And maybe Emmett hits on you lol

Thanks for the request! I hope you enjoy!

Requests are open until the 10th! If you are interested in request, please read the rules before you submit.

Submit to my asks box!

You can view more blurbs on my Complete Masterlist

Burdens

_____________________

His words are a whirlwind. You hear them, taking in every sound and syllable. But they are quaking your core. You can feel your muscles tensing. Your body telling you to run, to get out while you still can. To get the fuck out of dodge.

But his dark eyes are sincere and they glue you, for the moment, to the wooden chair--pressing now too harshly into your bones. “Imprinting is a lot, I know. And I don’t want to scare you, but I had to tell you the truth.”

You’d just gotten wind of that wolf thing. When you happened upon Emily, all those weeks ago, you noticed the scars. But you didn’t question it. Everyone has scars. Some are just more visible than others. But you helped her get the refurbished sewing machine back into her truck and she invited you over for lunch one day as a thank you for you stopping what you were doing to help. There you met Sam and Paul, and the rest of the pack.

And the world unraveled from there. The world’s not so best kept secret about them phasing slipping in your presence, though now that you reflect on it a little, maybe that part was on purpose after you met Paul and he looked at you like you hung the stars. You just thought it was infatuation, a crush maybe. But not fate. You could handle a crush. Hell, you can even handle infatuation. Because sure, you thought that Paul was attractive. Sure, you were a little flattered by the glances and the teasing smiles.

All of that is small, tiny and meaningless. All of that is easy, because it doesn’t require you to give more, to peel back at the veil you’ve hung so artfully for others to see. Fate is not meaningless and you’re not sure you’re worthy of it, of this.

You shift in the seat, tongue licking at your lips to wet them. “Uh, thank you for letting me know,” you return. Because you are glad to know what is happening, what this means to Paul. But this is not the way you wanted this to go. You can’t go on like this.

He nods, but doesn’t add anything else to the news.

“I-I just need a minute to process this,” you tack on. You need to run. You need to get away from this, away from Paul. Away from what’s fallen into your lap.

“Take your time,” he offers and the words finally unglue you, finally set you free.

You take off and you hope it’s not rude but you don’t even say bye to Emily. You just leave, carry yourself back to your car and then go home. The good thing is that you don’t live on the rez. There will be plenty of distance. There won’t be fear.

Which--until now--is not the name you had for this emotion, for the thundering heart, for the sweaty palms, for the weeping armpits. This is all fear. Because you’re not built for a fate like that.

The hours turn into days. When you go out, you check over your shoulder. You’re praying Paul doesn’t show up. You’re praying he takes the hint and lets you fade into obscurity, though he doubt without a clean answer he would stay at bay very long.

But until he did show up, you would do what you can try to scrub from your memory the words he spoke, I’m not asking you right now for anything. But you should know that what I do feel is intense and we can take it slow.

Maybe Paul would be okay with never. When you flirt with guys out in your daily life, when you agree to first dates, but never second ones, you’re hoping deep down in the back of your mind that Paul’s okay with letting you go. There’s someone better, someone more suited for that kind of relationship.

You’re not around for a long time, just a good time. That’s all you want, all you care to get. Days turn into weeks. Weeks crawl into three months. Paul calls only once, just to see how you’re doing, knows that between work and life you may still need more time to come to an understanding.

But you can hear it, the way his voice strains how much this avoidance is impacting him too. You don’t call back, even though that’s how you get off the phone, with a promise you don’t intend to keep. You hope Paul doesn’t call back a second time.

Your prayer is answered, but not in the way you intended. When you’re out in Port Angeles one night, leaving the restaurant, your date trailing behind you, you spot Paul. It’s rather hard to miss of course, a tall and looming presence and the constant lack of proper attire for the rainy weather.

He’s leaned up against the streetlamp, eyes sunken in just a hair and it hurts. You know you’re doing that. But that’s all you're good for--heartache buried in the lead of fun.

“So, can I see you again?”

The question is soft, but you watch the twitch, Paul’s face pinching with surprise and pain. “No,” you return, still not facing the date. He’s a nice guy, studying at the community college until he settles on what he wants to do more. “It was fun and you’re sweet. I hope your next date’s better.”

The date wasn’t bad per se. Maybe a bit bland, clearly the guy was nervous. He was cute. He tried to remember to volley questions your way too during the date, but it ultimately fell flat. The initial intrigue fading when beneath the surface seemed way too genuine. A guy like him would want better, eventually.

“Oh,” he returns. “Okay.” And it’s clear he’s confused, maybe even pissed at how bluntly you end it. But you’re too floored by Paul’s presence to work the normal charm.

The good thing is that you drove yourself to this date when the guy leaves you’re not stranded. The bad thing is Paul’s only a mere six feet or so from your car.

“This is not how I wanted to do this. But I can tell you’re avoiding me,” Paul answers, closing the distance between you too.

You hazard a step back, wondering if you could duck back inside fast enough. But Paul would undoubtedly be faster. He stops on his approach, hands lifting up in surrender. “There might be a reason for it,” you answers, a little relieved he doesn’t press further.

“Care to tell me why?”

The night is thick now. There are no stars above. There’s just the yellow light of the street lamps, pockets of light that echo enough radiance to break through the heavy blanket of the night. You want it to swallow you, take you into the darkness and never spit you back out. “It’s kind of a lot, Paul. You basically dropped a bomb on me.”

“I get that. I do. It doesn’t have to be a lot. I just-I’d appreciate you talking to me at the very least though.”

Of course, Paul won’t get it. He’s too in it. He has intense feelings, of course, but they’ve clouded his judgement. He can’t see it like you do. He can’t see the way he looks at you. Like you’re something to behold, something to treasure. Like you were put on this earth just for him.

And that’s the hard part.

“You won’t get it,” you retort. “It’s not the same.”

“You’re making a big assumption there. At least give me the opportunity to understand.”

Somehow in all the exchanges you and him have moved closer, feet melting into inches. Somehow moved even if you weren’t aware of it happening, like magnets that must meet because the rules of the universe dictate it. Paul’s face is much too handsome for the frustration that paints it. But he just wouldn’t get it. You’ve convinced yourself of that.

Now you need to convince him. But the longer you stare at Paul, the more his sincere gaze bores into you, you can feel the pierces in your veil, can see the tears and all the seams coming undone until you’re blabbering, stumbling over your words, “Because you think I’m perfect. I see it. The way you look at me. You think that what you’re getting is perfection. And I am far from it. I’m full of flaws. I’m fucked up. I have fucked up. I will fuck up again and again and again. I’m not perfect. God, I want space to fuck it all up. To make it messy. I just can’t do that, can’t be perfect.”

His hands are incredibly warm--much too warm and though you start to ask if he’s okay, you remember that he’s carrying the secret, the one that makes him not entirely not human, but not entirely human all the same. Your cheeks are engulfed by his palms. He cradles you ever so gently in his hold that matches his voice, “When the fuck did I ever ask for perfection?”

“You never had to. I see it,” you answer, voice croaking with the tears--thick in your throat as you fight for something of a true breath--but you don’t let those tears fall. Not right now. Not in front of him.

“And I never will ask for it. I know it’s a lot. I don’t know if I can make it not a lot. I can give you space, but I just need something. Just to know you’re alright out here, in this world.”

“The things you’ll want, I’m not sure I can give.” The tears sting, they’re burning and begging to drop. You let them fall from your eyes. He’d want nothing to do with you if he could see what you’re really like, how you have to drag yourself out of bed most days. How you feel like you’re at war with yourself. How there’s a swirl of something nasty and cynical in the back of your head at all fucking times.

“Just let me ask first. Let me ask and let me get it wrong. And let it be a mess. But just let me ask first. We can always figure it out from there.”

You shouldn’t believe him. You know that. You don’t have any reason to believe him. But it’s all much too heavy to carry anymore. So you let it all fall and you nod. “Okay.”

#paul lahote #paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote fic #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote blurb #h writes #twilight #the twilight saga

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bonny-kookoo · 2 years ago

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LO King Yoongi, how did Yoongi and MC meet? How did their relationship evolve?

A/N: Warning for injury, blood, this is LO we're talking about after all haha

You hiss at the rather rough manner the nurse is cleaning the large gash over your back, your tears just quietly falling by now. Neither this planet nor their ruling species do really care much for empathy- you've learned that over the years you've been working at the palace here.

It's better than earth however, since you do have shelter and food here, at least.

You notice how a door opens, and everyone moves away- probably to address whoever just entered the room accordingly. And from the way the nurse closest to you bows, you can only assume who it might be.

"Leave." His voice is the only thing suddenly heard, low and rather monotone. "I'll take over from here." He states, and with that, you simply believe he's probably talking about getting rid of you. After all, you probably embarrassed him to high heavens- you honestly don't know what you were thinking.

It's quiet, the only thing you can hear the jewels on his robes moving as he takes the wet rag to tend to your wound- surprisingly enough a lot more gentle than the people before him. "Do you think of me as a king unfit for his role?" He asks, while he looks around for the needle and thread to sew the worst portion of the gash shut.

"..no." You mumble, voice quivering as you try and control your breathing as you spot him pick up the utensils necessary. His hands are warm against your skin, and you like to pretend that he's trying to sooth you with his touch rather than just doing it to push your skin back together.

"Then why did you do what you did?" He wonders, stopping for a split second as he feels you flinch from the needle going through your skin.

"..you weren't looking." You hiccup, wiping your cheeks quickly before you cover your front properly again. "It.. it wasn't fair." You just say, unable to shrug since you know that would just hurt.

Yoongi simply continues to sew your wound, hand at your front pushing you into a more straightened position, fingers able to feel you trembling from the pain. Did they not give you anything for the pain?

How long can you endure this with your weak body?

What you're correct about is the fairness of it all. The fight had been done, finished as the young man had willingly admitted defeat- just to get up and try to end the King while his back had been turned to return to his throne. And that's where you came in.

Hired from earth as a cheap worker at the palace, you'd been a little bit of a troublemaker all the time. According to other workers, you cry easily, or you'd hug and smile even more whenever someone showed you just a minimum of basic kindness. You're very openly emotional, something that doesn't fit within the usual standard of this planet's ruling species-

but he dismissed it, because down the line, you never complained, and never slacked on your assigned role. In fact, more often than not, you'd work like a ghost- Yoongi had to truly sharpen his senses to even hear you move around in the palace sometimes.

You're not even in a high position at all. You're just a helper that the general staff can use whenever they need you.

So when you jumped entirely out of line and shielded him from the attack he didn't notice quick enough, he didn't really know what to feel at first. In his culture, this is nothing but an insult to his abilities- but you're not of the same species, let alone culture.

You're human, and humans do things that sometimes don't make sense.

"You could've died." He says, trying to make it as quick but thorough as he can.

"..you're more important." You say, shrugging now- and immediately whimpering from it, making the king click his tongue in annoyance before he pushes the front of your shoulder again to make you sit straight.

"Keep that posture or you'll rip the stitches." He scolds, and you just sniffle, continuing to cry. "...I'll order them to give you something to sleep later." he mumbles.

"I have to finish the palace floors-" You start, but he cuts you off.

"You'll do none of that." He denies, quietly finishing your back before he moves to clean everything one last time, beginning to dress it. "You've earned your place." He simply tells you, placing the patches of dressing material dipped in medicine over your wound. He's silently impressed by how well you push through this- he's heard of humans passing out from much less than what you're experiencing right now.

"What do you mean?" You ask, as he wraps the gauze around you.

"You've proven strength." He explains, carefully finishing up his work. "And it's about time I chose anyways." He simply says, fixing the gauze before he let's go- making you turn a little bit, hands still covering your chest as you look up at him with eyes still full of tears.

"Chose what?" You wonder, and he reaches out to wipe your cheeks a little roughly.

"A fitting Queen."

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #yoongi imagine #min yoongi imagines #yoongi imagines #yoongi x reader #alien yoongi

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rita-repulsa-ke · 6 months ago

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jealousy

post-finale, set in the past. Death is a jealous lover, they are both exceedingly petty. They are doing their normal fighting and flirting thing, maybe a bit more fighting. This is probably PG-13.

Going with two headcanons, that Death can’t kill people directly and that Agatha and Death have a deal where Agatha kills for her to keep herself alive, thus the murders.

Also Agatha speaks incredibly anachronistically on purpose, because she should be able to.

In 1780, Agatha takes a woman to bed.

No one who matters, a younger woman she passes on the street, doubles back to compliment the sewing on her dress, and then to compliment the blush on her cheeks. She forces herself listening to the girl's concerns about her upcoming nuptials, plies her with beer and sympathy until finally she gets her bodice off and things proceed from there as they have for the centuries before and will for the centuries after.

Her plaything has run off home when the air currents in the room change and the scent of grave dirt fills the room. Agatha, lying naked on the bed, opens her eyes, her expression twisting to one of malevolent, contemptuous hatred, and looks up at Death.

"Oh," she says. "It's you."

"I want her," Rio says with no precursor, motioning in the vague direction of the door and presumably the girl who had recently exited through it.

"Sure," Agatha says, easing up to sitting, reaching for her clothes, aware of the way she is being stared at, hungry, possessive. "I don't mind if you have my sloppy seconds."

"Agatha," Rio complains, because they both know Agatha is being purposefully uncooperative. "I want her dead." She slices her knife lazily through the air, a slow cut across an invisible throat.

"Do it yourself then," Agatha says, then gasps in mock-shock. "Oh, but that's right, you can't! It isn't her time. That's too bad for you, I'm so sorry."

Rio rolls her eyes. "I'll let you skip the next tithe."

Agatha stops and considers that. It's a good offer. That's time she could use for things other than finding and killing a coven of witches, time for her own personal projects, of which she was many. And it would be easy, she wouldn't even have to watch. There's hair all over her pillow, one of those and the right spell and the woman will sicken and die by morning.

She should say yes. It's just that she's very, very petty.

"Nope. Don't feel like it. She wasn't that bad in bed, honestly. Better than you ever were," she says, hopping into her pants, still shirtless and aware of where Rio's eyes are.

Look all you want, she thinks, you'll never get to touch. It's a stupid, small, petty victory, how much Death wants and can't have her, but such little victories are some of the few joys left to her.

"You're so immature," Rio murmurs and Agatha snorts.

"I'm getting better. Remember when I went through my bad boy phase?"

Rio studies her, head tilted to one side, hip cocked, aggressive and deadly, but Agatha isn't worried. Death can't touch her. There are rules.

And then Rio has her down on the bed, straddling her, the knife against her abdomen and Agatha remembers the fine print of those rules.

Rio can't take her life, but there's nothing stopping her from causing Agatha pain. And that knife is positioned in a way that could cause quite a bit of pain.

"Reconsider," Rio says, looking down at her with unnerving adoration.

"Hey, when we're talking about immature, can we talk about your sudden desire to have me kill the first woman I've had in my bed since—" she stops what she might have said, self-corrects. "In thirty years?"

In answer, Rio trails her fingers over Agatha's neck, down to her collarbone, but no further. Agatha finds herself wishing she had gotten her shirt on before they'd ended up like this. Those warm fingers on her skin evoke memories she could do without.

"Mine," Rio says. "All mine. No one else touches you."

Agatha bursts into snorting laughter, quickly restrained by the blade indenting her skin. "Wow, this is incentive to turn into the biggest slut possible. Feel free to do your creepy lurking, though. Watch all you want." Her hand cups Rio's cheek and with great care, she levers herself up on her elbow. "Miss me, baby?"

"Yes," Rio says, turning lighting-quick, pressing a kiss to Agatha's palm. Agatha jerks her hand back, wipes it on the bed with the expression of someone who squashed a bug barehanded.

"Ew," she complains, and okay, maybe Rio is right and she is petty, but the flicker of real fury in Rio's eyes, behind the more obvious exasperation, is very rewarding.

Then the knife bites in, sends a trickle of blood down her stomach and she hisses in pain. "Do what I want," Rio singsongs. "Or take your medicine."

"How about option C?" Agatha snarls, magic slamming into Rio's chest, throwing her across the room. She scrambles up, snatches her shirt, but has to shield against the next attack before she can put it on. Black tendrils of magic try to find a way around her shields, crawling bits of craft probing for any weakness.

"Still so sloppy," she taunts.

"How so?" Rio asks, not bothering to hide her amusement at Agatha trying to pull a shirt on with one hand while she continues to cast with the other. "And when did you get so modest, anyway?"

"Honey, no one likes to be ogled by their ex," Agatha says. "As for how, you are using so much power for that little exploratory spell, if you didn't have literally endless limits, you'd burn out before—"

She stops abruptly, because this is starting to get fun. She's starting to smile, a wild, exhilarated smile. She's starting to feel the urge to giggle, to experiment with spells, to find out if she can remove the floor from under Rio before she notices and send her plummeting into the room below.

For one breath, one heartbeat, she's forgotten to grieve.

She drops her shields at the same time Rio launches a real attack. It won't kill her, but it will hurt.

That's all right. It should.

Then there is a shape in front of her, only very slightly a woman, the impression of arms spread wide and an all-encompassing, welcoming darkness, the space behind the world.

The spell hits, and then there is only Rio, staggering, holding her side and Agatha's instinct is to reach for her, catch her, offer comfort or more likely, a scolding about not being able to better redirect her own energy—

Instead, she crosses her arms over her chest and watches, impassive, unmoved.

Rio whirls on her, nostrils flared, eyes wide. "What was that—" she stops, looks at Agatha. Snorts without mirth. "Oooh. Ags, if you want it to hurt that badly, you only have to ask." The knife is back in her hand, as much a part of her as any of her limbs. Perhaps more so, who can say what real shape lies under her favored guise? "I've got better ways than magic." She pauses, then adds, softer, more careful, "And that could have really hurt you."

"Can't have your favorite killing machine injured, hmm?" Agatha purrs. "Who'd get you all those bodies you love so much?"

"You know that isn't why," Rio says, colder, unimpressed.

Agatha shrugs, indifferent, resummoning her magic. "So are we going to do this or—"

Rio doesn't answer. She looks away from Agatha, always a bad idea. "…ss me," she murmurs, syllables too soft to be properly made out.

"What was that?"

"Kiss me. And I'll let it go." She still can't make herself look at Agatha.

"Wow," Agatha says, then repeats. "Wooooow. This is a new low, even for you. I know you're obsessed with me," she tosses her hair, preens a little. "And who could blame you. Still, that is really pitiful."

Rio taps her knife against the air, her expression one of grim patience, as though Agatha is a trial she’s trying to will herself through. "You can't beat me."

Agatha snorts. "We'll see about that. But all right, Romeo. Let me skip the next tithe and I'll do it."

Rio nods at once, as easy as that.

Agatha swaggers toward her, places her hand on her former lover's cheek, shockingly warm against her palm. "Close your eyes," she whispers, her voice gone husky. "I'll make it good."

Rio trembles ever-so-slightly and obeys.

Agatha spins her free hand in the air, mouths a silent incantation and the floor drops out from Rio, sends her plummeting into the room below as Agatha cackles with delight and for just a moment, forgets to grieve.

if you haven’t read it, I recommend the mistake.

#agatha all along #agatha x rio #agathario #This one is pretty good

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helplessswan · 15 days ago

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Ugly as Sin | Transfem! James x Fem!Dave

KNIVES HERE!!!! With some angst, again, lol, 7k words aprox | request rules, ao3

I follow you now / I follow you down

To a dirty black room /Where the air is gone

I'll lie down on the table / And I'll wait for you

To step inside me now / Come inside me now, Jesus

An horrible night with transfem! James and fem! Dave

TAGS: Angst, Hurt No Confort, Transfem James, Fem Dave, Transphobia, Dysphoria, Internalized Misoginy, Emotional abuse, Vomiting, Non-Consensual groping

If there was one thing in this world James hated, it was herself.

She hated the way her body lacked curves; she was made of straight lines like the slashes of a knife. She hated the width of her shoulders compared to the rest of her body. There was nothing delicate about her, nothing pleasing to the eye, nothing that indicated she was a real girl.

James squints at herself in the mirror, trying to hold back her tears. She can't stop seeing all the flaws that adorn her body. 'Deformed, I look deformed,' is the only thing running through her head. She inwardly curses being born with this body that isn't hers inside or out, and she curses the fact that she isn't blind so she can ignore all her misshapen muscles and bones.

Her gaze never wavered or shifted from the glass, a reminder and a punishment to herself. It wasn't the first time she'd done this, staring at her reflection for endless moments, pointing out her imperfections like an angry mob pointing at a traitor. And she wouldn't stop until she found something to smile about the deformed canvas that was her body.

The rest of the room is forgotten. The smell of suffocating humidity is the least of her worries. The air is icy against her skin, freezing and cracking like crumpled paper. The mirror's glass squeals and cracks as if trying to break out of its wooden frame; not even the rock band stickers and dirty finger smudges could hide the cracks.

She wears the same clothes as always, rags sewn together at the sides, seeking their own shape. James didn't know how to sew; her fingers always ended up bleeding, and the punctures burned beneath her skin like maggots in herhe tender flesh. An old Venom T-shirt Lars gave her for her 19th birthday covers her flat torso. To cover her legs, shame, and sins, she wears a skirt: long, knee-length, like that of a student at a religious school.

Her long limbs tremble, and her left arm rises to touch her right forearm, the pads tracing the skin that was neither soft nor pure. The softness doesn't last long; she's never soft; it doesn't take long for her to dig her broken, sharp nails into the flesh. She drags and scratches all around, leaving white lines in her wake. But James isn't content to scratch; she needs to pound, to crush.

She falls to the ground, defeated like a soldier begging for mercy, surrendered to a higher power. Her knees scrape against the floor without care, but they feel more like rough stones. Blood is draining from her parched veins; the air pushes her to the ground in submission. She stares as if she has nothing left.

She raises her fist in the air and smashes it against her skin, once, twice, repeatedly, the way a hammer drives into wood. She already knows how this is going to end: a bruise of every color that's unpleasant is going to form on her skin, Dave, Lars, and Cliff are going to discover it, and she's going to end up scolded by the latter two because they simply don't understand her. They don't understand her constant suffering, her struggle with her own body.

A physical punishment is all she needs, a little roughness to get her in her stride. Finding comfort in pain was easy, the only thing she knew. It was an almost nostalgic pain. She could almost hear her father's belt in the air, just like the day her dad walked in on her trying on one of her mother's dresses.

She remembers that day perfectly, the winter of ‘78. It was snowing outside when James arrived home after school. The house felt freezing inside. No one was home, neither her parents nor her sister, just James and the sound of her own footsteps as she wandered through her home. She hurried up the stairs, ready to grab her guitar, her only true and faithful friend. But before she made her way to her room, She stopped dead in front of the half-open door to her parents' bedroom. She sniffed around as if it were a forbidden place, her gaze quickly focusing on one of her mother's clothes lying on her bed. It was a light blue dress, hand-sewn by one of James's aunts. It was a pretty dress, although, in reality, James didn't know much about dresses.

She approached the bed delicately, walking on tiptoe as if someone, even in her solitude, would listen, would judge her. She took the sleeves of the dress in her hands and was frightened by her own thoughts when she realized she was beginning to plot in her mind how the dress would look on her. James imagined how such a feminine garment would fit her pubescent body.

She looked at it hesitantly and decided she had nothing to lose.

Even though she did have it.

She stripped from head to toe, left in only her socks and boxers. She slipped her head through the gaps in the dress, and in the blink of an eye, she was wearing it. The fine, carefully crafted fabric caressed her as gently as when her mother hugged her. She looked at herself in the mirror, and a flurry of unfamiliar sensations formed in her stomach.

The dress hugged her in ways she'd never imagined before. She spun around on her own axis, and the ruffles of the dress floated in the air like in old Hollywood movies.

There was something so forbidden and wrong about her actions, waves of guilt and disgust crashed over her body, but she didn't stop. The warmth of the dress melted the bitter, icy cold outside, and James couldn't help but smile at her reflection in the mirror. She knew boys weren't pretty; they didn't have to be… But she felt so pretty now. Was this really so wrong?

She stood in front of the mirror for a few minutes, posing, trying to arrange the dress to her body, making it her own. And seeing the lipstick on the counter, it was easy to deduce what was going through her mind. She grabbed it and tried to remember all the times she'd seen her mother put on makeup. She lost herself in her own bubble, ignoring the outside world.

When she finished applying her lipstick, her father was standing in the doorway.

Belt in hand, the leather rose like divine punishment. And in moments, her skin burned. No matter how much James screamed or begged for forgiveness, her father took his god's word as a whip and punished his child with his own hands as she deserved.

The punishment didn't end there; that was just the first, pitiful part. Her father couldn't remain silent; it was his duty to inform his wife of his son's sinful behavior. And her mother's look of disappointment, fixed on her, was more painful than any blow. Whispered prayers were the first thing James heard when she tried to approach to the woman who had given her life.

What she had discovered about herself in such a short and fleeting time was torn away, along with her pale, 15-summer-old skin and her sanctity. Being a deviant like her was wrong. She knew it because it carried a punishment. Transgender and fags would have no peace, neither here nor in hell.

But she thinks that hell is fine if she can be a woman there.

Now, at nineteen, James knows it well: the violence on her battered body was what calmed her, a mere scratch compared to the deep wound that was God's eyes upon her.

Not even when she loses her breath and her arm cramps from beating herself up, James stops with her self-harm. She would love to be able to shed her body, to inhabit a skin that felt like her own and not the sack of bones she was part of. Maybe it wasn't even worth clinging to such an unhappy life, maybe...

James jumps in fright when she hears the sound of the door opening interrupting her despair. Her blue eyes widen, paranoid. Reflexively, she covers her face with her arms, but no, it's just Dave. Dave was everything her mind wanted to avoid and admire in these moments of misery, because she was everything James wasn't. Dave was pretty, with long, unkempt orange hair that moved onstage with the wild beauty of a wildfire. She knew how to wear skirts, dresses, and heels and not look like a circus freak. Dave was a real woman, not the joke James was.

She couldn't help but compare herself to the redhead every chance she got, jealousy building in the pit of her stomach every time she saw her. Her natural, unashamed femininity made James feel incompetent in comparison, and she couldn't even blame Dave for that. She wished seeing Dave was more like seeing a reflection, a peer, but then she looked at her own body and couldn't help but feel sorry for herself.

Dave is honest, at least with the rest of the world, at least with James. Every time she asks tough questions and waffles on about whether they see her as a real girl or not, Cliff and Lars lie to her face, believing it to be comforting, telling her what she wants to hear. Sometimes she wishes she could see into other people's minds, to know what they really think of her, even when she's terrified of the results. Dave wasn't like that; she didn't console James when she talked about what an abomination she was; Dave just got on her nerves.

Their relationship was like that, that ambiguous space between love and violence in which the two had spent their entire lives. Dave's voice rises, demanding

“Hey James! Where did you leave- Oh no, not you again with this crap to get our attention.”

James's body tenses; she wants to yell at her, to tell her that she isn’t trying to get anyone's attention, but she knows that if she contradicts Dave, there's no stop of her anger. She can't avoid the words from hurting; she doesn't like to think there's a half-truth in them, she doesn't like to think about how it comforts her when her bandmates worry about the bruises on her arms. James gives in; she feels like Dave knows her better than she knows herself.

Dave stands in front of James, who is on the floor. Dave's eyes were stern on her like a lion's on its prey. A rough hand lands on James's head and tugs carelessly at one of her long blond locks.

Their gazes meet when James raises her head at Dave's treatment. James shudders, feels the air suddenly turn icy, and looks down. She can't bring herself to meet Dave's stern gaze. She'd never admit it, but she was afraid of the redhead; just looking at her caused her physical pain.

Sometimes, James wishes she could possess her own body the way Dave possesses her thoughts and pains. Every time Dave possessed her like a parasite in her stomach, James turned crystal clear.

Dave's hand tightens even more in her hair, testing what she was going to do. She really could do anything James wanted in this state; a sea of possibilities opened up before her. And out of all of them, she chose to place her palm gently on her dry cheeks. Her calloused thumb traces the contours of her skin, her nail pressing dangerously into the flesh as if it were Dave's next dish.

“Phew, look. If I help you look like a real woman, will you stop crying?”

James's eyes open, and she falls silent, breathless. She feels her mouth go dry in an instant, and the hand pulling at her hair as if it wants to decapitate her doesn't hurt as much anymore. A real woman. Being helped by a real woman to become one. To undergo mitosis until reaching the closest thing to peace and beauty was something so divine that it could only be achieved through a pact with the devil.

She doesn't think about it for a second; she feels as if she could kneel right there, the same way she knelt before God every night, begging Her to take away all that warm sin that came in temptations like the sky-blue dresses, femininity, and a word that sounded so beautiful: "woman." Now she begged for the sin, accepting divine fury for a bit of peace of mind.

She nods, doesn't speak, just shakes her head. She's moved; she never thought she'd be alive to witness Dave find kindness in her heart. She never thought she'd be alive to witness her loved ones grow up; she can't imagine herself growing up, especially in that body. A ray of hope glides through her bedroom mirror.

When she takes Dave's hand to get up from the floor, there's no turning back.

They walk briskly to Dave's room, slipping on air. The redhead walks as if she's committing a crime, glancing sideways out of the corners of her eyes, and James feels flashes of déjà vu. Dave's door is broken and unoiled; she has to kick the bottom of the wood a few times to get it to open.

Heading straight to the closet, Dave didn't waste a second of her time. Dave's room—Dave and Lars, actually, the two of them shared a room—wasn't much different from James's. The moldy walls and general chaos were a common decoder between the two rooms. Cliff had suggested James and Dave share a room, the two girls tigether, but Mustaine left no room for discussion in that characteristically sharp voice; she wasn't going to share a room with James.

Dave takes garment after garment onto her bed with a carelessness and confidence that James could never allow herself. Stockings, skirts, dresses in colors so dark they were blinding. Old, raw leather was what stood out in James's eyes. She wants to take them in her hands, dress them, feel them hug her body and warm her. But she keeps her hands to herself; she knows she can't take Dave's things away from her. When the pile of clothes is big enough for the redhead's liking, she begins to search for the best clothes for James, who can't help but idealize how her figure will look when Dave is finished with her, as if a set of rag-shaped constructions could fix everything about herself that she considered deformed.

“take off your clothes”

Direct, raw, that's how Dave's words come out. There are no sugar-coated filters or false ideas. James obeys, thinking she knows what's coming next. she takes off her shirt, revealing her flat chest, a plain lashed by violent storms. Her abdomen is the depression of the terrain, sunken in, her skin is thin, giving her a slender appearance that highlights her bones. She never marveled at her thinness like many girls who worship it; it only highlighted her worst qualities. It's not that she's deliberately gaining weight either; if she's learned anything, it's that thinness is something to yearn for, a symbol of respect among many women.

She takes off her pants; her legs are infinitely long, ger knees prominent and always scraped. The blond body hair had long since disappeared, the result of James exposing herself to long waxing sessions. They had left her skin red and irritated, but that was sometimes the point, the connection that generated the pain.

She's left vulnerable, in just her frayed panties and socks. She closes her eyes, feels bile rise in her throat, burning everything in its path. She felt vulnerable before Dave, but she didn't back down, hoping the redhead would see a little light in her. She needed a skilled, stern hand to reorganize her body so she wouldn't be ugly anymore, ugly as sin. She only prayed that that stern hand wouldn't crush her last rays of hope.

They burn, Dave's fingers against her skin, burning cold. They never rest on her completely; James is the patient, Dave the steel-bladed surgeon, the psychiatrist who prescribes pills. Black eyes rest on her body, testing which medicine to distribute. She takes one of her bras and passes it to the blonde. It's black, C-cup, and James's mind returns to the ring. She slips it on, her back wide, and the fabric frays in places, but Dave doesn't look surprised. The hooks scrape James's skin when she manages to adjust it. It stings; the fabric isn't of a pleasant quality; the seams feel like ant bites on her skin. She wants to scratch until they scab over, but her hands keep working.

Several plastic bags are the first thing she sees in Dave's hands when she raises her head. They're disposable bags, Dave probably got them at a supermarket or something. She doesn't give James much time to think; she shoves the bags into the gaps between her bra and her chest without any care. She can't help but feel a little disgusted; it's almost as if her chest is actually being ripped open, although that would be a little more pleasant, more real than dirty bags. But this is always better than nothing; she wasn't ungrateful.

Dave isn't very fond of her job. Her touch is dubious, as if unleashing unprecedented depravity. James can't help but feel decayed. She knows Dave has done worse than helping a tranny, yet she still treats her so abjectly. Still, she can't help but crave Dave's company. She begs not to be abandoned; she knows the hole Dave is capable of leaving her in is one she can't climb out of. She wants to satisfy her, needs the redhead's poisonous arms around her.

She doesn't expect it when Dave runs her hand around the cloth-covered bags, as if there's something real there. James takes one, two steps back. Her hands cup her chest as if she's about to be stabbed. No, she's already been stabbed, and she's preventing her blood from clotting and gushing out in black and red. The redhead looks confused; she doesn't understand how James can react so realistically to something she sees as fake.

James looks at her stomach, looks at her navel, and her stomach churns. After years of enduring the shared hatred of a world that wants her dead, she doesn't know why Dave's help makes her so weak. She wished she could put Dave in her shoes, make her see through her eyes, know what it's like to look in the mirror and understand the word self-loathing. But that will never happen, because Dave is beautiful, and Dave is a real woman.

Dave's arms fall back, looking at James like a parent looking at an ungrateful child. James knows the disappointment in her gaze, knows what it means to fall short of expectations; she does it all the time, just by living.

Another piece of clothing ends up in James's hands: a plain black T-shirt. A bit different from her usual style, there are no rock band logos or any silly phrases like the band's tees usually wear. She puts her arms and head through the holes. The air feels chilly. The pockets inside the bra create slight curves, which James thinks would be enough to satisfy her and paint her eyes with false perception most days.

She sits on the bed for the next item. Dave insists she can't put it on herself, that the fabric is cheap, and James's hands are too big, and she's too clumsy to keep from tearing it. The blonde stays quiet; perhaps Dave knows better. They're black Lycra stockings, meant to be knee-high. They're more opaque than what James usually sees the other woman wear; they don't go with the revealing outfits Dave always wears. They're discreet, so no one will notice them too much.

James positions her feet like a ballet dancer's so Dave can start putting on the stockings. She was right; the fabric feels cheap, as if it could tear at the slightest wrong touch. There's pure concentration in Dave's eyes, unlike her careless swipes from before. A dead silence accompanies her firm touch. The stockings rise up her calves, trapping her skin inside. It reaches her knee, and the redhead smooths the Lycra over her freshly formed scrapes. James's chest tightens, and she hisses in pain. She wants to clench her legs together, but she keeps them in place.

Her breathing becomes labored as they reach her thigh, her touch intensifies, and she begins to feel everything with intensity. She dreads watching Dave approach her crotch; she doesn't want to disgust Dave more than she already does. But James knows she's fucking disgusting. She alone soils her pale skin with filth. She discovers it again every time she sits on her bed, her legs trembling and her hands stained with her own fluids; when she looks in the mirror and her most violent organs remind her of her ontological reality, the knowledge that she will never be a woman, but rather the attempt at one.

There it is again, the nausea. Her stomach churns violently, she feels like all the alcohol she's been choking on for years is going to explode in her throat. She can't stop, the anxiety is eating her alive. She didn't think about how badly this could end when she accepted Dave's proposal. She can't understand how she stripped naked in front of her, with her body wanting nothing more than to be mutilated and reassembled. Maybe she needed Dave that badly.

She can understand when Dave doesn't pull her stockings up to her hips. The disgust she must feel with a body like James's. Her disappointment is clouded with relief as she pulls the last few inches of fabric up to her hips.

She puts on the skirt Dave hands her. It's shorter than she usually wears, revealing more than it should. But it's not like the miniskirts the redhead wears either. In fact, she doesn't remember seeing Dave wear this same garment before. Her hands work clumsily; it's too tight for her legs, too narrow for her fake waist. She feels her body compressing. Maybe she should slim down a little more if she wants to fit into Dave's clothes.

Now she feels like a corpse dressed for its funeral. There's something messy about the way the clothes don't fit her body. She shouldn't have expected them to, Dave has always told her that; it's silly for her to expect to look feminine, because she wasn't going to. The fabric is scratchy as a weed, but she stays still. She remembers how her mother had once told her sister that beauty hurts, and James thinks she was right. Beauty hurts, it stings, it leaves bruises.

Dave has a mirror in her room too, a desktop one where she can't see the full picture of the mess she is. She can only see her face, dried by the tears from of years. The bright red pimple scars stood out on her skin, and she wants to scratch them off. She sighs; she can't even look at her face without thinking about everything she wants to tear out and rearrange.

“You’re not even good enough to put on clothes. Do I have to do everything myself?”

She looks over her shoulder at Dave's voice, disappointed in herself. The redhead grabs her by her nonexistent waist and drags her like a rag doll. James's feet slip on the floor and she feels like her outfit is about to rip. She squeezes her legs together to keep from falling to the ground; Dave really didn't seem to care much if the blonde fell under her touch.

She doesn't ask permission to start adjusting James's clothes. She doesn't need permission if it's James. James would never be able to deny Dave anything; she couldn't give herself that right, she wasn't the one to do it. Hands start tugging at her shirt, at her skirt, sometimes getting dangerously close to the areas James hated most on her body. Dave doesn't know which ones they are, and she doesn't mind avoiding them either.

It faintly reminds her of moments from her childhood. Her father used to do this to her mother all the time. Running lipstick off her face until there was no trace left, buttoning her shirt all the way up, or trying to make her skirt cover up even more. Maybe this is what her mother felt when her father tried to "fix" her; she felt possessed, consumed.

She imagines what it would be like to be a couple with Dave. For a second, she doesn't think her heart could handle the redhead's attitude every day. But if her mother could endure and love her father, she could live with Dave in a more romantic way. James isn't sure if she likes the woman that way, but she also wishes things between them were different.

Her mother used to shed tears at times like these. Maybe she should be crying too. She'd always been told boys didn't cry, that it was only for girls. Maybe crying would make her more of a woman. She feels foolish every time she interacts with Dave, like everything she's learned throughout her life is wrong, somehow.

She looks down and breathes. She's going to let Dave teach her everything she doesn't know.

The club's neon lights are as harsh as a blinding sun on her retinas. The narcotic smell in the dead, stale air burns her nostrils and makes her feel sick; she wants to go back to bed. She doesn't like clubs like this; she's a bar girl, where everyone was minding their own business, too lost in the alcohol to care what anyone else was doing. This was different; in the few minutes she spent here, she saw more people powdering their noses than she'd seen in her entire life, and she lives with Dave.

Before leaving, she put on a pair of Dave's shoes that were killing her feet. Along with the tights and the tight skirt, James can barely walk. She looks like a deer that's been attacked and its hind legs are broken. Dave had gone to the trouble of putting on her makeup; eyeliner adorns her eyelids and a little blush reddens her cheeks. No lipstick.

She's alone, standing weakly against the bar as she clouds her mind with alcohol. She keeps her head down, her voice high-pitched so no one suspects. She knows what happens to people like her in places like this. She still doesn't know why Dave thought this was the best place to bring her. It's full of drugged-up strangers with brain-damaged minds looking to spread their stupidity and human filth.

The redhead had let go of her in the sea of people to actually have some fun. She remembered all the times Dave told her how boring it was to spend time with someone as shy as her. James didn't know that feeling went so far as to leave her alone in such a hostile environment.

She can't hear the music in the room; the volume is too high for her to hear anything other than the frequencies of the rumbling bass drum. In all the din, she thinks she's finally gone deaf. She can't identify any of the sounds around her. Her brain is being whipped into a needle of noise and is about to explode.

As she struggles to stay alive, a hand slides down her back until it touches her shoulder.

James tenses instantly, her whole body sensitive to the foreign touch. She doesn't want to look up, but she has to. She forces herself to see the man's face; he's tall, very tall, even taller than James, and that intimidates her. She's not used to meeting people taller than her. His face is blurred; she can't see any nuance of his expression other than a mocking smile with too much teeth.

She curses her stupidity and her numbness for not warning her that someone was approaching. Fear begins to course through her veins along with the alcohol, a race to see who will take control of her body. She'll be in deep trouble if the alcohol wins.

Icy fingers caress her shoulder where the fabric doesn't cover it. They drag like dirt; James already knows where she'll scrub her skin with soap first when she gets home. The man must have noticed the scared expression on James's face, because he presses harder, her blood rushing back. The skin where his claws dig in burns like a live fire, about to leave a scab covered in blisters.

The man's words turn into animalistic growls in James's mind. The blonde's knuckles turn white as her fists clench, her arteries bulging as if they're about to burst. She moves silently, knowing that one false step is inevitable when dealing with idiots in pubs who think they can do whatever they want.

Confronting a stranger in a bar should be easier than it actually is: strike and walk away, knowing she'd never run into him again. But fear paralyzes her; dressed like this, she feels more vulnerable. She knows that now, she looks just like the target, the perfect prey for the target of violent hands. Now, she's just a fourth-class citizen.

Her gut is in knots. She doesn't know how many times she's felt nausea take over her senses so far today, but this is definitely the worst. She feels like she's going to regurgitate until there's not a single organ left inside her. She feels like she's going to burst into flames, and can't avoid the sour taste that forms on her tongue.

When James didn't respond verbally, the man brought his face closer to hers and spoke louder. His breath was sour, the stench strong, and James wrinkled her nose, gasping for air. She swallowed, her throat feeling hard and raspy. She wished Dave were here. She'd seen her defend those she considered one of her own, but she didn't know how much that applied to her, probably because James wasn't one of "hers," she was Dave's, and she was terrified by how natural the idea felt.

But, just as her mind wanders, she returns to her tormented reality when she feels the man's hand move down her bare arm. He seems to take her silence as an invitation. She tries to move, but finds herself trapped between the man and her arm. She squirms in place, wanting nothing more than to escape his filthy touch. Feeling cornered, she begins to gasp for air, becoming like one of the defenseless animals she used to hunt with her father. A coward only goes after prey he considers certain. And James isn't doing anything to defend herself.

She's disgusted with herself for doing nothing, disgusted with the stranger, with the stench in the air. She can no longer distinguish where they're touching her; she feels like it's no longer worth knowing. She holds her stomach above the cloth and looks down, trying to focus her vision on whatever it is. Her head is slowly starting to kill her, the pain becomes unbearable, and she's about to stop recognizing her flesh when a hand rests on her leg.

She squeezes her eyelids shut, wishing she were unconscious, but the pain keeps her awake in a state of misery. The fingers don't stop there; they squeeze her thigh as if trying to cut off her blood flow. She becomes a piece of meat in the eyes of a predator. The hand moves up, leaving his filth everywhere. His nails feel more like teeth trying to pierce her tights as they approach her crotch. She hears the mocking laughter, and her stomach can't hold it anymore.

James vomits on the man, purging all the alcohol and fucked-up stuff out of her.

She feels the putrid fluids pouring out of her body. Her throat is incinerated; she's barely eaten anything all day, and pure acid is pouring out of her throat. The liquid stains the guy's shirt and pants. She doesn't notice, nor does she care. She just wants to escape the blinding lights and the drilling sound. She misses the comfort of her bed. She misses Lars and Cliff; she wishes they were here, looking at her with genuine concern.

With wobbly steps, she drags herself backward as if she's running from a brutal crime scene. When her feet manage to connect two steps without losing her balance, she tries to run, but the shoes she's wearing cut off her circulation and she scrapes until her flesh becomes sore and unbearable. The constant feeling that all her clothes are about to be ripped off isn't very pleasant either.

And there it was, a red dot in James's vision.

She doesn't have to articulate many steps until she's face to face with Dave again. She can recognize that wild mane of hair from miles away. There's always been something about the way Mustaine commands a presence wherever she is—fire rising in the air, generating panic, making everything about her in an instant.

Whether she wants to or not, she always ends up dragging herself towards the redhead out of inertia, or maybe she just needs her that badly. This is a face she does recognize, Dave's angry expression etched in her head from nights of beer and shouting to which she'd grown accustomed. Her eyes, the most solid brown she'd ever seen, pierce her vision like two razors.

Asking Dave why she left her alone is a waste of energy. In the redhead's mind, the favor was already done when she let her play dress-up in her clothes. It's no surprise when Dave snatches up the urge. Her voice drowns out any other noises that had been racking her brains just seconds ago. She's alone in the crowd. Her gaze fills her with self-loathing, sickening gaze; she must smell like a rotting corpse and vomit stains she hasn't noticed yet. All she can think about is how she wants to hide when Dave stares at the deepest vices inside her.

When tears begin to flow from her reddened eyes, her mind is filled with the thought of how much she hates how easily she can be destroyed. And how she drinks it down like liquor, because the redhead won't want her when she fights back because she hates what she doesn't possess, and James doesn't respect herself enough to give herself any other way. Dave doesn't tell her what she wants to hear; she instills fear in her, she disciplines. She looks down on her, giving her a sense of belonging.

A vile heat settles in her eyes as tears flow. Her shoulders slump; those inches she had over Dave, her roars of rebellion on the stage where she towered, were just a joke. She was never smaller than when she stood before the redhead's vile eyes in intimacy; she became docile, drugged by her perfect image.

“Oh no, you’re not going to cry now.” Dave’s hands roughly land on her shoulders and pull her close. Their foreheads collide, miraculously missing the point of a headbutt. Their faces are so close she can feel the redhead’s alcoholic breath against her chapped lips. Their shocks of hair hide their expressions from the rest of the audience, making sure no one gets too curious. She doesn’t think Dave wants to be seen with her too much outside of the band. “I help you with your transvestite shit and you start crying. Nothing will satisfy you, bitch.”

It hurts to know that she's a charity case in the eyes of the person she adores most. But she needs her so much now, and she doesn't know how long she'll last. It could be an eternal pain for a short life, or just a fist squeezing her heart with its blunt nails.

Dave's hand brushes her fingers without interest until it reaches her bony wrist, squeezing as if James is going somewhere, away from her harsh touch. It takes a while for James to realize that Dave is leading her to the club's emergency exit, straight into an alley between establishments. It's only when she inhales the air that wafts through the open door that she slips from the step between the club and the icy sidewalk that she realizes is the fact.

She falls as if she carries the weight of all her sins in her bones; she can almost feel the air breaking to make way for her body. She closes her eyes as if that might make her collapse hurt less. aher hands and legs scrape the raw cement, where bruises will later form, reminding her of this day like the rest of the wounds on her skin and flesh. But the worst blow falls to her head; she hits the floor and almost falls unconscious, but she's not so lucky. She genuinely doubts hee brain is in good condition; she feels like hee brain has exploded, throbbing as if trying to burst out of her head; her entire forehead aches, expanding and contracting.

Trash and small stones dig into her palms as she tries to settle. Her entire upper body weighs her down, her organs splintering between the confines of her ribs. She can't lift her head completely, as if it were dangling, about to detach itself from her neck. She inhales and exhales with abnormal difficulty. The scent of accumulated waste makes it difficult to breathe, leaving a strong, rotten feeling on her tongue. Her tights are now all ripped, scraps of her skin seeping through the torn rows of Lycra. She can't deny that she imagined this, ending up in an alley, feeling broken, dirty, for one reason or another, but she never imagined it would be thanks to Dave.

She coughs up the dust that ended up in her mouth and looks up, thinking the sight might blind her.

The cold, apathetic light from the old lighthouse on the wall is the only illumination to be found besides the faint moon. Dave's oversized body eclipses any illumination. Her curls ignite like matches, glowing. She's tall, no matter what her measurements, and she stands tall with a rage that puts her on a pedestal beyond James's plane, whatever that may be. She blinks weakly; she's going crazy.

She moves forward gracefully, each short step echoing in the night. The heel of her shoe leaves behind a dry, echoless sound. Her two feet rest on James's sides, at her waist. James is helpless, subdued; she's evaporating, on the verge of fading away. There's no blood left in her body, no definite thoughts. She was paying dearly for the sin of being a girl.

Dave lets herself fall against her, sitting on her abdomen. The force with which she collapses is enough to make James groan. The redhead takes her time settling into James's lap. A smile that doesn't reach her eyes rests on her night-darkened face. James gathers her thoughts; maybe Dave is enjoying it, maybe she is enjoying it. The idea disgusts her with herself; it doesn't help that she has her on top of her, writhing like a parasite about to enter her, a parasite that feeds on the flesh and its desires, and will let James's devoured body pay for her sins.

She's not crying anymore; her mind is so rotten she no longer has the strength to do so. She watches Dave move like a snake, her fangs long and sharp. The redhead leans closer to her face for what seems like a short eternity. Fingers grip her hair, holding her head in place, still. Her fringe obscures her gaze, but it's not necessary to meet her gaze when her entire attitude is predatory. Her lips stand out among her features, pink like a newly formed bruise.

And it's those lips that are on hers at the moment her eyes begin to narrow.

Dave's lips taste of the femininity she'd never had. The sting of lipstick and the unmistakable scent of bad whiskey. James's lips taste like vomit—just acid and waste—but she felt even dirtier with the redhead's mouth on hers. It's almost a kiss, but you can't really call it one; there's something about it that makes it feel thick and heavy. But they both know they'll never do it any other way.

She keeps her lips there, sucking out any remaining spirit from the blonde girl. James only opens her eyes when she starts gasping for air. She breathes heavily and swears she can feel Dave's smile against her mouth. Dave's tongue drags inside, possessive, hateful. It's wet, like an open, dripping wound, and she feels like she might choke on her own blood if they don't stop now.

A hand moves from her hair to her neck. It squeezes, not cutting off the airflow, but enough to leave a mark different from those of his arms, one that no T-shirt or wristband could hide. Like a dog's collar, always present and ready to strangle her. Dave squeezes a little harder, pushing her luck as the flesh of her throat begins to twist.

She gasps in intense pain when Dave bites her lower lip. It breaks easily, adding the taste of iron to their tongues. Her teeth pierce with a surgeon's precision, tearing at the small, transparent scabs of flesh. But James isn't alert when the scent of blood reaches her nose, too worried about suffocating. She doesn't want to die now, at the hands of her blind love, where God won't find her.

Her bra sticks to her body from the fragrant, primal sweat pouring off her. Her arms barely hold up her back; they're numb, practically asleep, trying to hold themselves up as the floor leaves its mark. Dave lets go of her lips like a hunter letting go of an already dying prey, because there's nothing more disgusting than taut flesh. The redhead is agitated, rejuvenated and fed. Satisfaction is all James sees before Dave stands and speaks to her for the last time that night.

“I hate you, Hetfield. I thought I liked girls, but I had to meet you.”

HEYYYY hope u liked this. I love transfem James she's everything to me

English is not my first language. This was written in Spanish, translated using a crappy website, and proofread using my poor English and a Word document. Which is sad, because the original is quite good.

thanks to my friend Sam for this beautiful art <333

#megadeth #metallica #megadeth fanfiction #metallica fanfiction #dave mustaine #james hetfield #fanfic #my writing

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dragon-kazansky · 2 years ago

Text

Spirit of the sea

Izzy Hands x Reader (GN)

SEASON 2 CONTENT AHEAD!!!

Blackbeard rules the sea. Despite wanting his captain back, Izzy realises his mistake. Protecting the crew is his concern. Protecting you is his life mission. Stede's return brings hope, but there's a lot of work to be done before this crew becomes a family.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Warnings: Spoilers. Izzy's depression spiral. No real unicorns were harmed in the making of Izzy's new leg. Things get a little steamy at the end.

Chapter Thirteen - Loving touch

♡♡♡

Stede had gathered the crew, minus Izzy, to talk to them all. Turns out Ed woke up. You swore under your breath when you heard that. No way is that man going to be happy with any of you.

"What happened to your face?" Pete asked Stede who was standing to a bruise on his cheek.

"Bet Blackbeard did that, didn't he?" Wee John asks.

"It was an accident. Okay? I think Ed just sat up too quickly," Stede says.

"That's what they all say," Roach states.

"As you know, he's gone through quite the ordeal and he does need to regain his strength," Stede explains.

"Yeah. He'll probably get around to killing you after he's rested," Jim says, looking Stede in the eye.

"Yeah, I'd say it's a pretty obvious mistake letting him get strong again," Lucius points out. You nod.

"Kick him off the ship already!" Jim yells.

"We just don't banish people, do we?" Stede says. "That's not us. Let's give him some time, perhaps to rebound a bit."

"Medically speaking, the man can't speak, and his brain is maybe couscous." Roach points out. "Also, gonna need that steak back. It's dinner."

"Right. Yes, aye."

"Maybe we should put it to the vote," Fang suggests.

"Do we have to do this now?" Stede asks.

The crew start yelling.

♡♡♡

Stede got his answers from the crew, that much was clear enough. As you head out, Stede catches up to you.

"You were awfully quiet in there."

"Don't get me wrong. I agree with them, Ed has to go."

Stede's expression falls.

"I know you like him, but that man... he did things. He hurt people like I've never seen before. He hurt Izzy..."

"Ah yes, Izzy. How is he?" Stede asks.

"He's been better."

"Where is he anyway? I didn't see him in there."

"Drinking probably. He, uh, he's stopped talking to me at the moment. He won't talk to anyone."

Stede frowns again. "He's stopped talking to you?"

"I think it's the constant drinking... It's making him... upset. Like, more than before."

"I see..."

You shrug lightly and sigh. "Look, I'm not looking for sympathy. You're the captain, sort this out."

You walk off. Stede watches you go, his heart feeling heavy. Maybe he could have a word with Izzy for you.

♡♡♡

You sit on deck with the wooden sparrow in your hands. After everything that happened it had survived. Izzy had kept it in his cabin. You had found it when you had gone in there to find him. Izzy was nowhere to be seen, but the sparrow was sitting on his desk. There was a slight chip in the wood, right on the wing, but for the most part it looked good.

You sigh as you run your finger carefully over it's little head. Did Izzy even notice it was gone? Probably not.

"The atmosphere around here sucks," Lucius sighs, sitting down next to you. You notice the cigarette between his fingers, but you don't ask. "What's that?" He nods toward the wooden bird.

"Marietta."

"Marietta?" He looks at you with a funny expression.

"That's what I called it. It was a gift for Izzy from me. I dropped the first one in the sea while I was angry at him... so I remade her." You hold the sparrow up. "She's a little beaten, but still in nest condition."

"You carved him a bird?"

"Look, I can't draw like you can. I can't make sew like Frenchie, or knit like Wee John. I can, however, whittle."

Lucius smiles a little. "I like it."

A moment of silence passes while you play with the bird in your hands a little more.

"So, you and Izzy?"

"So, you and Pete?" You reply, sarcastically.

"We're fine," he says defensively. "What's going on with your boyfriend?"

You raise your eyes to Lucius. "Blackbeard abused him. Punished him. Took his leg. He's a little upset at the moment. Rightfully so."

Lucius stands up a little defensively. "We've all been through shit," he says.

You narrow your eyes at him. "I'm not saying you haven't. We thought you were dead!"

"Well, I wasn't." He puts out his cigarette. "I've suffered too and it's all his fault!" He points to where Blackbeard is tied up on the deck.

"He's fucked everyone over, Lucius. Just need Stede to get his ass in gear and do something about it."

Lucius sighs. "Do you think anything will ever go back to how it was?"

"No," you admit honestly. "But I do believe things can get better. In time."

Lucius says nothing. He glares at Blackbeard and then leaves. You sigh and return to holding the bird, caressing it again gently.

"Oh, Izzy..."

♡♡♡

Stede found Izzy at the front of the ship. He was leaning on some of the rope rigging, his wooden leg propped up on the railing. In his other hand was a bottle of rum, of which he was drinking merrily.

He looked a mess.

Stede offered him a smile as he joined him, ignoring the look Izzy was throwing his way. He means over and notices the unicorn is missing it's head.

"He's seen better days, hasn't he?" Stede asks in a lighthearted manner.

"At least he's still got both legs!" Izzy yells.

"Yes!" Stede joins in. "He can't hear you, he's go no head. You've got a head, though, which you should look after."

Izzy down his rum. Stede sighs.

"What do you want, Bonnet?" Izzy asks, not really in the mood for conversation.

"Well, here's the thing. The crew, they're in a bit of a deadlock over the whole banishment of Ed thing and I just thought, seeing as, well, you were the one who kept his body aboard, maybe you should weigh in. You've already murdered him once. Seems like a pretty good payback." He chuckles softly. "So, what do you think?"

"My vote?" Izzy leans in a little closer to Stede. "A rotten let's got to come off."

"Right. Just to confirm, was that a nay or yay on the banishment?"

Izzy just drinks some more.

"Right... I suppose I just mention that our Spirit of the sea is worried about you. You've stopped talking to them apparently..."

Izzy says nothing.

"Don't push them out, Izzy."

Izzy just drinks from his bottle again. Stede sighs and takes his leave.

♡♡♡

"So! We, the crew of The Revenge, have voted and we've chosen banishment, unfortunately." Frenchie states, announcing the result. "So, yeah. Effective immediately. Your complimentary dinghy awaits you portside. Now leave, please."

"Fuck off," Ed hisses, walking past him. You watch him closely.

"Alright, rude."

"Fuck you," Ed laughs softly, walking past Olu.

"First time I've been on this side of a walk of shame," Wee John comments.

"Way to make this awkward, bruh," Archie says.

"Shitty sailing with you." Jim chimes in.

"You're making it really hard to look up to you, man," Pete sighs.

"Hey, made you this sandwich for the trip," Roach says, holding it out to him. Ed slaps it out of his hand and Stede catches it

"You don't want your sammie?" Stede looks sad.

Ed slaps it out of Stede's hand and it hits Lucius in the face. You have to cover your mouth to stop from laughing. Lucius bites back his laughter too. It really isn't a funny moment, throwing someone off the ship, but at least you can find something to laugh about, you supposed.

"Ed, say something at least."

Ed turns his head and looks at Stede.

"You're not a fuckin' mermaid."

You knit your brows together in confusion by that statement. Stede looked equally confused.

"What?"

Ed climbs off the ship and into the dinghy. Stede looks down and watches him, you and Lucius part with the rest if the crew, not hanging about to watch any longer.

Ed was gone. That was that.

♡♡♡

"Is it me or does the energy around here seem off?" Wee John asked.

"By 'the energy,' do we mean him?" Roach nods over to Lucius who was smiling and freaking out a little. "Or him?" He gestures over to where Izzy is still standing at the front of the ship yelling at the unicorn.

"Well, mythical creature?" Izzy yells. You sigh as you watch him from where you stand. He still wasn't talking to you much. "Anything to say to yourself? Fuck you!"

"Or them?" Roach asks, looking at Jim, Archie, Frenchie, and Fang scrubbing the deck of any "possible" bloodstains left over from where Edward had bled out.

"Do you still see blood?"

"Yeah. We'll get it. Just keep scrubbing."

"They're lookin' this way." Fang says.

You tune out the rest of their conversation to watch your stupid drunk pirate curse at the unicorn some more. If only you could talk to him. He would surely listen to you.

It was breaking your heart to see him fall apart like this. Izzy hadn't held you since you got back onto The Revenge. He was shutting you out, suffering on his own.

You hated it.

You try not to let the tears fall as you walk away, letting Izzy do whatever the fuck he wanted.

♡♡♡

Olu had invited you to join the crew for a surprise. Jim had speculated they were planning to kill you all off for being disturbed after sailing with Blackbeard. You thought it was a bit of a stretch, but you wouldn't put it last them either.

You were all guided below deck where the surprise was.

"You gotta close your 'cause it's a surprise." Olu says.

No one does that, everyone sceptical. Frenchie leads you all behind Olu. You find Pete and Wee John waiting.

"Ta da!"

Wee John moves to reveal the surprise.

The crew all jump and startle, hiding the knives they were all carrying behind their backs incase of an attack.

"Fuck!" Lucius sighs, jumpy enough already.

"Guys, it's called a pine-ata." Pete says.

"Yeah. So, you just pull this string and then--" Olu tries to explain.

"And then you hit it with a stick!" Pete demonstrates.

Everyone is triggered. PTSD from the storm, from Blackbeard.

"Time for blindfolding." Wee John tries.

"Stay the fuck sway from me!" Jim yells.

"You won't want to stay the fuck away from this came!" Roach says, brining the cake in.

You feel your stomach churn at the sight of it. It looks like the wedding cake...

"God's sake, take it away!" Fang screams.

You all draw your weapons. Yeah, even you. This is too much, too soon. This how it ends up at a stand off.

"One-half of this room has some serious emotional damage," Jim explains, holding Wee John in a choke hold. "And it's not us."

"Well, it's not us!" Wee John says back.

You have your knife pointing at Olu.

"Right, so, is everybody else's arms and various limbs getting tired?" Frenchie asks.

"Alright, look, look, look, look. I think there's actually an easier way to resolve this." Olu days, eyeing your knife. "Yes? Right. So you all think that we're plottin' against you?"

"Yeah," you nod.

"Which, in hindsight, maybe was inaccurate." Frenchie says. "I don't know, you tell me."

"Okay. So, can we all agree to just not jump the other crew and solve this as fuckin' adults?" Olu asks.

"You're saying this is like a space that is safe?" Jim asks him.

"Yeah, babe." Olu looks at them.

"I love that."

"A safe space."

"Yeah, okay."

You all lower your knives. You take a deep breath. Nearly lost your cool there.

"A lot has gone unsaid," Roach speaks. "I think now is a great time to discuss lingering issues."

"Yeah, yeah, absolutely." Archie nods. "Can we talk about the fucked-up sleeping arrangements?"

"Excuse me, do you even have a name, new guy?" Wee John asks her.

"Yeah, fuck you is her name." Jim starts, drawing their knife again.

"Hey, stupid name for a person," Roach draw his knife on Jim.

"You know my name is Archie," she point her weapon at Roach.

Everyone draws their weapons again. You sigh and point your knife at Olu again, but he doesn't sense any actual malice from you.

The sound of something thudding against the floor draws everyone's attention to the door. You turn and your heart skips a beat at the sight of Izzy. Two wooden legs at his feet.

"There! It's done!" He yells. "Maybe next time he'll think twice about not doing his fucking--" Izzy's peg leg breaks from under him as he raises his crutch and he falls harshly to the ground.

You gasp and drop your knife, hurrying over to him. He shrugs you off.

"Get off me! Fuck off!"

You sit there on your knees as he rolls over and starts crawling down the hall. Your heart breaks watching him.

"Leave me alone! I'm already gone." He mutters. He starts repeating a phrase over and over again. "You're born alone, you die alone. You're born alone, you die alone."

You can feel tears building up again. God, only Izzy could ever make you cry so much.

"Yeah, he's definitely more disturbed than any of us," Lucius says, watching Izzy go.

You try to hide your teary eyes as you get up and leave.

♡♡♡

You're sat up on deck with yours curled up wiping away the tears that were falling. If only you could get that stupid man to talk to you. You just wound to heal his internal wounds, and soothe his external wounds.

You don't hear the door open, but you do hear footsteps coming over. You turn your face away, but you know it's Fang who is now sitting beside you. He has one of the unicorn legs in his hand.

"You okay?" He asks softly. Fang was a soothing presence.

"Spectacular," you mutter.

He look down at the wooden leg and then back at you.

"We, uh, we had an idea for Izzy."

You wipe your eyes again. "Yeah?"

"We're gonna make him a new leg. You wanna help? It would sure mean a lot if you gave it to him after." Fang smiles.

"You want me to help?"

"I think Izzy would like that, don't you?"

You shrug quietly. "I don't know. He's not exactly talking to me right now."

"Aw, listen. He still loves you. He's just hurting, but maybe we can help. Let's do something good for him."

Fang offers you a small smile.

You find yourself smiling back. You reach over and take the leg from him. "Okay. Let me see what we can do."

Less than 30 minutes later the leg is being constructed, the crew are gathered to help. Fang constructs the leg into a strong, comfortable, and practical leg. Lucius had got some gold paint to add something that little bit extra.

You smile as you paint the leg.

"The gold was a gold touch."

Lucius smiles, happy he could help.

You leave the leg to dry and then Fang returns to your side with it. You sigh as you take it, looking it over.

"We sure it will do?" You ask.

"Its been measured and made just for Izzy. It will more than do. Oh don't forget the note." Fang holds out the parchment.

You take the leg and take the note.

"Right..."

"Just leave it outside his door if he doesn't want to talk. I can assure you he'll talk to you again soon."

You nod and make your way to Izzy's cabin.

♡♡♡

As you approach Izzy's door, you don't hear much. It's almost too quiet for your liking. You hover outside the door, the leg in hand. That's when you hear his voice. He's talking to someone.

"And you? What's your excuse?" You hear him say. You lean a little closer to listen, worried about him. "I mean, what even are you?"

You knock on the door hoping he'll answer.

"Fuck off." You hear him shout. You knock again firmly. "Fuck off!" He yells again.

You sigh. Telling him it was you probably wouldn't make a difference. You prop the leg up but the door, tucking the note and Marietta, Izzy's carved sparrow that you still had, into it.

You knock again and hurry away, disappearing down the hall.

"You are harassing a cripple! Fucking twats!" Izzy yells, no longer realising the person has gone from behind his door. He limps his way over and opens it, looking down the hall.

He sees no one.

His gaze drops down to the item waiting for him. He sees the note and the bird. He reads the note first, all emotion clogging up in his throat.

Those little shits.

He cries. Izzy covers his mouth as tears overwhelm him. He looks up down the hall, trying not to break down.

"Fucking cocksuckers."

He sees the sparrow and picks it up. It's then he realises you had been the one knocking. His finger close around the bird and the tears fall freely.

Shit. He's been really shit to you.

Izzy hold the sparrow against his chest and takes a few deep breaths. He grabs the leg and hobbles back inside his room.

♡♡♡

It's the early hours of the morning.

Izzy stands on deck with his new leg on. It's a good fit. Made really well. His hair is slicked back against his scalp, out of his face. His face is a little cleaner. No rum in sight.

In one hand he's clutching the ring he wears under his clothes, hanging from a string of twine. He smiles as he looks down at it.

In his other hand is the note. His eyes drift over to the words written on it. His heart feels full.

'For the new unicorn.'

Izzy smiles.

With the dawn of a new day comes a new Izzy. A healing Izzy.

He's going to be okay.

No. He'll be more than okay.

He just needs to talk to you first.

♡♡♡

The sun hasn't even risen yet when Izzy wakes you. You've been sleeping with the rest of the crew since Izzy stopped talking to you, so he had to be quiet when waking you. You're startled awake by something hitting your face again and again.

You wake up to find little balls of paper being thrown at you. You look up to see Izzy waving you over. You look at him confused. He wasn't talking to you befkre, and now he wants to?

That's when you notice the leg and your heart begins to race.

You climb out of bed and make your way out of the room, not waking a single person. You follow Izzy into his cabin and enter cautiously. He looks tidier, cleaner, more content.

"Izzy?"

He stands there and looks at you. There are several emotions flickering in his eyes, but he finds his words in no time.

"Thank you."

You stand there awkwardly. "I didn't do anything."

Izzy inhales loud enough for you to hear as he looks down at his leg, his hand resting over his thigh. "You did this."

"It was the crew's idea."

Izzy holds up the sparrow. "I noticed it was gone, but there was only one place it could be."

You nod your head softly.

Izzy puts the sparrow down and walks over to you, closing the distance between you both. You find your heart rate picking up as you look into those beautiful eyes of him.

"I love you," he whispers.

Just like that he's reaching out and kissing you. You're in his arms again. You return his kiss, having missed his lips. Having missed him. You reach out and take hold of him.

The kiss is hot, passionate, desperate. It's significance lies with the fact that you two spend all your time wanting each other, but when you're hurting, you don't reach out for one another.

You remove his scarf, taking the ring around it and carefully placing it down. It belonged to his mother and you know he would definitely curse you if you lost it. You begin to undress him, and he, you.

Clothes land on the floor. The soft thud of his wooden foot taps lightly on the floor as he moves you over to his bed.

Doing this right after the emotional rollercoaster you both has been through probably wasn't the best idea, but this time no one could stop you both, and this was long overdue.

You push Izzy down on the bed and take care of him, admiring him. You notice the other ring around his neck. You had seen it before, but it's origins you hadn't known. He was wearing it last time you did this too.

Still, your mind was focused on other things.

Safe to say, both of you are going to be a little late getting up tomorrow.

♡♡♡

@grippleback-galaxy - @askmarinaandothers - @godlikegallagher - @for-fuck-sake-im-alive - @whiskeyswriting - @lxsm2 - @bloody-bunni666 - @the-chocoholic-writer - @bugbugboy - @callmemana - @the-shenny-of-azkaban - @cool-ontherun-world - @outer-space-beech - @ahewi24 - @grace585 - @innertimemachinegirl - @dmitrytherat - @emilynissangtr -

#izzy hands x reader #spirit of the sea #ofmd spoilers #ofmd s2 #ofmd season 2 #ofmd 2 #ofmd #dragon writes

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starsurfacemortalkombat · 1 year ago

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Okay okay!! I was wondering if u could make like cg!havik(specifically for mk1) with like a baby regressor headcanons please and thank you? -🐯

Absolutely!! I hope I got the babyspace part right, I've only written about it a few times!! :D

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

CG Havik Hcs w/ Baby Regressor

🫀 I think Havik would adore a baby regressor, ngl

🫀 This isn't saying he'd love a toddler or a bigger kid less!! It's just that he gets to be really soft with babies, but also act as chaotic as he wants

🫀 Although will keep any gore down to a minimum to basically none, he doesn't want to scare you by accident!!

🫀 Can't do much about his face though . . . But will totally allow you to put on any bandaid or stickers you want!!

🫀 Will try to pep your face with kisses

🫀 Or his version, small clicks or gentle bites

🫀 If either if these make you feel uncomfortable or the first one makes you feel icky, he can settle for putting your foreheads together, another thing he adores

🫀 If your a more softer regressor, he's so totally up for snuggles and tummy time

🫀 But if you like a little bit of chaos, oh boy

🫀 Piggy back rides while running around the house

🫀 Pulling small pranks on others just to grt a giggle out of you, even if you didn't do much to help out other that grab the wrong things and babble

🫀 His little partner in crime, he's so proud 🥺 (Darius off to the side pouting)

🫀 Doesn't really care what titles you call him exactly

🫀 Dada, Mama, Goober, whatever makes you happy

🫀 But definitely has favorite nicknames for you

🫀 Baby-Boo-Boo, my little heart, his little rascal, squishy, precious one

🫀 Although if you have any personal favorite you know he's going to use them almost every other sentence <3

🫀 I could see him absolutely adore peek-a-boo for some reason, ngl

🫀 It's a favorite soft activity, and he can even use some of your plushies just to make it even more fun!!

🫀 If any of your stuffies get hurt or injured, he's gonna fix them right up for you!! (And have Darius sew it, but he totally did it!!! . . . 👀)

🫀 If you can't make out many words or are mostly nonverbal, he's got you!!

🫀 He'll ask all the questions to find out what you want or need

🫀 Babble encourager

🫀 No seriously!! He finds it so adorable when you get all small and can only make sounds

🫀 Will get you regression toys but with his flare 😎 (Darius tells him no half the time >:(

🫀 Has gotten you a paci with a small heart on it and gem stones, made it himself!!

🫀 If he needs to do something or he's busy, he'll let Darius watch you

🫀 But will probably be just as pouty and fussy about leaving you too, your HIS baby >:/

🫀 If your a padded regressor for any reason, he's very encouraging about it

🫀 Whether you have accidents or use them only for comfort, he's with you 100% of the way!!

🫀 Will totally buy you those baby yogurt pelts and then eat half of them himself and chuckle when you get all pouty cause he ate them ALL!! 🥺

🫀 He didn't, but he practically DID!!! (He got you more, don't you worry)

🫀 Doesn't do punishments because rules are silly!! >:/ (and thinks your too small for them, which you are)

🫀 Doesn't exactly do rules but will stop you from hurting yourself

🫀 Like, if you wanna stay up past your ‘bedtime', he's got you!! You two will stay up all night!! 😎

🫀 . . . . Until you pass out on his lap nit even two minutes later because you were too ‘eepy

🫀 Likes pampering you

🫀 Does NOT do self care for himself, have you seen that man? Could probably care less

🫀 But you?

🫀 Your all soft and squishy and precious to him 🥺

🫀 Will let you sit on his lap and brush your hair, doing whatever hair style you want or just messing with it

🫀 And if you wanna brush his? Of course you can!! Even if you wack him on the head repeatedly with the hair brush, he’ll tell you you did an amazing job

🫀 He likes squishing your cheeks because he known you can only whine and try to push him away, but you can't do much, your just a baby after all!! (Will stop if you don't like it or do it only rarely, he might hate rules but he understands boundaries)

🫀 Buys (steals) whatever you want!!

🫀 A new toy? Already off the shelf. More snackies? He's already got three of them in his pockets. A super soft blankie? Well, they're gonna have a fun time catching him!

🫀 Back onto tummy time, he really enjoys it

🫀 Either tummy time is you laying on him and he holds you while rambling about his latest destructive ways

🫀 Or laying beside you on a comfy blankie and watches as you try and chew on your stuffie's hear

🫀 Might even get you one of those baby tummy time mats in a bigger size (He'd make one for you if he has to)

🫀 If you do bottles, he'd love to bottle feed you if your okay with it!!

🫀 Whether he'll cradle you or you just lay your head on his lap

🫀 Can and Will scoop you up and carry you around, he likes showing off how strong he is

🫀 I'm not saying he'll purposely use his powers around you

🫀 But I am saying there might be a few accidents here or there

🫀 If he does scare you, he'll try his hardest to make everything better

🫀 Doesn't like seeing you cry, and doesn't like the idea of you being scared of him

🫀 Over all, he's definitely really fun and accommodating, even with a few minor hiccups

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

*sigh* I actually love Havik, ngl. He was my first favorite MK1 character

#age regression #agere #sfw age regression #age regression headcanons #mk1 #mk1 headcanons #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat 1 headcanons #mortal kombat agere #sfw agere #mk agere #mk havik #havik #havik mk #havik mortal kombat #CG Havik #Caregiver Havik #havik x reader

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alrightbuckaroo · 2 years ago

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thanks for the tag @jesuisici33! this came out much sappier and longer than expected but oh well. Rules: Everyone uses the same word prompt. Write as much or as little as you want for any fandom. Tag at least 5 peopleThere’s NO time limit! Just have fun! Reblog or post separately

"Carlos would kill me if he knew I was showing you this." Andrea flips through the photo album, the plastic pages crinkling against each other as she turns the through it. "This is was the first time we took him to see the Easter Bunny."

Andrea shows TK a photo of a five year old Carlos who's teary eyed and red faced. "It was also the last time we took him to see the Easter Bunny."

Andrea points at a photo of a nine year old Carlos in wide-brimmed black cowboy hat, black button down, a denim jacket and denim jeans. "He wanted to be Cordell Walker from Walker, Texas Ranger for character day at school. He said he wanted to be just like his dad."

Next to it is another photo of Carlos is the same outfit, but Gabriel is kneeling down to be level with his son. They're both wearing cowboy hats that are battling for the focus of the photo. Carlos is smiling TK's favorite kind of smile. He remembers seeing the same smile when he asked Carlos to marry him. Carlos is smiling like he's unapologetically happy.

"Who's this?" TK reaches for an amalgamation of fuzz that's sitting in the box. After pulling it out, he sees that's it a stuffed Koala that's a little weathered, faded grey and missing a blue button eye.

"Kique." Andrea says the name fondly, like she's being reunited with an old friend. "Most kids had a safety blanket, but my Carlitos." Andrea reaches out and gently rubs on one of Kique's ears, feeling the soft fur against the pads of her finger. "He had Kique."

Andrea tilts her head and takes in Kique's missing eye. "If only we knew where that eye went, though." Andrea sighs, then shrugs. "I don't know, part of me wonders if he still needs Kique, maybe even now more than ever." Andrea looks at TK and smiles. "Then again, now he has you."

TK grins at the statement, flattered that Andrea thinks so much of him. That said, TK looks at Kique and can't help but think, maybe having a couple of reinforcements isn't a bad thing. And he is pretty sure he has a couple of buttons lying around the apartment looking for a new home.

"Andrea," TK begins, hoping the answer to the question yet to be asked will be yes. "Do you have a sewing kit?"

Andrea smiles and TK feels hopeful. "I sure do."

"Hey baby," Carlos announces when he walks through the front door. "I stopped by the pharmacy and got band-aids, like you asked. Are you finally going to tell me, oh my god." Carlos eyes widen when he sees TK's red stained fingers. "What did you do to yourself?"

"I thought I knew how to sew." TK says while looking at the tips of his fingers. "Turns out, I do not know how to sew."

TK watches as Carlos frantically opens the box of band-aids. "I promise, it looks worse than it is."

"Well it looks pretty damn bad." Carlos had already unwrapped a band-aid and is working to take off the pieces of paper on the back of it. "Why were you sewing in the first place?" He wraps the bandage around TK's right index finger. He doesn't need to, TK could do it himself, but Carlos wants to. He looks up at TK. "TK?"

"I was trying to surprise you." TK comically frowns as Carlos wraps another bandage around TK's left ring finger.

Carlos raises his eyebrows. "I'm surprised all right. What was the actual surprise?"

TK holds up a band-aid clad finger and walks into the bedroom before walking out with a stuffed koala one with a blue eye and a red eye. "Your mom took me down memory lane."

"Of course she did." Carlos mutters under his breath.

"And in doing so, introduced me to Kique, the one eyed protector." TK wipes at the red button eye. "Figured I would take matters into my own hands to make sure he has a second eye. Better to see any oncoming monsters with."

He passes the koala to Carlos, and Carlos smiles TK's favorite kind of smile. "TK, you didn't have to do that." Though, based on Carlos' reaction, and the way he instinctually grabs on to Kique like he never wants to let him go, TK think he had no choice but to do just that.

"I know, but I wanted to." TK tries to respond casually, but his grin gives him away.

"I can't believe I have Kique the Koala back in my arms again." Carlos smiles down at the mismatched eyes. "I'm going to cherish this like it's what I love most in the world. Well second most, I suppose."

"What's the first?" TK asks, eyes bright with knowing.

Carlos reaches over and pulls TK into a kiss. "You, and I think you know that."

TK smiles and it's Carlos' favorite type of smile. "I did, I just wanted to hear you say it."

no pressure tagging: @heartstringsduet, @carlos-in-glasses, @catanisspicy, @rosedavid, @strandnreyes, @reyesstrand, @welcometololaland, @rmd-writes, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @bonheur-cafe and @sanjuwrites :)

#my love language is gift giving if you can't tell 😭 i just realized it's all over my writing WOW #my writing #carlos reyes #tk strand #tarlos

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lilpuffyart · 1 year ago

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Posting this here just bc I doubt I'll finish this ever

It probably has a lot of writing mistakes and I wrote this months ago instead of sleeping so don't expect anything good :p

Forneus had a simple life. While she was traveling, she would look for food, be it fruits, vegetables or fishes. When she made her stop in her habitual spot from each realm, she would knit something. Be it toys for a few kids she would find on her journeys, or be it some piece of clothing.

And since she was just a friendly traveler, she wouldn't have many issues with each place she went, having sold items for the bishops of the old faith before, and her appearance gave the old Gods some kind of comfort for knowing she wouldn’t do anything drastic. But now, with the bishops gone and the anxiety of who would now rule each place, she sometimes found it hard to travel, especially now.

Forneus wasn't a fool, she was aware that she was aging, but the black cat had her most precious gifts back.

Her children.

When The Lamb and Narinder had brought them back to her, the old cat felt like she was dreaming, touching their faces in an attempt to be reassured that it was real, that she wasn't, yet again, dreaming they were there. Forneus felt alive again that day.

With her kittens back, however, she had to teach them all the things that her mother had taught her once.

And that was what she was doing at the moment.

"Sweetheart, you're going to hurt yourself that way", Forneus said softly to her son, Baal, who was so focused on the yarn that he attempted to turn into some kind of garment. While not looking at her, the gray kitten still paid attention to her words, moving his ears in her direction to show that.

Baal took a quick liking for knitting and sewing, something that impressed his mother. And the interest in it started just as fast, she remembered fondly. The tall cat had awakened before his brother one day, and made his way to their mother, who sat outside their comfortable caravan while knitting. Forneus was sitting comfortable there, stitching the yarn to later turn it into a sweater for one of the children. His eyes followed the object, picking every small detail and curve she was doing with the needles.

He, however, still had a long way on it.

“I can’t make this knot”, he huffed sadly, admitting defeat when he put the yarn and needle on the ground. “You make it seem so easy…”, the young cat sighed and brought his legs close to his chest. Baal felt bad for letting his mom down. After being away for so long, he wanted to desperately make her proud.

But he heard a soft chuckle coming from his side and Baal looked at his mother.

“Oh, sweetie, there’s no need to feel frustrated over this”, she purred softly and rested her paw over his. “You have a lot of time to learn how to do it. Take your time”.

He moved his ears a little bit and he blinked while staring at the ground. Baal was always used to memorizing and then getting things right. Unlike his master and his brother, he never had much patience for these things. He moved his tail back and forth and looked away.

“Let me help you, Baal”, Forneus said while reaching for the needles that were in her son’s paws. His soft dark eyes lighted up with the idea of his mother teaching him something that was so important to her. “First, you

“Oh, sweetie”, she meowed and brought him close to her chest. Even though he was taller than her, Forneus’ hugs always made him feel like a kitten all over again. “I’m already proud of you”.

Baal hugged his mother back, letting her warmth embrace him. He then closed his eyes for a few minutes, feeling the summer sun on his back. Baal huffed and lowered his ears.

“Still”, he murmured. “I’m going to finish this scarf for you”, the black she-cat laughed warmly at her kitten’s stubbornness.

—

Aym was different from his brother, for he liked to be on his own, away from everyone. Not that he disliked the company of his family; he loved it, but he easily felt overwhelmed around others and would wander off for a while.

It didn’t take him long to get to Pilgrim’s Passage in these walks and to take fishing as a hobby. His family needed to eat anyway, so he assumed it would be a useful hobby to have anyway.

Once a week, Aym would make his way there and sit on the small and old deck. Normally people wouldn’t bother him much there either because he was fishing or because he seemed to never like to be bothered. He never minded the company of his mother, she seemed to always understand his boundaries well and would always have a big smile and a few encouraging words to say to Aym whenever he caught something. It was contagious.

“Aym”, she called from behind him, broughting him back from his thoughts. “Did ye catch something?”, she said softly, a small basket was being held by her big paws. The sweet smell of strawberries that was coming from the basket was enough to make his mouth water.

“No”, he simply murmured. He sounded disappointed at himself and Forneus was quick to pick the hints of it.

“We could go back, my heart”, Forneus meowed softly to him, moving her basket to be held by only her left arm. “And come back tomorrow in the morning when the fishes are fresher”.

“No”, Aym inhaled and then exhaled heavily, feeling the pilgrim’s soft breeze enter and leave his lungs. “I’m going to wait longer”, he said softly and flicked his ear.

The old maine coon looked around. It wasn’t late, and the sun hadn’t even started to set yet. She figured that keeping her child company wouldn’t hurt her old body. And even if it did, she would never trade a change to stay by his side.

So she gave a tired sigh and made her way to the end of the dock and sat down next to Aym. The black cat could feel the soft and salty waves hit her feet and she found herself surprised that she wasn’t as against the feeling of it as she thought she would. It was relaxing.

“You should eat something then”, she said as she gently brought the basket close to him. The cat smiled softly at the other cat that slowly picked the basket, as if waiting for some kind of approval from his mother. Aym was careful to put it on his side

#i remember it had another part but too lazy to look it up rip #anyway #cult of the lamb #forneus cotl #ah sorry for any mistake btw when im 2riting sometimes i make up words when i cant remember them #or i qrite a really weird word bc i get them mixed up #aym cotl #baal cotl #puffy writes

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onegianthotmess · 1 year ago

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Headcanons For Jane

I’ve been wanting to do this for a while so let’s go!!

Here is the post where I introduced Jane and showed what she looked like: Jane.

Also, I know that @queengiuliettafirstlady is a bit curious about Jane! I’d like to clarify that she is my OC as @natimiles informed you and that there will be a happy ending with her and Theo, just give me a little bit, please! But, in the meantime, you can enjoy these random headcanons that are canon because Jane is my OC/baby and I love her!!!

Jane is Comte’s first daughter, so obviously she’s a bit spoiled in the beginning

Not in a bad way, more so Comte just goes a bit nuts and almost buys all of the women’s clothing in Paris when he brings Jane home, but Leonardo stops him because he doesn’t want the mansion to overflow with gowns and take up his napping spots or for Jane to be overwhelmed

And yes, Leonardo also unofficially adopts Jane and gives her daily headpats because I said so

Jane is incredibly grateful to have been given a second life, but it has led her to question things

She was a devout Catholic while human, but she was confused on what to do with her beliefs when she’d been given an impossible second chance

So, after much contemplation, Jane did decide to remain Catholic in terms of beliefs, but not as devoutly as when she was human because her second life as a vampire has given her a new perspective on things

Jane is often compared to Vincent in personality and none of those comparisons are incorrect

Historically, Jane Seymour was actually called a peaceful angel while in court and was known to be one of, if not the most, beloved queen that ruled during King Henry VIII’s reign

So it makes sense her personality would stay the same even after becoming a vampire

In fact, the reason she wanted to continue living was to help children, even though she couldn’t raise her own son

So, yes, she is often compared to Vincent in terms of being an angel, but her and Vincent don’t see how they’re similar to each other and it’s so cute!!!

Jane only knew English while she was alive and had to learn Modern English from Comte, so when she started dating Theo, Arthur tried to learn Dutch swear words so he could tell Jane to say them to Theo as “terms of endearment”

But, before Arthur could do that, Vincent began to teach Jane Dutch without Theo knowing so she could surprise him

Jane is a very good cook and actually surprised Sebastian the first night she was there because she started cooking dinner way before Sebastian and was about halfway done with the meal when Sebastian walked in

Needless to say Sebastian was both bewildered and very interested by this and started scribbling in his notebook that Jane Seymour was an exceptional cook

Jane will also sit down and knit, crochet, or sew with Sebastian when he gets some downtime and she usually mends his suits if a tear is ever on them

Sebastian’s notebook is getting a nice section on Jane Seymour’s hobbies

Jane loves birds and her pet dove Enid was actually a gift given to her by Shakespeare as a thank you for her sewing some costumes for him for a play he was putting on

And Theo doesn’t like that Enid was from Shakespeare, but Jane loves Enid and sees Will as a nice person and good friend, so he stays quiet

Jane likes to watch Vincent paint and she usually tells him when it’s time to eat and when it’s time for him to go to bed

Jane is actually the only person King doesn’t knock over when he sees and is always gentle with Jane, which pisses Theo off a bit but he also thinks it’s cute as fuck-

When Jane feels restless, she will clean and organize things around the mansion

She’s reorganized the library so many times that it’s literally impossible to not find a book within thirty to sixty seconds, if you know what you’re looking for

Jane will occasionally go into town to help teach children with Napoleon and Isaac

It usually takes a minute for Jane to wake up, so Theo usually has to help her get dressed and occasionally has to help her with her hair if she’s that sleepy

Despite being a queen while human, Jane can be very naive and believes a lot of what Arthur and Dazai say if someone doesn’t immediately stop them or tell her otherwise

And yes, she’s fallen for this plenty of times

She’s the baby girl of the mansion, leave her alone-

Jane has days where she can faint very easily and she has done this while out helping Theo with his work

The first time this happened, Theo rushed her to the hospital and was panicking internally the whole time

And when Jane woke up with instructions from the doctor to go home and rest and drink a lot of water, Theo went with her and didn’t leave her side the rest of the day

When Leonardo and Arthur were asked to see if anything was wrong with Jane after multiple fainting spell days happening, Leonardo and Arthur eventually came to the conclusion that, because Jane’s death and final days had such a massive toll on her body, it affected her even after becoming a vampire

Leonardo and Arthur advised her to try and watch for signs of feeling weak or faint within herself to see if she needed to stay home so that her bedroom wasn’t too far to carry her to if she fainted and another resident found her

Luckily, these fainting spell days are usually few and far between and rarely even happen once a month most of the time

When Jane was dying of postpartum complications, she’d gotten an infection in her eyes from a remedy one of the doctors had given her and it damaged her eyes to the point of her needing glasses

For the first two to three months of Jane’s new life as a vampire, she needed to be guided around the mansion because her eyesight was awful and she needed to wait for Comte to take her to an optometrist to settle a prescription for her and get her glasses made before she could walk around the mansion freely

And during those first two to three months, Jane had broken a few things around the mansion while left alone and wandering the halls and after she got her glasses, she apologized profusely for the damages she’d caused

Occasionally, Jane and Arthur will mix up their glasses and Arthur has to go and find Jane to give her her glasses back as quickly as possible before she breaks something and feels guilty about it

All of the mansion pets have at least a slight fondness for Jane, but the birds, Brush, King, Vic, and Chérie all really like her in particular

Vic actually almost prefers Jane to Arthur and it makes Arthur really jealous because Vic is meant to be his dog and love him

But Arthur feels better after Jane reassures him that Vic still loves him before handing him his precious pup to go and play with King for a bit, who was getting jealous of the attention Vic was getting

Arthur and Jane are very good friends, with Jane almost acting motherly in a way towards Arthur and Arthur just being the flirt he is while also being nice and a gentleman to Jane because she’s a babie who must be protected

Jane actually has a great knowledge on the language of flowers and their properties, from medicinal uses to poisons, she knows almost everything about flowers, even some things Leonardo doesn’t know

Jane has always wanted to go to the beach, but she never really could in her life as a human due to being a lady-in-waiting, then a queen who was pressured to produce a male heir who eventually died after giving birth

Also, she can’t swim-

Jane makes Sebastian take breaks from housework and takes care of it herself

She will cook and clean and do the laundry and have it all done all before Sebastian arrives, thus forcing him to take a day off

Jane enjoys taking walks and usually has someone accompany her, which is usually Arthur and Theo

Arthur occasionally goes out to the bar alone with Jane and challenges her to a drinking contest, which usually ends in Theo being called down to carry his drunk wife back to the mansion and makes sure a tipsy Arthur is alright to be left by himself long enough for Leonardo to come down and eventually carry him back home

Jane gets unusually hungry while drunk and she’ll usually ask Theo if they can go get pancakes while he carries her back home

Jane is allowed to drink with anyone except Jean because of how they both get easily wasted and so they need someone else to watch over them so they don’t get themselves killed or do something worse while drunk

Jane and Vincent often go to Shakespeare’s villa together so that they can have tea with him and talk

They occasionally bring Brush and Enid along with them and both of their pets love both Shakespeare and Puck

Puck is a bit iffy on Vincent, but he LOVES Jane and doesn’t focus on giving Vincent half of an evil eye because he’s too busy getting pets from Jane when they visit

Jane has made winter scarves for everyone in the mansion, Shakespeare, and even the vampires in the castle

Jane met Vlad on the street as he was packing up his little flower cart one evening because she was waiting for Theo and Arthur, and Vlad took a liking to Jane and gave her a few free flowers from the selection he had left

Vlad thinks Jane reminds him of an innocent little girl and finds her cute, so he usually gives her a few free flowers whenever he sees her

And it makes Theo jealous whenever Jane tells him about “the very nice man with strawberry eyes” who occasionally gives her a few free flowers because….it’s Theo and Theo doesn’t like to share his precious and innocent little hondje

And Jane makes pancakes for Theo whenever he’s jealous to help him calm down and to reassure him that no one else will ever catch her eye except for him

Pancakes and a night of cuddling usually does the trick to make Theo feel better and Jane is always happy to oblige

Jane does try to limit Theo’s sugar intake, like giving him the option of letting her pour his syrup on his pancakes or having no syrup at all

It usually works, but sometimes Theo is sneaky and swipes the syrup bottle to put more on his pancakes when Jane isn’t looking

Jane usually instates herself as Sebastian’s replacement and caretaker whenever he gets sick, despite his objections

Even though Jane usually tries to take care of any one of the residents when they get sick because she doesn’t like to see them unwell

Jane loves going to the park and will take Enid with her so she can fly around

Jane actually met Charles at one of her visits to the park and asked if she could visit him at his home so she could get to know him better and meet his friends that he lives with

And that’s what led Jane to visit the castle and meet Faust for the first time and figure out who Vlad is

And Theo does not like Faust

Why?

Because Faust finds Jane interesting, very interesting and just gives Theo a bad vibe

Meanwhile Jane likes him because he doesn’t seem that bad and she finds him funny

Also everyone added Vlad to the “Don’t Let These People Drink Alone No Matter The Cost” list with Jane and Jean due to his zero tolerance for alcohol

Seriously, don’t let them drink alone together without at least one other person or someone is going to die or something weird is gonna happen

They all woke up hungover in Vlad’s flower garden once and flowers were on fire, there was a bear sleeping with them, Marshmallow was trying to get past Cherie to gnaw on Jean’s leg, Enid was asleep on Jane’s head, Vlad was hanging upside down in a tree, a pot of boiling water was in a rose bush, Jean’s eyepatch was missing, and Jane was using Vlad’s black cloak as a blanket

Yeah, Charles had to clean that up and Faust had to take care of Vald, Jean, and Jane while they were all hungover before Jean and Jane could go home the next day

Comte was freaking out about where his favorite most lightweight children went for the three days they were gone

Vincent had to calm down Theo and assure him Jane was fine, but it didn’t really fully work until Jane was home

Jane has a mouse/kitten sneeze

The first time she sneezed at breakfast, everyone looked at her because they never thought she could get any softer or cuter, but they were very wrong

Children love her a lot, she’s like a magnet for kids

When she goes with Theo to take King to the park, children usually come up to her to tell her she’s pretty or to invite her for a game of hide and seek

And babies somehow calm instantly when she holds them

Jane is just really good with kids

Jane was worried about Vincent not having a bed and became even more worried when he said it was fine because he had his couch to sleep on

And Jane couldn’t let that happen, so she talked with Comte and made sure Vincent got a bed put in his room

She even set up some tarps to act as curtains around the bed so that the pillows, blankets, and sheets would be safe from any possible stray bits of paint that would possibly be splattered around in cast of an accident

Jane usually makes Vincent take breaks from painting because she worries about him and they usually make flower crowns together or they go and visit Shakespeare

They make flower crowns for Shakespeare and Puck, too along with their own respective pets

Jane has made flower crowns for Theo and King as well, which makes Theo embarrassed and shy and King very happy because he looks even cuter and eventually gets a snack when the flower crown falls off his head

For Christmas one year, Jane made everyone a special embroidered decorative pillow, even Shakespeare and the castle boys

Theo’s had a golden retriever on it, Arthur’s had a magnifying glass on it, Leonardo’s had tools on it, Jean’s had a tiger on it, Vincent’s had a sunflower on it, Napoleon’s had a sword/rapier on it, Isaac’s had a stack of books with an apple on it, Dazai’s had a book and pen on it, Mozart’s had a violin on it, Sebastian’s had a lamb on it, Comte’s had an hourglass on it, Will’s had symbols for his three most popular plays on it, Faust’s had a monkey on it, Charles’s had resurrection lilies on it, and Vlad’s had strawberries on it

Jane spent about a year and a half planning, researching, and gathering supplies for those pillows before she actually spent another year making the pillows before putting them in nice boxes with wrapping and bows and tags and a hand written card in each to everyone for how grateful she was to have them in her life and that they could do what they wished with their gift

Everyone was very touched by Jane’s dedication to just one gift and they all keep their handmade pillows out on display because they deserve to be seen

Yeah, needless to say that Jane is the queen of going above and beyond for handmade gifts, and just gifts in general

Any holiday involving the giving of gifts, Jane is on top of those gifts, which she planned months in advance for

She’s also the queen of arts and crafts, Sebastian being an extremely close second to her

Jane has made new collars and leashes for both King and Vic because she saw that the ones they had were getting pretty old and worn out

She even made a little harness and leash for Comte’s precious ferret, Thyme

When Jane told Theo she loved him in semi broken Dutch, Theo eased up as best he could on his swearing so that he had less of a chance of his sweet hondje learning any sort of bad language, especially from him

Arthur received many death threats just in case he decided to corrupt Jane’s pure and innocent, and definitely a bit naive, mind

Because Arthur is…well, Arthur

One time Jane accidentally broke her finger on a door and started crying, Theo nearly ripped the door she broke her finger on off its hinges and used it as firewood

He would have, too, if Vincent and Comte weren’t holding him back

Overall, Jane is a sweet babie who could make even the most stone faced serial killer melt with a single kitten sneeze and I love her

(A/N: I got the divider from @firefly-graphics, if you wanted to know or if they wanted to receive credit in this post because I used one of their divider graphics! Either way, go look at some of their stuff because the graphics are really nice!!)

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen vampire jane #ikevamp jane #ikemen vampire oc #ikevamp oc

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