#he even lost his stupid hat like come on man that's just cruel

[dykealloy]

This guy's L to W ratio is a solid 5:1 rn

[gh0stsp1d3r]

Okay so Fem!reader shes the product of Mrs.Scrubbit and Mr.Bleacher’s one night stand (they were really drunk) and instead of being like them she is a kind girl and helps the people who are in the Landry shoot and she was there when Willy presented his items and liked him for his silly ideas and Willy saw her and was shock to see a beautiful girl like her and only to see her again after her “parents” imprisoned him and she was there to greet him when he went down the shoot and she apologizes for her parents greed and tries her best to help him (also Mrs.scrubbit is a little nicer to fem!reader because well that’s her daughter but is still cruel to her)

𝒩ℴ𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝒾𝓀ℯ 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓂

MASTERLIST

Taglist: @kpopgirlbtssvt

You and Noodle had stopped to watch the man's intriguing show. Scrubbit’s laundry could wait, you thought.

You smiled and laughed when he grabbed your hand, inviting you to try one of his chocolates. He smiled widely at you, and he felt his heart skip a beat when he took a good look at you.

You were beautiful, your smile, everything about you seemed like a dream come true.

You were going to eat it when out of nowhere, the chocolate cartel came. They had tried it, saying they disliked it. They then had started to float in the air, and you and noodle looked in shock at the man.

He tipped his hat to the crowd, and the police soon came, making you and noodle quickly move and go back to your work.

You pushed the cart of laundry around, you both laughed in disbelief.

“That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.” You said.

“Wait… I think that was the man who came in yesterday.” She realized, you furrowed your eyebrow in confusion. “While you were out, another man, or the one you just saw, came in and signed the contract. I tried to warn him.”

You sighed, shaking your head to yourself. “Another one?”

She nodded, as you both walked then once reached it, brought the laundry down. Then going down with the others.

“So, what happened today?” They always asked after trips outside.

“Not much. We did see one interesting man, but Noodle thinks he signed the contract last night. His name was.. something Wonka." You said, shrugging. Noodle left to go finish up.

Just as you were saying that a man had fallen down the chute and into the laundry. He looked at you all back, confused and lost.

"You must be Mr. Wonka."

"Who are you?" He asked.

"Abacus Crunch. Chartered accountant. At least I was. Now, uh..." He stood up.

"He runs the place. And you best do what he says, or you answer to me." A women interrupted.

"Piper Benz." She offered her hand and helped him out from the laundry. "Plumber by trade."

"This is Miss Lottie Bell."

"She doesn't talk much."

"This is y/n." He motioned to you, you smiled again and he quickly recognized you.

"I liked your ideas. Glad to meet you, properly."

"You too.." he said, a small smile on his face.

"And I'm Larry Chucklesworth, Comedian." Another man said.

"They got you all too, did they?"

"I'm afraid so. We were in need of a cheap place to stay and neglected to read the small print."

"One moment of stupidity followed by endless regret."

He looked around, "There's got to be some way out of here."

"You don't think we've tried? There's bars on the windows, and a dog by the door."

"And even if you could get out, that contract is water tight."

"If you're not here at roll call, she'll call the police and they'll bring you right back, then charge you 1000 for the inconvenience."

He yelped when the dog barked at him, and the others got back to work. You stayed and eyed the man coming down the stairs.

"I can show you around." You said quickly, before Abacus had the chance. "If you'd like."

"Sure..."

"He's on suds." Abacus said, you nodded and led him there.

"I'm sorry, about my parents by the way." You said as you rolled the cart.

He quirked an eyebrow at you. He didn't know who you were talking about.

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, right. Mrs. Scrubitt and Bleacher are my parents. They'll do anything to get and save money." You said with a frown.

"Their you parents?" He was shocked, it seemed unbelieveable.

"Unfortunately,"

"You're nothing like them. You're..."

You looked at him now, curious as to what he would say now. He swallowed the lump in his throat nervously. "Never mind."

You continued to show him his job there. Then after a while, the whistle was blown. You all headed out, Willy talked a bit about his work, and you told him a bit more about yourself.

Then you were all sent to your rooms, you stayed with Willy, however, when you noticed he wasn't entering. You also saw Noodle coming in and waved to her. She waved back, and you motioned to the room.

"Told you to read the small print." Noodle said. He smiled slightly as he continued to stare out the window.

"Slight problem with that."

"You can't read? You asked him.

"I focus my studies almost exclusively on chocolate."

"I see."

"For everything else, I've relied on the kindness of strangers." He said, his gaze fixed on you as he said the words. You gave him a small smile.

"And look where thats got you." She said.

"This is the staff quarters. I like to decorate them all, makes it feel a lot less prison-y. Here." You said, handing him a small potted plant, the green contrasting to the gloomy room. He smiled at it, looking at it.

"You've got a bed." Noodle said, and he was going to sit on it but it collapsed.

"You had a bed..”

“Desk, and a wash basin/toilet." She continued.

And after a bit of talking between you, Willy and Noodle, you thought of a plan to help him.

“I could sneak you out. During the day, when I take the laundry. She doesn’t look over me so much as she does the others, they trust me.”

“That’s perfect.” He smiled, clapping his hands.

He found himself slowly becoming infatuated with you, not realizing it until the three of you were about to drown in chocolate.

He quickly confessed right before his head went under, and you didn’t get the chance to talk until the three of you were on the floor again.

You both stared at each other for a while, standing close to each other. Your hands reached up to cup his face, your thumb moved some of the chocolate from his lips and you captured his lips in a kiss.

His hands went to your hips, and you both got lost in each other until Noodle cleared her throat.

“Noodle! I forgot you were there.” You laughed nervously, you both turned to her, he was blushing and you could feel you cheeks heating up.

[trafalgarlawsfeathercoat]

Survivor’s Guilt

based on some MESSED UP (i loved it) art i saw on here (like this and THIS that made me cry)

WC: 895

CW: death, suicidal thoughts, religious imagery (i HC law as a former catholic because of the nuns on Flevance idk)

-

Trafalgar D. Water Law learned very early on that everything and everyone he loved would eventually be ripped away from him, washed away like footprints in the sand by high tide.

He was born to live this checkered life, cursed by the middle initial forced upon him at birth. He had no choice, no say in the matter. They say the Clan of D were meant to bring the Dawn, to usher in a new age, but all Law wanted to bring about was some peace and quiet. Just for a single moment.

But that was apparently too much to ask for.

Law craved nothing more than the everlasting promise of death as he tripped over the still bodies of his friends and family, corpses piling up with every step he took, but he was urged on by a will not of his own. He had to keep going. He must keep going.

He trudged along reluctantly, day after day. Life wasn’t so cruel as to only deal him bad hands- no, they had the audacity to give him hope every once in a while. A light at the end of the tunnel before that tunnel caved in too.

Being saved by Cora-san, meeting Shachi, Penguin and Bepo on Swallow Island, forming the Heart Pirates, his tentative friendshi- alliance with Straw Hat and his crew. All these moments deluded him into believing that maybe, just maybe, he could dare to dream of a better life. A happy life, even.

Law didn’t have any lofty ambitions such as becoming King of the Pirates like his Worst Generation rivals, contrary to what others believed about him. What could a place called ‘Laughtale’ offer a man like him anyways? Up until recently, he lived for the singular purpose of fulfilling his savior’s wishes, but he couldn’t even do that right. For as many messes as he had to clean up for others, Law could argue he left behind more.

Left behind. The one thing he could count on being.

The hands that touched him all faded into a distant memory, specters that haunted him whenever he closed his eyes at night. They called out to him like a siren’s song, caressing his face as they asked why he wasn’t strong enough to save them. It was no wonder Law gave up on sleeping a long time ago.

He closed his eyes now, begging to the higher powers he no longer believed in to please, please, finally grant him this one mercy. Salty sea water flooded his lungs as his body lost all its’ capabilities, any energy he had left after facing Blackbeard sucked dry as he was dragged deeper below the surface. This was all his fault. Law should have known better than to have hope for the future, to have deluded himself into thinking things were finally going according to plan.

Damn that man in the Straw Hat for giving him something to believe in back in Wano. He should have known better. There was no God; that’s why the nuns of White Town were all dead.

In the depths of the murky water, faces began to appear behind his eyelids. The other school children, begging him to come with them to safety. His parents, love shining in their eyes as they reached out their hands. Lami, looking up at him with so much trust and adoration. Cora-san and his stupid, crooked smile.

‘Wait for me, I’m coming.’ Law thought as his body sunk lower and lower beneath the waves. He could finally go home, after all this time.

As the abyss called out to him, so did another voice.

“Captain! Captain, please! You can’t die!” It wailed.

Law was suddenly pulled back above the water, dragged by the collar of his shirt to safety. He wrenched his eyes shut even harder, refusing to open them and accept reality. He had been ready to rescind the borrowed time he’d been living on since Flevance if it meant never having to deal with the loss of his loved ones again. He coughed once, twice, expelling the foreign liquid from his body as a large paw pounded on his back repeatedly.

“Bepo.” Law groaned out miserably, recognizing the Mink’s cries anywhere.

“Bepo, we have to go back.” He pleaded pathetically, his desperation apparent. Law didn't have to open his eyes to know that they were the only ones here, wherever ‘here’ was. There was no use pretending to be strong anymore, for he no longer had a crew to be strong for.

“I’m not going back! Trust them, Captain!” The Polar Bear Mink refused Law’s orders outright.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his crew, it was that he didn’t trust the world. History was repeating itself as it always did.

Law threw himself backwards onto the sandy beach they’d washed up on, shrugging off Bepo’s attempts at comfort with more force than necessary. It was only a matter of time before he was dead too.

He should’ve known better than to let anyone in, to think for a second he could walk through life anything less than alone. He should have known better than to hope that this time, surely, he could be happy.

Once again, Trafalgar D. Water Law was alive while everyone around him faded into dust. After all, the weak don’t get to choose how they die, do they?

[mrsvnk]

i have redrawn art because Josh looked like fcking Edward Cullen

also i wanted to write little fic about the Washingtons (now have only ideas\notes). so, please, if you know the same story, send the name!

some notes:

Josh keeps breathing. It was only his sick mind, lost fight against the guilt. Hannah was dead. Beth was dead. He will be dead very soon because of the so fcking real monster with butterfly tattoo on its arm. And Josh has no idea what will be ended first: his mind, drowing in whispers and a rumbling snomach, or his freezing ass. He has to find a way to escape, find a way to apologize...

Josk knows he is not alone. He's looking through the fingers at the people in the darkness. They're keeping silence, sometimes laughing at him crying and calling Mike or Sam. Josh is sure: his mind just found the new cruel game. And... God, he is so hungry.

Beth is dead, was eaten by his monster-sister with a stupid tattoo. And Josh, rocking himself like a baby, is crying and refusing to look at his sister squatting in front of him in her silly hat. Her voice is hoarse due to long one-year pause of talking, and Josh doesn't want to believe she have talked to Hannah too. For a month.

Her voice's becoming higher when his stomache's screaming. Josh's feeling like nothing worth will happens to him, even if he eat the damn man's head. Beth shakes hers and laughs. "Oh, brother, sis Hannah absolutely would disagree."

Josh's listening Beth's stories about people hating the mines. "More than seventy years, Josh. They were so happy for their friends after the collapse, but... God. It's like a movie without happy end. Bad movie."

Even his sick mind is terrified. Can this fcking mountain be alive? He doesn't know. But Beth does.

All this way Josh's waiting for Beth to accuse him, but this time she seems too happy to blame him for her death.

Beth tells him how Hannah, as usual, sloppily scattered things all over the mine and forgot about them. Josh laughs. He is sure that one day Hannah will forget her head. Beth's hysterical laughter was too long.

Beth tells him about how Hannah and she tried to find a way out, but Hannah's broken leg, cold and hunger were always against them. "At first we stuck together, and then we started fighting. She was talking about food all the time. Her leg healed too fast. She jumped like a frog, brother. Believe, we found a way out." Beth's gaze becomes too sad, and for a moment there is a flash of horror and fear, as if his sister has seen firsthand the real flaying of a man. "It was dawn, brother, and after sunset we didn't talk anymore."

Josh breathes in the frosty air and looks at the dawn. The foggy mind notices the helicopter, the hearing remotely catches voices, screaming words. Josh distinguishes Matt and Jess' names among his own and looks around, as if hoping that they will be next to him. But it's just Beth here, and for some reason she doesn't want to go with him anymore.

Beth instinctively grabbed his arm as Josh took a step forward. He was sure that his sister would follow him. Hannah never came back.

The rays of the sun enveloped Josh. He knows that the bruises on his face and the blood look terrible, that his skin is almost purple from the cold. Turning around, Josh feels the longing engulf him at the sight of Beth, whose face seems untouched by either the weather or the year spent in the mines. There is darkness behind her, and even from here Josh can hear the annoying drops falling on rotten boards and stones.

"Promise you'll come back for me, Josh."

He promises.

[alexanderflowerbird]

ehehehehe Blood Sun Territory Excerpt. In November I PROMISE I'm only gonna focus on New Faith-- it's not my fault I'm obsessed with gay cowboys and horror.

“And how old is your girl?” Dolcezza asks while he inventories his pack, pulling everything out one at a time, setting it across his table. Bandages, bullets, protein bars, matches– everything in its place. He glances Malachi’s way to see the man is skeptically looking up at the ceiling, his expression a mix of uncertainty and guilt. 

“She’s ah… fourteen- no, fifteen, sir.”  Malachi answers after a few moments. Dolcezza can’t imagine not remembering how old his daughter is. She’d be sixteen now, if she wasn’t dead. He remembers how tall she was, how old she was, the vibrant green of her eyes, her beauty marks, two under her left eye, one right on the bridge of her nose like God marked that spot for her to be kissed. Dolcezza tamps down his momentarily judgemental feelings. He doesn’t know this man’s story, why he’s willing to risk his life to find his daughter but can’t remember her age without doing mental math. 

“Fifteen’s rough. It’s also old enough for the sickness to catch. We may not find her alive or dead,” Dolcezza says as he checks the sharpness of his knife on his thumb. “I don’t mean to frighten ya, it’s just worth knowin’. Preparin’ yourself for that potential outcome is important before we get moving.” Malachi frowns at this, flexing his hands around his hat. 

“You mean she could be like… one of those creatures? I thought kids didn’t turn.” He asks, hopeful even though he’s come to Dolcezza specifically for his expertise and knows he wouldn’t say such a thing if he wasn’t certain. 

“Fifteen, fourteen, even as young as eleven can turn. Not sure why, of course, but it’s just young kids that are immune. Adults are most susceptible to the change, ‘course, but teenagers? They turn from time to time, and it’s always a real mess. Nobody wants to shoot their baby, monster or not, ‘cept when they think that’s a better outcome for them. What’s your feelings on that, by the way?” Dolcezza sets down his oil lamp and turns to face Malachi, leaning against his desk and crossing his arms. He hates this part of the conversation, but it’s necessary. He’d learned the hard way that getting a feel for his client before they’re under life threatening pressure is important. Malachi seems tough, but most fathers Dolcezza have met seem tough until it comes to their babies. He thought he was tough too, til Ocatan had changed and tore up their little girls. He thought he’d die and kill for his girls, even if they were already dead, and yet, here he is, breathing, living, doing this stupid shit to pay for booze and cigarettes and a roof over his head. 

“How do you mean, sir?” Malachi asks, still frowning. 

“If we find her, and she’s turned, do you think it best that you leave her as she is, that if God sees fit to have her wander the dunes as a monster than that’s how it ought to be, or do you think that her bein’ a monster is a fate worse than death, and would wanna put her down to spare her?” Dolcezza doesn’t ever mean to be cruel about this, but he has to be frank. There’s no getting around it; this is a decision that can make the difference between a safe search that ends in closure and a dangerous one that ends in lost limbs, terror, death. He was lucky with Ocatan, when he’d turned, he’d only managed to bite off Dolcezza’s pinky and ring finger, taking his wedding band and gulping it down with his blood and bones. He’s had clients die over a moment of indecision, their loved ones turned night beasts launching at them, tearing into them, giving them only a second to fire off their gun. That second wasted always ends in death. Malachi surprises Dolcezza when he speaks next. “Do you think God did this?” Malachi looks uncertain about the idea, which makes Dolcezza laugh, even if it isn’t funny. 

“Oh honey, I don’t know. I just like to respect the philosophy of my clients, you understand?” He’s not about to regale this stranger with the reality of his experience, how he’s kept himself up at night trying to decide on a reason that seems most true. God fits sometimes, sometimes, it doesn’t– God lets kids die all over the world, lets hurricanes and floods and fires and disease happen. God lets good people suffer in some bullshit grand scheme metaphor for martyrdom, if he consider how the Good Book tells it. But at the same time, God is supposed to be benevolent, a shepherd to the lost, an unconditionally loving entity. When Dolcezza stumbled drunk and hopeless onto Ocatan’s porch fifteen years ago and that man took him in, cleaned him up, gave him purpose and love and children and a home, Dolcezza thought God had done that for him, had put him in just the right place. Hard to imagine that God did one thing and the other too. Brought him to the love of his life and had him wake up one night to discover that same love had turned into a horrific, unknowable entity covered in the blood of their children, gnashing their tiny bones and pretty, dark curls between its teeth. Malachi takes his time turning over the decision, which is a good thing. Rushing to an answer always indicates a risk a client will change their mind when it counts the most. Malachi is a serious fellow so far, and takes the question seriously enough to ponder it before answering. 

“Well… I… I’ve heard things, about the creatures. They just wander around, once they’ve done their killing so… if she’s not hurting anybody. I think I’d like to see her, say goodbye… apologize to her. Then I think… if it isn’t any trouble, I’ll let her be.” Dolcezza nods, and ignores the twist in his heart, the empathy he feels about making such a decision. He understands. This man’s daughter might have eaten her mother by the time they find her. Might have killed her first boyfriend or girlfriend or her siblings, if she has them, but despite that, Malachi would want her to live. Even if its as something utterly removed from who she once was, he’d want her to live. 

“We can do that. I’ve all the hope in my heart we’ll find her well and herself, but if not, I’ll help you say what you need to say to her without no trouble.” Dolcezza assures, closing some of the space between them to offer his hand. “I’ll take ya out tomorrow, first thing. You oughta rest, get your head around what I’ve told you about the territory. It’ll still shake ya up when you see it for yourself, but best try and settle with it.” Malachi takes Dolcezza’s hand, firmly shaking it. Dolcezza notices the peek of a tattoo from under his buttoned sleeve when he extends his hand, a shoddy black and red rose on the inside of his wrist. 

“Will do, sir. Thank you, sir.” Malachi says, still painfully polite. “Just call me Chezza, alright? We’re gon’ get real comfortable with each other, I promise, no need to treat me like I’m some authority. For the next couple of days, I’m your friend helpin’ you through a hell and high water situation. Alright?” “Sure. Thank you… Chezza. See you tomorrow, first thing.” Dolcezza smiles, despite everything. “First thing.���

[cheelduh]

How to strike your way into someone’s heart (Highschool AU)

Part 2 to this. Can be read alone!

Pairing: Childe x fem!reader

Warnings: A lot of swearing I mean what do you expect they’re all teenagers. Lots of brick slapping. Childe clowns Scaramouche. OH YES this isn’t edited at all lmfao have fun.

Synopsis: It’s your big date with Childe after you lost the bet miserably. You decide to pay the occult club a visit in hopes of finding something that can...ease your concerns. Childe on the other hand has Signora give him a friendly piece of advice, believe it or not. 

Note: SRY THIS TOOK ME LIKE A MONTH

For as long as you can remember, you've never believed in ghosts, demons, or souls that lose their way in the endless void, forced to roam the earth in repentance.

Believing in the unknown takes creativity, adventure, maybe even a little sense of fear. Scratch that—a shitton of fear, because humans love to weave in their insecurities and inability to explain something into something of a phenomenon.

Bad luck lies in this category. Bad luck is simply a way to justify the catastrophe that one cannot admit they have fabricated themselves. Everyone wants a reason as to why shit hits the fan, and it can be anything but their own fault.

Bad luck is nothing but a load of bull to you. That's totally why you're standing outside the calculus classroom during lunch break, which happens to be the official meet spot for the occult club.

You raise a fist to knock, but then falter, thinking over your options once again. Is this what it has come to? Putting your faith into the weird kids that once tried to summon Schrödinger's cat for the physics final.

Fischl kicks the door wide open, a smirk playing at her lips once she spots you. "One cannot refrain from the song of your cogitation. The feline for which thou dwell on—"

A squeak leaves your throat and you flinch back, cutting her off. "You can read my mind?"

"Fischl," An icy eyed boy shows up from behind her and points a thumb back. "Mona needs your help."

Fischl squints at you for a brief moment, and then spins onto her heel to go back into the room.

The blue haired lower class man, Chongyun you guess, narrows his eyes at you. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Finally you manage to speak, palms all sweaty. "Yeah uh, I need your help. You know, with occulty things." You use your hands to articulate your thoughts, but ultimately give up.

You're not sure if it's pity towards your pathetic explanation or simply annoyance, but Chongyun widens the opening. He silently gestures for you to follow.

Stumbling on your feet and putting on your big girl pants, you hurry inside of the room, hoping you aren't seen by Beidou. She wouldn't let you hear the end of this.

The temperature instantly drops, and you have to adjust your sight to navigate. There's heavy incense in the air as well as a a few lighted candles from the dollar store, you guess.

Sitting smack dab in the middle of all the demonic markings is Mona, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Chongyun has made his way next to her, crossing his arms with a sigh, and Fischl is busy cooing at her bird.

"Well well well..." Mona's amused, eyes almost twinkling as she gets up from the poor desk that had to suffer the wrath of her ass. "If it isn't Y/N."

Mona is a glorified dick wiper in your books. One time, she partnered up with you in chemistry last year and refused to do any work because apparently her "star sign" said she was incompatible with science. You haven't forgiven her since.

"I need your help." You barely manage to choke out the words, reigning yourself in by clenching your fists instead. It'll be unethical to claw her face, especially since you're the one who's come to her.

"Oh?" She smiles wickedly, revelling in every moment of this no doubt. "Why would the high and mighty Y/N need help from the 'Whoroscope whore'?"

Fischl nearly slips out a laugh, trying with her upmost ability to refrain from rolling all over the floor.

You blink away your tears of almost-laughter, casually sliding in twenty mora across the table dividing you two. If she's a whoroscope whore like you say she is, she'll definitely put it in her bra.

Mona raises a brow, but her eyes linger on the bill for a second too much. "What makes you think I'll do it for money?"

"That's simple," You say, rolling your eyes. "When you see mora, you cling to it like a baby clings to a tit. Now just take it and solve my issues."

She fumes a litany of curses but snatches the money up anyways.

"What do you want?"

You breathe in, then out. "I need a talisman."

Mona raises a brow, hand on her hip. "I'm sorry. Did I get that right?"

How dare she. You will your eye into not twitching, the beginnings of fire thrumming through your veins, scalding hot. How dare she make me repeat myself.

"You know, the thing to fend off evil spirits," Your statement hangs heavy in the air as the cogs in their brains click into place. "I need one that can remove the most evilest thing times ten to the power of twenty five on this planet."

Everyone immediately thinks of Hu Tao.

Chongyun is the first to speak from an area of expertise, seemingly shocked at your words. "Are you sure you want a talisman that powerful? How bad is the evil spirit you've come across?"

You glance out the window, through the semi-open blinds. The apprehension curls in your stomach once you spot Childe chasing Aether with safety scissors, and you've never been more sure of than anything in your life.

Gulping, you turn back to the exorcist. "I'm 110% sure."

He doesn't ask any more questions and goes to fetch the talisman.

Mona clears her throat. "So I hear you have a date with Childe today. Quite the character you've taken to."

"Oh please," You hiss through your teeth, your blood pressure going up tenfold, "you're the one that told him our star signs were intertwined and that we're fated lovers."

She shrugs innocently, stance casual unlike your own that is ready to lunge an attack.

"Here you are," Chongyun hands you a talisman, a colourful mix of some charms, some kind of liquid in a bottle, and about a shitton of other things. "You'll need these if you're going to face the most demonic of all evils."

You think of Childe's stupidly handsome smirk, the playful life of his eyes, and how gentle and considerate he is with you. You think about how cruel he is to others, but how loving he can be to you.

"Oh, I will be."

—

Childe is getting his ass handed to him by Scaramouche on the switch. It's just that he can't seem to focus, not with the forthcoming date all over his mind.

He hasn't experienced these kind of jitters in a long time. Has to endure that foolish smile that's about to plaster all over his face.

Scaramouche may be a son of a bitch with an agenda, but he doesn't appreciate his acquaintances safeguarding their personal crap when it starts to leak onto him. Especially when it comes to video games.

"Okay," The short boy sighs, stretching over the staff room sofa to drop his controller on the cushions. "Let's hear it." He can't even properly enjoy his victories when Childe isn't giving it his all.

"Hear what?" Childe lays his head back, relaxing from all the strain of endless gaming during the lunch hour. He seems too relaxed for someone who's broken into the teacher's lounge.

"Why you're so distracted." Scaramouche points out. "Not that I care—hey! I'm serious here!"

Childe's cracking up for absolutely no reason, rudely cutting him off. "I'm sorry—sorry it's just so hard to take you seriously when you're wearing that stupid fucking hat."

"Don't question the drip." The older moves his head to glare at him, but the thin stripe of silk on his hat swooshes with him, and it's enough to have Childe clutching his stomach in pain as he barks out in laughter.

"Grow the fuck up." Scaramouche says, no doubt exasperated from the constant shit he gets.

"Ok—ok I'm sorry."

There's a knock on the door before Scaramouche gets the chance to intimidate him again.

"Fuck shit fuck who is that? Wasn't there a staff meeting?" Childe whisper yells, panic clear in the ocean of his eyes.

Scaramouche shrugs and downs a can of soda with no care in the world.

Childe would be nonchalant too. If it were a normal day, he wouldn't give two shits about getting caught.

However, he's looking forward to that date he has with you today. Detention is going foil all his lecherous plans.

"It's me." The feminine sound of a threat calls out from the other side. "Open the door." The clicks and clacks of her toes tapping the floor indicating her impatience.

The two sigh in relief, Childe getting up to open the door. It's way too early in the afternoon to deal with this crap.

"Surprised to see me?" Signora greets sweetly, and if not for the murderous glint in her eyes, he would smile back.

"Yeah, I didn't say Bloody Mary three times." The ginger replies, keeping a steady eye on the upperclassman in case she pulls a fast one.

The blonde shoves him aside in offence, and prances in like she owns the goddamn place. Scaramouche greets her with the bird.

"There's this rumour going around—I'm sure you've heard..."

"Oh?" Childe pockets his keys, ready for an attack, not even remotely interested in the topic.

"Something about how Y/N gave Mona a visit today" Signora muses, elegantly taking a seat on the arm of the couch, "with your date and all, I just thought you should know."

"Hah!" Scaramouche bursts out in laughter, tears in the corner of his eyes. "I can't believe she went to get a horoscope reading on how shitty your date's gonna be."

"Get castrated." Childe growls, flipping him off on both hands.

"Now now boys," Signora's lips curl, and she clasps both manicured hands together, prepared to break the fight if it ever reaches its peak. "Settle down. You two are comrades."

"As if I'm comrades with this SIMP!" Scaramouche has to wheeze out the words.

The youngest clenches his fists, unclenches, and then lets a smirk grow. "Oh? I'm the simp? What about that time Mona pantsed you in-front of all the freshmen and you fell in love with her."

Scaramouche glares at him, a glare strong enough to have anyone shaking in their shoes. "I'm attracted at her sheer audacity of trying to fuck I, Scaramouche, the 8th harbinger, over. It takes balls."

"Mad respect." Signora leans forward to place her phone on the coffee table, then approaches Childe. "Moving on, the reason I've decided to bestow my precious intel on you is because I have a favour to ask of you."

"What?" He says blankly, confused that she has a request for him out of all people.

"I need you to let me get you ready for this date of yours." She gives him a gaze that is enough to wither away any arguments.

Childe shares a look with Scaramouche as if to say "am I fucking deaf because I sure as shit didn't just hear that."

"You sure as hell did, boys." Signora intercepts the connection of their two brainwaves with a dreaded sigh. "I hate Y/N. This is the only way I can get back at her."

"Hey!" Childe exclaims loudly, waving his hands in the air incessantly. "What makes you think I'll let you shit on my future girlfriend."

"I'll be doing nothing of the sorts." She points out, giving him a sly smile. "I just know she's terrified of what's coming. The better the date is, the more she's gonna hate herself. What more do I need but to sprinkle some inner conflict within her airtight resolve?"

As favorable as the proposal is, Childe  contemplates for a second. Signora...helping him? This could work to his advantage if he plays his cards right.

His inner turmoil takes him into the future, where you two are happily married with eight and a half kids. If you ever managed to find out Signora was the culprit that was finally able to set you two up, you'd never forgive him.

"Nah I'll take a hard pass." He doesn't want to think about divorce and custody battles this early on. He'd rather face the brunt of Signora's wrath.

Scaramouche chooses right then to make a tactical withdrawal out through the window since he doesn't want to be a witness to a murder he hasn't caused.

Surprisingly— "Fine then." Signora shrugs, unbothered when summoning out a minty juul from no where. She's disappointed nonetheless.

Childe tilts his head, perplexed, but decides against mulling over it for too long. Instead, he strides off to the door, wanting to get the last two periods over with so he can run home and freshen up for this date.

"Oh and Childe?" Signora calls out to him, but he barely acknowledges her, only pausing momentarily without looking back. "A piece of friendly advice. A diligent student like Y/N, there's no way she'd be into rash things like fighting. So try and control yourself, hmm?"

He flashes the senior a sheepish smile, the front row tickets to the illegal underground fight-club burning in the back pocket of his pants.

—

Childe conceals near the bushes by the gate, expertly hiding his shaking hands by pretending to look for something in his back. His goal isn't to seem desperate, even though he's raced out here at the speed of light after Havria's dismissal.

It's not like he's trying to eavesdrop or anything. He just wants a little insight on how you're feeling about this, in case the rumors of you visiting the occult club wasn't a farce.

From his peripheral, he spots you and a familiar figure that is Lisa, leisurely walking side by side as you approach the main side walk.

"Ready for your date, Y/N? You've been daydreaming all afternoon." Lisa winks, and dodges the shove you send her way with experience like no other.

"Yes, daydreaming about punching you in the face." Your left eye twitches in annoyance as you fix your hold on your skateboard.

"Well then, I'll be off—ah!"

The gorilla grip you have on her sleeve takes away all the time she has to get on the last bus she's about to miss.

Your utter strength is enough to make Childe's knees weak. How pathetic he thinks.

"Oh no you don't," You say in a sing-song voice, "you got me into this, so you're going to help."

"Help with what?" Lisa fakes a hard pout as she bats her lashes, trying to collect pity points.

"I—" You inhale, loosening your grip on her and averting your eyes nervously to see if anyone's watching. "Don't make me say it."

The older girl motions for you to continue, and you're sure you've suffered more for less at this point.

"I've never...been on a..." The sentence ends in a trailed murmur.

Childe doesn't think he's ever seen you so flustered. He's about to snap a picture for later, but decides against it. They'll be plenty of moments later on to see your cute expressions.

Lisa's grin is both seductive and terrifying, Childe notices. "You've never been on a date?"

"Shut up!" You hiss, dropping your board so you can cover her lips with your palm, eyes darting around your surroundings frantically. "Not so loud."

He has to bite at his fist to hide his amusement.

As if she has a sixth sense, Lisa's eyes somehow find Childe's through the abundance of leaves, and there's a glint in her eyes that nearly makes him shart his pants.

"Of course Y/N," She replies sweetly to you, who is currently unaware of the staring match going on. "I'll teach you everything you need to know...and more."

Childe doesn't know if that's a good or bad thing. Nor does he want to find out.

—

You ponder on what's taking him so long, more on edge than you usually are. Thankfully, Lisa basically pried your hair down from its usual up-do. Said something about how you can hide your lack of shits given as to not offend him.

Except you think you're giving more shits that you expected to. Why else would your heart be pounding so hard?

"What took you so long?" You sense him creeping up on you, ceasing his chance to pounce.

Childe groans playfully and slaps a hand over his face as he comes into view. "How'd you know?"

"You have a douche-styled gait." You reply as you remove your gaze off your phone to approach him.

He's prepared to shoot a witty reply, but it dies halfway through his throat when he procures a good look at you. Your hair frames your face elegantly, eyes shining despite the tiredness that's so clear, all complete with a cooling spring dress that hugs you just right.

Mouth going dry, he forgets how to speak the common tongue, unable to tear his gaze off your form.

You shift in place awkwardly. "Uh are you okay? Looking a little...blank."

"Sorry—sorry just thinking." Childe stumbles over his words like the complete idiot and a half he is, berating himself countlessly on the inside. He regains his confidence once he spots the light dust on your cheeks. "You ready for the best date ever?"

"The best date huh?" It's the first time you smile today, and he swears his heart leaps in his rib cage. You're the prettiest thing he's ever laid his eyes on. "I'm ready. I better not be disappointed."

"I wouldn't dare disappoint, girlie." He feigns mock offence as dramatically as possible. "I'll show you how to have some real fun. Cool keychain by the way, for good luck?"

It's one of the charms Chongyun urged you to carry with you at all times to keep all forms of evil away.

"Yeah...something like that."

The two of you ease into the walk in a relatively comfortable fashion, contributing with lively chatter and a few jabs here and there. It's not awkward at all, not like you thought it would be. Your nerves loosen up, mind diverting from the roots of the stress of high school.

"—And you won't believe what Kaeya did the other day. I'm telling you there's something wrong with him because that SoundCloud rapper wannabe Venti goaded him into birdboxing through the hallways at lunch."

"And the son of a bitch did it?"

"The son of a bitch did it." Childe confirmed, gasping through his laughs as the two of you converse in psychobabble. "And guess who he bumped into?"

You're choking in laughter, tears in your eyes as you hunch over and shake. "He didn't. Childe—no he didn't."

"Straightttt into Diluc. And he had the balls to feel him up because he thought he bumped into a hot bab—"

Childe crashes into a sturdy chest and stumbles backwards towards you, but manages to catch his balance midway. Both of you freeze when faced with a buff guy from another school, bandages on his fist and a crooked smirk on his face.

Fuck. You think. Classic high school cliché.

Realizing he can't risk the remainder of this date when it hasn't even begun, Childe raises a hand in apology, aiming to be the bigger person instead of socking the kid in the face.

"Sorry. I wasn't looking." He offers to the guy, but you can tell he isn't buying any of it. There are about four more kids who group, a setup that isn't going to end in your favour.

"Hey punk. You don't remember me?" The upperclassmen barks out, glaring holes into your date.

You deadpan towards Childe, but he's too is racking his brain to remember. Ends up shrugging with no recollection.

"I have a list of names but they're in my other pants." Shit, what an a-grade reply. Now you know you're done for. "Listen dude, I'm kind of on a date and the vibe is going great. Don't ruin it."

"It's a good thing she's here to watch then!" The guy yells, stomping so that he's right in-front of Childe, ready to pounce. "You humiliated me in front of my gang last week. I'm here to rip you a new one."

Childe blinks, tries to remember, and when he doesn't, he grabs a wad full of cash from the his Fanny pack and throws it at the guy's feet.

Everyone's eyes bulge out of their sockets, including yours at the amount of money placed there casually on the crack of the dirty sidewalk.

"Hopefully this is enough for the damages." Childe offers, aiming to not further escalate the situation albeit how pissed he is right now. If you weren't here...well that would be another, much more violent story.

With a soft tug, Childe brings you close and begins to pass the guy, until he's abruptly stopped by a hand gripping his shoulder tightly.

"I don't think so!" The guys barks, and his lackeys move to surround you two. "You gotta pay taxes too buddy." Oh he's getting way too comfortable now.

A feral smile grows on Childe's face as he looks over his shoulder. "Oh?"

"Yeah shithead." The guy seethes, puffing out his chest to size him up.

Childe itches for a fight. He can no longer keep in the urge and is just about ready to raise a heavy fist, but is beaten by the sound of a loud thwack, and then a painful groan following.

There you are, standing in front of the trembling asshole, spinning your crossbody bag in circles like it's a nunchuck in all it's glory. There's a deadly glint in your eyes, pure, unadulterated vexation in your features.

If Childe could fall for you any harder, it's probably happening now. In that exact moment, his heart beats in his ears uncontrollably, and there's nothing but raw adoration that piles up all at once.

You're an angel of destruction, a force not to be reckoned with, and shit, you're the eye of the fucking storm.

Fire courses through your veins as you pulverize the guy with your bag, swinging with such expertise it has Childe in awe. "He may be an absolute idiot for not remembering—"

"Hey girlie you're killing me here!" Your date snaps out of his astonishment temporarily.

"—but you don't get to call him a shithead, you asshole!" You snarl angrily, gripping the handle of your bag tightly, decking everyone that lunges at you, letting out strings of curses with every hit. Every hit sends a flock of them either stumbling back in pain, or knocked out completely.

Childe doesn't even get a chance to lift a finger by the time you're done violating them with your heavy ass pink bag. Stands there like an absolute loser.

"Apologize." You pant, prepared to send another flurry of attacks at the leader, who is crawling away with a battered face. "Apologize or I'll—I'll fucking Russian neck tie your ass."

"S-sorry!" The guy whimpers out and tries not to piss his pants at the threat.

Childe is still in too much shock at the whole ordeal to reply, short circuiting.

Another thirty seconds pass until he registers the smaller hand waving in front of his face. He catches your cold hand through his haze, brings it closer.

Running a free hand through his locks, he doesn't hide his astonishment. "You're fucking gorgeous, girlie." He whistles lowly, eyeing you with a new kind of regard.

"I-I uh." Your face is all shades of red by now, the adrenaline from kicking ass wearing down. "Let's go."

"How is that bag so heavy?" One of the fallen gasps out in pain, clutching his ribs as he trembles on the floor. "Like a buh-brick."

A part of your zipper in open, and Childe briefly peeks out of morbid curiosity. His jaw slackens. "Is that a...no, it can't be."

"It's a brick." You murmur guiltily, gnawing at your bottom lip. "Just in case." Fingers tentatively play with the straps.

Childe is head over heels by now, all smitten as a foreign warmth bubbles up in his throat, and he's just about sure he'll puke his heart out.

His next words are picked out carefully. "There's an underground fight club going on—"

You lock and aim for his right kidney.

Worth a try, Childe thinks.

"SIKE. Joking—joking. Just a joke." He insists, gloved hands raised by his ears in defence.

Clicking your tongue, you scowl and rush past him.

It hasn't even been an hour and it's been the most exciting date Childe's ever experienced. When he sees your lips twitch, he knows it's the same for you as well.

"Are we going or not?" You mumble, avoiding eye contact, a tinge of red still decorating your cheeks.

Childe crumbles into his hands at your deadly duality. One that comes for his enemies and one that comes straight for his heart.

[enchantedblackrose]

Flesh Wounds & Somedays

Flesh Wounds & Somedays

Jay Halstead/Reader

¡!Warnings: Infant abduction/kidnapping. SIDS. Violence against women. Swearing. Fluffy ending.

Still unedited, hoping to have the nice version up soon. Sorry in advance! Happy New Year's Eve, everyone! Please be safe ❤

Upon exiting the very stereotypical "mom van" you're greeted with harsh Chicago air stinging your face and it instantly makes your eyes water. You hastily blink back the tears though it's fruitless. Instead you pull the knit hat you're wearing further down your head and pull your scarf tighter. You keep the door open, huddling near the inside of the vehicle. Anything to stay warm. You scan the parking lot for any sign of your suspect. Anxiety starts setting in. It doesn't matter how long you've been doing this. The moments leading up to a confrontation always send your stomach plummeting 

"Easy now," Jay, sporting the store employee smock, whispers as he rolls a grocery cart by, indicating to your foot mindlessly tapping against the cement. Immediately you stop. You give him a small smile. He winks in response. You pretend to dig around in your purse, anything to give the impression you're distracted when in reality all your senses are in overdrive. 

Voight's voice barks your last name through your strategically placed com. "Suspect approaching from the east. You know what to do. Everyone else, stand down for now! We don't wanna spook him."

You open the back passenger door before closing the driver's. Your fingers work quickly at unfastening the baby from the seat. You then drape a blanket over the baby for protection against the cruel elements.

It's subtle, but you cannot ignore the feeling you're being watched. The reality is you are. Your whole team is looking out for you. But this is something different entirely, something sinister. You suppress a shudder. Securing the blanket once more, you hoist the baby from the carseat and hold the infant against your chest. With a push of a button, the passenger door slides shut. You fiddle with the keys, making sure the van locks before tossing them in your purse. 

You coo at the little bundle snuggled against your chest. Your steps deliberately appear hurried.

And that's when he emerges from a dark blue conversion van parked one whole row over. You spot him out of the corner of your eye and he is unmistakably walking towards you. But you stick to the plan. Your pace slows just barely, not wanting your target to sense the change. You also don't want to actually reach the store entrance and potentially bring harm to the public even with Al and Ruzek inside.

He suddenly appears in front of you, eyes frantically dart around before resting on you. He's disheveled. clothes are wrinkled and slightly stained. His greasy, unwashed black hair is plastered to his head. He smiles which unnerves you. But you return it anyway. His grin disappears. "Give me that baby. And you won't get hurt...much" He removes his right hand from his coat pocket and you notice the blade he's gripping. That's new, you think to yourself. He's growing desperate. Still, you have to get him to attempt an attack or abduction.

"No!" You pull the baby impossibly closer to you. "Leave or I'm gonna yell for help." The threat is feeble on purpose but still seems to evoke rage inside the man.

He lunges at you. His body weight sends you stumbling but you remain on your feet. He wildly pulls at your arms and at the baby, trying to break your grasp. He swings his left arm and his fist perfectly catches your eye.

"Son of a bitch!" You cry. Your foot slams onto one of his and you use that moment to headbutt him square on his chin. He lets out a primal scream before sticking the blade into your upper thigh and you can't help but yelp in pain. He tugs the baby out of your arms. The blanket drops to the ground.

You watch the changing expressions dance across his ugly face: anger, elation at his success, confusion.

"What the hell?"

It's the opening you need. Your weapon is drawn on him. "That's right, you stupid son of a bitch. The baby's fake. Chicago PD! Get down, face down."

Still in his stupor, he obeys. You kick the blade away just as Antonio and Jay come running from opposite directions. Antonio searches and mirandizes him. You return your gun to its inside waistband holster.

As your adrenaline begins to slow, you feel exactly how much pain you're in. It's evident that your eye has started to swell and there's a throbbing sensation in your thigh. You stagger a bit, but a pair of strong arms steady you. 

He sighs and you look at Jay. "Don't start," you warn. 

"I should have been there. I ended up carrying groceries for this old lady..."  Guilt is written all of his handsome features.

"Did she tip you?" You joke, but he stares at you. "Stop. We knew this might happen. He had to attack me." The rest of the team appears and Jay drops his voice to a whisper.

"Yeah, attack like come at you, not actually harm you." He looks as if he's about to argue more when the sound of tires squealing interrupts.

You flash concern. "He wasn't alone." Your eyes meet those of your colleagues.

Voight breaks the silence. "Antonio, get that piece of garbage out of here.Halstead, get her to Med. The rest of you let's head back." You open your mouth to protest, but Hank won't even let you get a word in. "That leg's gonna need stitches. Now go." He stares at you until you move. Jay lends his support as you gently lean into him. It's not as needed as it is comforting. 

//

You were seen and stitched in no time; the wound to your thigh was mostly superficial. Your swollen eye, which was now bruising, was being iced. You would have left Med sooner if your weirdly overcautious boyfriend hadn't insisted that his own brother see you before checking out. It took Will saying it, but Jay finally seemed to accept you were, in fact, fine.

You want in that interview room more than you've wanted anything in a long time.

"Absolutely not," Voight answers when you ask. "This guy doesn't respect women. I don't need you going in there so he can admire his handiwork." He waves a hand indicating to your black eye you're still icing. Hank returns to the observation window to watch Antonio and Atwater interrogate a very non talkative perp.

You remain in the bullpen with Adam, Jay, Mouse and Alvin to stare at that damn board some more.

Alvin recaps; all of you hoping to discover something, anything at all, that could help solve the case. 

"Here's what we know. 2 or more suspects working to abduct infants. 1 in custody. Greg Jones. Couple of parking tickets, nothing too serious. Attempted three abductions, not including today's, in broad daylight, over the course of two weeks. Only one was he successful, if you call it that, but the infant was later abandoned at Firehouse 51."

You interrupt. "That baby left at 51, was a boy, right?"

Al double checks before answering,  "Yeah."

"The other two attempts were on baby girls," Jay adds, possibly sensing where your mind is going.

You nod. "And today, I had a lavender blanket to cover the doll. One would probably assume it was for a baby girl. Just hold on a sec. Mouse," you holler over to him, knowing he'll pull up what you want faster than anyone. "Check hospital records and obituaries, plesse! Any infant deaths in the last month? Can you look into Jones' social media, too? Girlfriends and such." You've hardly finished the request and Mouse has the information for you. "How many of the babies that died were girls?"

"Two."

"Do you have the mothers' names? Any link to Jones?"

Mouse 's eyes scan the screen in front of him. "Tiffany Young...girlfriend of Jones according to Facebook, lost her baby girl last month."

You nearly hop up from your seat. "Text us her last known." You nod to Jay, asking without words if he's ready. Before you can walk away, Mouse calls your name.

"She was reported missing three days ago." 

The whole team exchanges uneasy glances.

//

In a bizarre turn of events, Tiffany Young had reported herself missing. Jones and Young had been working together to abduct a baby girl with a plan to then flee the state. You and the team discovered that Young was conspiring against Jones going as far as plotting his murder to take place after a successful kidnapping. He would look responsible for her disappearance and his death would appear as a suicide. At least in theory.

It wasn't the best thought out plan, but in these situations they seldom were.

"I still don't understand," said Adam. You were all gathered around a large table at Molly's trying to relax after a long day. Well not all, Antonio made arrangements to see his kids. Al had also rushed off. "Why plan to off Jones?"

"She blames him for their daughter dying." You say taking a sip of your drink. "I read the report, even though it was SIDS, he was the only one there at the time." Everyone is quiet for a moment, presumably lost in their own thoughts.  It takes Herrmann coming around, asking who wants another round for the conversation to resume. 

Thanks to the refills and a few well timed jokes, the mood of the night has drastically shifted to a much happier one. An hour or so goes by when Jay lightly squeezes your knee under the table. You understand the gesture, surprised that he's waited this long to signal his want to leave. Jay hadn't really wanted to go out in the first place. "I'm gonna head out," you tell the group standing  only when you've finished the last of your drink. There's a chorus of goodbyes. As you walk away, you hear Jay excuse himself to use the bathroom. You know he'll leave for your place afterwards. Neither of you know exactly why you keep the fact you're dating from your friends. Maybe the sneaking around is thrilling. Maybe it's just nice having something of your own. Regardless, it's the worst kept secret of the precinct, though no one has any proof and they ultimately leave you alone about it.

You've only changed into a tee shirt when a knock beckons you. You let Jay in. The door has just closed and he's ordered you to take your pants off.

"We need to work on your foreplay," you quip, but Jay's not laughing.

"I'm serious. I need to see again that you're okay."

You sigh, but shimmy out of your jeans. His genuine concern for you was slightly overwhelming in the best way, never having experienced anything like it before. Carefully, you pull back the adhesive bandage exposing your fresh flesh wound, still very bright pink and aggravated. 

"I'm so sorry," he murmurs. 

"It's not your fault," you say, trying to reassure him.

"I hate that you were hurting and I couldn't do anything." He pulls you for a tight embrace while mindful of your thigh. He's completely still for a moment, breathing you in and finding peace in your arms.

Suddenly, he picks you up off your feet. It catches you off guard and you giggle. "What are you doing?"

He doesn't answer. Instead he takes you to the bathroom and sets you on the counter near the sink. He starts rummaging through your medicine cabinet, pulling out gauze, bandages, and rubbing alcohol. He grabs a clean washcloth from the towel rack.

You raise one eyebrow in question. "I thought I had Detective Halstead, not Doctor."

"Tonight you have both." You bit down on your lip to keep from laughing, but the misconstruction of his words hit him. "That came out wrong. That's not at all what I meant." Laughter escapes from you and Jay joins in, shaking his head and telling you to keep your mind out of the gutter.

"Mm, it's difficult when you're around." You give him a quick peck on the lips.

He turns the warm water on, letting it run for a minute. He tests it, making sure it's not too hot before soaking the wash cloth. He rings it out and looks you in the eyes. "I'm not sure this is going to feel all that great.'

You nod your understanding and Jay very gingerly begins to clean your wound. You talk to keep yourself distracted. "I can't stop thinking about the case. Clearly, they're competent for trial and I'm not justifying what they did, or tried to do. But I can't imagine losing a baby. Just the thought…" Your voice drops off. You wish you could leave work at work, and sometimes you can, but tonight when you're struggling to do so, you feel extra fortunate to have someone who truly understands.

Jay has almost finished cleaning your wound, allowing it time to breathe before covering it with a fresh bandage. "I know," he says. "I kept thinking about if that had been us and our baby, what would stop me from going crazy."

Your heart flutters a little faster, "Our baby?" It's the first time he's ever said anything like this.

He suddenly avoids eye contact with you. "Yeah? I mean someday...down the road if we are still...and that's something we...you want...maybe?" His cheeks are flushed and he glances at you, his green eyes full of hope.

"Jay Halstead," you offer him a big smile, "have you been thinking about our someday?" He nods, giving you a smile of his own. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him close to you. One of his hands rests on the countertop, the other lovingly brushes your cheek before you nuzzle into the spot just below his neck. You plant a kiss there. "Tell me more about your plans."

"Well they definitely don't include you getting stabbed again," he pulls away just enough to cover your thigh with the new bandage. A slight pout plays at your lips having not gotten the answer you wanted. Jay, seeing this, chuckles. "C'mon." He lifts you off the counter, carrying to the bedroom. 

Gently, he places you onto the bed. You watch as he kicks off his shoes and strips down to his boxers. He catches you admiring his physique and shoots you a wink. But you pretend to still pout and cross you arms. It causes Jay to shake his head, bemused by you. 

Pulling the covers back, he slides into bed and brings you to his side. He kisses the top of your head, fingers tracing a nonsensical pattern along your arm. "I see lots for us, love. So many ways things could play out, but it's always with you at my side."

"Yeah?" 

"Oh yeah, definitely," and with that Jay launches into different versions of the future he's envisioned. Some are improbable, others imaginative, many seem possible, but all include you, just as he said.

[captainsassmanes]

Here’s my Malex remix gift for @cosmicclownboy! I took a little bit of your meta, some of the small things you like (Alex + leather, yes please!) and created this drabble. I hope you enjoy :) 

Open Up My Eager Eyes

“You’re either cruel, stupid or a bit of both.”

Michael huffed out an unamused laugh and rolled his eyes as he brought the rim of his beer glass to his lips. Kyle didn’t move, his smirk and raised eyebrow still perfectly in place.

“Not that I give a shit but,” Michael sighed and turned in his seat, “what exactly are you talking about?”

Contrary to what was probably popular opinion, Michael wasn’t stupid. He was well aware that the only time he and Kyle exchanged more than a passing nod, the topic was always the same.

Alex.

“There’s no way,” Kyle said leaning against the bar top, his bicep flexing in his perfectly fitting denim jacket, “that you haven’t noticed what Alex has been doing.”

Michael smirked and shrugged, helpless against the urge to rile Kyle up. “What’s he been doing, Doc?”

Shaking his head, Kyle threw back the rest of his beer, smacking his lips before standing and tossing a few bucks on the bar.

“Alex has been sad and lonely for way too long. You and I both know the man’s incredible and deserves the best so,” Kyle smiled as he pulled out his keys. “Tomorrow night, Isobel and I are taking him to Planet 7.”

Michael’s façade fell with no hope of keeping it in place. His cheeks paled and he swallowed past the panic rising in his throat. If the smile on Kyle’s face was any indicator, he knew his words had hit their target.

“He might not find Mr. Right at the club but Mr. Good Enough for Tonight will probably be there.” He clapped Michael on the shoulder before heading out the door, arrogant swagger followed like a cloud.

Michael was frozen, brain sifting through too many thoughts at once. Why was this always happening? Why were they always on two different paths when he was so desperate to be right next to Alex? He figured he’d had time after Alex and Forrest fizzled out, do the awkward acquaintance thing then move into friendship then -

“If I were you-”

“Jesus Christ!” Michael jumped, hand moving to his chest as he caught his breath. He was so lost in his own thoughts he didn’t notice when Rosa had taken the seat next to him.

She just laughed. “If I were you, cowboy, I’d show up at the club and tell him how I felt.”

“How I’m – “

“We all know you’ve been in love with each other forever. You’re just too stubborn to deal with your shit and communicate. You people keep claiming to be adults, but I just see one idiot after another.”

“Ouch,” Michael chuckled, giving Rosa a playful push. He sighed, pulling on his hat and digging out a few bucks. “I’ve messed up so many times for so many years. I guess, if I were him, I’d probably tell me to fuck off.”

“Nah,” Rosa stood, heading back to her friends. “Just be honest. Talk, for god’s sake.” She put her fingers to her lips and then shoved her kiss aggressively against Michael’s cheek with a wink.

Talk, Michael thought. Easier said than done.

***********

It took Michael longer to get ready than he’d planned. No one seemed to realize it, but it took a considerable amount of time and effort to get his curls to fall just the right way. He showered, shaved, fixed his hair and tried on every shirt he owned. Ultimately, he went with his usual style: jeans, clean white t-shirt and a relatively new purple, long-sleeved flannel.

The night air was cool, whipping his hair in front of his eyes as he drove to the club. In his many years living in Roswell, Michael never visited Planet 7. He didn’t know why. He certainly wasn’t ashamed of his sexuality, though he wasn’t walking around with a pride pin on his chest, either.

There was a first time for everything.

He parked the truck and took a few deep breaths, tapping nervously against the steering wheel. Michael watched as more than a few very attractive people walked in and out of the door. He’d been so focused on the environment, how he’d fit into the club, what he’d say to Alex, that he forgot Alex would be here, looking gorgeous he had no doubt, surrounded by other gorgeous, and horny, people.

“Just be honest. Just talk.” Michael repeated his new mantra to himself as he walked into the noise and flashing lights. He did his best to kiss the wall, wanting to survey the scene before diving right in. He’d planned an entire speech for Alex, practicing parts of it over and over again in his tiny mirror while he fought with his hair. Michael found the bar and ordered himself a beer, nodding politely at the blonde with the bright smile who handed him the bottle.

Across the room, highlighted in shades of pink and purple from the lights, Alex sat at a table by himself. He had a small smile on his face though Michael could tell, even from so far away, that it was laced with sadness. He followed Alex’s eyes and watched as Isobel and Kyle danced drunkenly with a small group, laughing and smiling, hands and drinks everywhere. Kyle waved Alex over, trying to get him to join in, but Alex just smiled wider and shook his head, taking a sip of his drink.

He looked stunning. Alex’s hair had gotten long and he’d let some facial hair grow around his perfect mouth. A blue t-shirt emphasized the shape of his chest and his arms and, Michael noticed with a flush to his cheeks, a leather jacket was thrown carefully over the back of his chair.

He shouldn’t be alone, Michael’s brain supplied as he felt a wave of confidence and a pure need he had been ignoring for too long.

Moving across the dance floor, Michael did his best to move between the sweaty, dancing bodies, his eyes never leaving Alex. He stood in front of Alex, whose eyes lifted, and jaw slightly dropped. Michael offered his hand with a serious look on his face.

“Dance with me.”

Alex placed his drink on the table and slid his hand into Michael’s, strong hands holding one another. They found their own space, as far from the crowd as they could go, as a slower song played through the speakers. Michael slid his arm around Alex’s back, fingers finding bare skin beneath the soft cotton. His other arm moved slowly between Alex’s muscled shoulder blades, pulling with a desperation at the neck of the shirt. Alex hesitated for just a second, seeming to process what was happening. His hands moved up Michael’s chest, arms coming to rest once they were wrapped around Michael’s neck, one hand moving into those chestnut curls where his fingers couldn’t stop running through the strands. They rounded into one another, practically becoming one. Their faces rested in the crook of the others neck, both taking deep breaths and closing their eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Michael whispered, breath tickling the shell of Alex’s ear, causing goosebumps to race down his neck. “I was terrified.”

“Of what?” Michael thought, if he could taste Alex’s voice, it’d be sweet like berries in summer.

“I can’t mess this up again, Alex. I think it’ll kill me.” He felt Alex nod in understanding, hair brushing against his cheek. Alex stood straight to meet his gaze. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks. You just seemed to – “

“I know.” Michael said, eyes squeezing shut from embarrassment. “I knew what you were doing, and I wanted to talk, to start over, so badly. I just kept picturing messing it up or you walking away, and I couldn’t - “

“I’m not going anywhere this time, Michael. I’m right here.” Alex’s hand moved to Michael’s face, thumb dragging gently across his stubbled jaw.

Michael’s shoulders relaxed and his chest lost some of its tightness as a calm washed over him. Alex rested his forehead against Michael’s as his slid his thigh between the other man’s legs, both hands returning to the curls he never seemed to get enough of. “I’m not going anywhere, Michael.”

Michael sighed and pulled Alex closer, their bodies moving with the music, lost in their own world while the universe spun around them.

“I forgot what this felt like,” Michael laughed, rubbing his nose against Alex’s. Alex smiled and asked, “what?”

“Happiness.”

[angelanimedesaray]

Wings in the Dark Chapter 6:  Stories From the Dark

AN:  I feel like this chapter should have been posted around Halloween, but there was NO WAY I was waiting that long XD  Also its a bit short, I think, to me, it goes a little quick, partially because I didn’t want to have to write Levi wandering around this little town this whole time having all this meaningless chit-chat meant to fish information, I decided summarizing was best with detail where it counted XD

Characters:  Levi, Fem!Vampire!Reader (Mentioned), Erwin, Various OCs and BG Characters

Pairing:  (Eventual)  Levi x Fem!Vampire!Reader

Warnings:  Descriptions of Violence, Descriptions of Murder Aftermath, Description of Fatal Injuries, Description of Buried Alive, Descriptions of Injuries, Language

Word Count:  5188

<----Previous Chapter    Masterlist    Next Chapter---->

*Levi's POV*

While taking such a sudden few days off might have caused a couple bumps in the way things were developing around HQ, but he knew Erwin would be able to handle it and smooth things over, so he stayed focused on the task at hand.

Stripped of any signia, symbol, or uniform resembling clothes that could suggest that he was part of the military, Levi was dressed in plainclothes, having taken a carriage out to L/N’s supposed hometown early in the morning.  He still arrived with plenty of time in the day to investigate the town and see what he could find on-site, taking in the small, easily overlooked town that was more of a loose collection of homes bordered by farms, with a central farmer’s market to keep some local trade and business going.  Any serious buying and selling probably consisted in a day’s trip to one of the larger towns within Wall Rose, but it seemed they had basic foodstuffs here.  He managed to find a blacksmith tucked away in a corner between a small grouping of houses, as well as an old, empty building that had a weathered carpentry sign in front of it.  So there had been more trade smiths around here, before the town gradually lost those businesses.

Talking casually with the blacksmith informed Levi that a ways past the farms, there was a home that was the reason for most of their outside visitors--people who could afford to would put their elderly loved ones in the care center, and there was a separate building for the mentally ill to live comfortably and get the care they needed as well.  Visitors to the town usually consisted of relatives visiting their loved ones in the homes, or they were descendants that had moved away but came back for the occasional hometown or family visit.

Which meant Levi, having no ties himself and not knowing about the homes, stuck out a bit despite his best efforts.  The communities of small towns were tightly knit and they knew their own, so it couldn’t be helped, and he would have to deal with the fact everyone was going to be curious why he was here.

While talking with the blacksmith, he also heard that the carpentry shop had been the family trade for the Frazier family--the family who lost the daughter sharing L/N’s first name.  With the murder of their only child, there was no one to take on the family business, and the building had fallen into disrepair after the parents had gone to the home outside town.

That had caught Levi’s interest.  They’d been in the home for years judging from the sign alone, and the impression he’d received was that only the well off could supply their own stay at the home, or their family members paid for it.  If there were no children to pay for them, and they’d only been a small carpentry business in a no-name town, how could they afford to be in the home?  He doubted it was by the grace of the community, though it was a possibility considering the tragedy that had happened here.

Moving on from the blacksmith so he didn’t ask too many questions in one place, Levi made a mental note to make his way up to the homes to investigate the still-living parents of the original Y/N.  Making his way to the farmer’s market, Levi perused for any small town hidden treasures and struck up conversations, looking for a town gossip to get talking about the town’s history so that he could eventually hear the more personal tale of the double homicide than the technical report Erwin had scrounged up for him.

While trying to get the man selling the baked goods to be a little more forthcoming, Levi overheard a small group of children, three or four gathered around each other as one of the older children attempted to scare the smallest of the group with a surprisingly gristly tale.

“...clawed at the wood of the coffin, screaming for someone to hear her, too afraid to realize her screams took up what little air she had.  Her fingernails broke and blood coated the coffin, her elbow busted open as she pounded and shrieked for help, but no one could hear her so far beneath the dirt.  Some say she did manage to break the wood, but halfway through the dirt falling on her she couldn’t breathe, and body’s still frozen in her silent scream, so close to freedom, no one above ground aware of the terror she felt before she truly died.  Now, so she doesn’t feel so alone, Screaming Sally’s ghost crawls out of her grave and drags children like you from their beds and drags them into her coffin below ground.”

The poor youngest was visibly trembling, tears of fright in their eyes before one of the other kids shouted and grabbed them, making the youngest shriek and cry as they laughed and continued to pick on them.

“Tch.”  Levi turned to them, a glare in his eyes that he pinned on the older kids who should have known better.  “Oi!  Cut it out.”

Spooked by the scary voice, and even more so by the scary man they saw glaring at them, the older kids bolted, with the youngest running away once they were free of the older kids, most likely to run home and find comfort from a parent.

Levi turned his attention back to the stall in front of him, a woman beside him buying a basket of rolls as he scowled over the childishly cruel display he’d just seen.

“That’s one messed up horror story for kids to be telling each other,” he muttered, paying for a loaf of bread and waiting for the man to finish wrapping it for him.  The woman beside him turned with a small shrug.

“All the children around here know about that stupid story about Screaming Sally.  It’s been around for decades, and at this point, it’s almost a rite of passage to hear it eventually.”

Levi looked at her, sensing he might have someone who would be willing to share if he asked the right questions.  “How did it start?”

The woman sighed, shaking her head.  “Some poor caretaker for the graveyard by the woods about forty years back snapped after that double homicide and started trying to tell people one of the girls crawled out of her grave.  Everyone knows it’s impossible, not to mention the grave was undisturbed when folks checked in the morning after seeing how sincere he was.  They had to put him in the home because he kept insisting he saw it, and eventually the story turned into the Screaming Sally legend the kids are always sharing to scare each other.”

Levi’s head tilted slightly to the side, eyes widening momentarily in surprise as the unsuspected connection jumped out at him.

For the briefest moment, he was looking back up at Kenny years ago as Kenny shared some outlandish story to try and scare him.  When Levi had called out it’s legitimacy and accused him of spewing a nonsense legend that wasn’t even possible, he’d suddenly appeared a little serious, a small frown appearing beneath the brim of that signature hat of his as he gave Levi the reply that now rang in his ears.

“There’s always a little truth to every legend.”

Pretending his surprise was over something else the woman had said, Levi took the chance to try and pry the local story from her.

“Double homicide?  Out here?” Levi asked, suggesting that kind of thing never happened in places like this.

In his opinion, they were more likely to happen out here, since it was so damn isolated.

As Levi took his wrapped loaf, the two started to walk together, just a little further down the path as she indulged his curiosity.

“I know--it’s the darkest stain on this town’s history.  Still unsolved, too--one of those locked room murders I think they call them.  Y/N Frazier and Victoria Schultz.  The Fraziers’ daughter had been out late the night before and came to her parent’s home to rest instead of going back to her own home.  She was sick the entire next day, and her best friend Victoria came to visit her.  Sometime between the moment Victoria and Y/N were in the room together to the time the Fraziers checked in on them a few hours later, some psychopath managed to find their way into the room, tore Victoria apart beyond recognition, and disappeared with the Frazier girl.  Without the Fraziers hearing anything amiss!  The police thought it might have been the Frazier girl, because it was the only possible explanation considering the bedroom door was locked and any attacker would have had to come in through the window, and neither girl made a sound, so perhaps Victoria knew her attacker--but Y/N’s body showed up on the edge of the woods a few days later, poor girl.  They never found out who did it, or what exactly happened.  It still haunts the people in the town who are old enough to remember it.”

As the woman spun the more personal version of the tale, Levi’s mind filled in the gristly details that had been in the report he’d read.  How there had been hardly any blood left in the mutilated girl left behind lying on the bed, but far less in the room than there should have been, how L/N’s namesake had been found lying just within the forest’s edge, neck bruised and broken, as well as several bones, covered in bruises and lacerations.  It was a closed-casket funeral for both.  They had no leads, no one with a motive, no mysterious footprint or shadowy figure seen leaving the crime scene.  They’d just been murdered out of nowhere, and nothing like it had happened anywhere near the town ever since.  It was a sudden, violent anomaly in their history, and one that was going to leave a mark that would never disappear.

Levi said goodbye to the woman with the bread roll basket, standing in the middle of the road with his gaze turned towards the homes he’d been told about, a thoughtful frown on his face.

It seemed he had two reasons to visit this place:  the Fraziers and the caretaker.

Once there, as curious as he was, Levi decided against visiting the Fraziers and asking about the events of forty years ago.  From what he’d been able to dig up, it was likely something that still haunted them to this day, and he wasn’t here to terrorize the elderly.

He did, however, pry into who was paying for their stay at the home.  Once at the front desk, he suggested that he wanted to pay for their stay, asking after the amount it would take and how often, before insisting whatever payments they were making themselves stop so they wouldn’t have to pay out of their own pockets.  At that point, he’d been politely turned down, the secretary informing him that the Fraziers already had an angel donor who was paying regularly for their stay at the home.

“Can I get a name so I can talk to them about splitting the payments?” Levi asked, leaning forward slightly in anticipation.

“I’m sorry, but...angel donors are what we call anonymous donors who don’t have any ties to the family but still pay for their care.  We don’t know who makes the payments, only that they’re made regularly and on time, so Mr. and Ms. Frazier can spend the rest of their days here.  I have no name to give you, not that I could, considering that would be sensitive information,” the secretary said politely, though there was a bit of a chill in her voice brought about by Levi’s questioning.  He ignored it, busy mulling over this new detail.

He had no evidence to support it, no reason to suspect it, but what if the angel donor was L/N?  He knew she was looking for ways to cut costs with how she spent her money, it was one of the reasons she had the tea garden at HQ--it would save her money in the future by cutting costs she spent on things like tea.  And her lack of personal belongings could also be from a lack of money to buy nice things for herself.  What if the money she saved from her salary was going towards the Fraziers’ well-being?

Again, he had no evidence.  It was just a thought, a far-fetched theory, but it was something to take note of and consider, just in case it wasn’t far off the mark.

Getting the hint from the secretary and knowing he was at a dead end as to who was taking care of the Fraziers, at least for what he would find here in town, Levi moved on to the next objective.

“All right, well, I also came to talk to someone in the psychiatric home.  He used to be a cemetery caretaker about forty years ago.”

Recognition immediately sparked in her eyes, as well as a bit of apprehension.  “We’ll need you to sign in, as well as put down a reason for visiting.”

“Fine,” Levi replied, taking the paper she slid over and writing Jacob, no last name--not that he’d have one to give even if he was using his actual name--and then wrote down social visit before handing it over.  Her eyebrows rose slightly and her gaze flickered up to him from the paper, and Levi gazed back at her calmly, waiting patiently for her to at least direct him the proper way.

“Room seventeen.  Follow me,” she said, leading them out the door--since they’d been in the home for the elderly--and a little ways away to the other building that acted as the psychiatric home.  Once inside she led Levi up two flights of stairs and down a fairly long hall to let Levi into the room marked seventeen in white paint.  “Mr. Briarton, you have a visitor,” she said after opening the door, allowing Levi to step into the room and take in a man in his late fifties, early sixties, suspicious pale green eyes narrowed at Levi as he stepped inside.

“I don’t knows you,” the man rasped.

“Jacob,” Levi said bluntly, stepping deeper into the room and staying conscious of the fact the secretary was temporarily lingering to make sure everything was going to be all right.  “I came to hear your story.”

“Hah?  Here to mock an old man?”  Briarton sneered.

“No.  Just to listen,” Levi responded simply.  Briarton sized Levi up for a moment, then looked at the secretary still standing in the doorway and gave a small wave.

“We’re fine, Janice, you can leave now.  I’s knows the rest of you’s is tired of hearin’ my tale.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Briarton.”

“Eh,” he grumbled, and Janice sighed and shut the door, leaving the two of them behind.  “Why exactly are you’s interested in hearin’ my story?  Everyone else says I’m’s crazy.  Locked me up for it, too!”

“I’ve heard the town legends.  Someone I knew used to say there’s always a bit of truth to the legends.  So I’m here looking for the truth,” Levi answered, leaning up against the wall with arms folded over his chest.

“Hmm…” Briarton hummed, contemplating Levi’s reason before he sighed.  “I’s guessin’ you’s already heard ‘bout the murders, if you’s here.”

At Levi’s nod, Briarton skipped over the events that came before, and went right to talking about the burial.  “Closed caskets they’s were.  Victoria had a pine box, Mr. Frazier insisteds on makin’ Y/N’s hisself, out of willow.  We’s buried them midday, six feets down in the grounds, six feets dried earth on those boxes.  I’s told they’s were both dead for sures, no comin’ back--specially poor Victoria.  Schultz’s weren’t allowed to sees hers it was so bad.  Course we’s all thoughts abouts it, we’s all hoped back then the killer’d get caught.  People kept comin’ by till it gots too dark and I’s closed the cemetery for the’s night.  My’s job was to make sure no ones messed with the graves, and I’s was patrollin’ like usual, and for the’s longest time, I didn’t hear nut-thin.  But sometime in the wee hours of the mornin’, as I’s was comin’ up on the girls’s graves, I saw somethin’ movin on the ground on tops of one.  I’s went to yells at them, to tell ‘em kids to scram, cause that’s what I’s thoughts they were.  But when I’s got close enough to see a bit better, I’s realized they’s was comin’ up from the ground--outta the ground.  I’s was frozen in place, watchin’ them’s drag themselves out of the dirt, clawin’ across the ground likes a wounded animal.  I’s was tryin’ to scream, but I’s couldn’t makes a sound.”

Briarton stopped, his wide eyes turned towards Levi.  “Do you’s know how heavy the dirts is on a coffin?  How hard it is to break open a coffin?  Impossible’s what it is!  My’s brother once locked me’s in one to scares me, and my’s mother lost it whens she found out.  I’s was kickin’ and screamin’ for what’s felt like hours tryin’ to break out, but all I’s got from it was bloody hands and elbows.  Ands that was without the dirts on tops of it.  But I’s swears this girl busted out and crawled outta hers grave.  Even if she’s managed to breaks the coffin, she’d’da been crushed bys the dirts.  But she’s still crawled outta hers grave.  She’s stood up, covered in fresh bloods and dirts, and she’s shoved dirt backs into the hole she’s crawled outta like a drunkard, gaspin’ and wheezin’ and wailin’ like a banshee, an’ then she’s disappears into the night.  An’ I’s ran for help, jus’ to get calleds crazy and locked up in here.”

Levi listened to Briarton’s tale in silence, studying the man’s face closely as he spoke to see if the man truly believed every word he was saying.  The terror in the man’s eyes was real, though, as he spoke of the impossibility of the haunting image, and there was no trace of insincerity in his face as he spoke.  He truly believed in the tale he was telling.  Considering the impossibility of it all, Levi also doubted, but he wasn’t going to call him out on in--enough people already believed this man crazy, Levi wasn’t going to add himself to the mix.

He only had one question.

“Who was the woman who crawled out of her grave?” Levi asked steadily, though the crawl of his skin as he said it told him he already knew the answer.  He just wanted to hear Briarton say it.

“Y/N Frazier.”

The day had cooled--in fact, it was starting to feel chillier, the sun frequently hidden by clouds that seemed to be gathering across the sky, hinting at fouler weather on the horizon.  After taking his leave of Briarton at the home, Levi went looking for the now infamous cemetery--infamous in his mind, at least--and had made his way to the grave of one Y/N Frazier, where he now stood in silent contemplation, staring intently at the headstone that had engraved upon its surface the girl’s name, a birthday and date of death that showed she had barely been in her twenties, and a brief, “Beloved Daughter.”

He wasn’t really seeing the grave anymore, though.  His mind was a flurry of thoughts, theories, memories, information...none of the connections he’d made here made any kind of sense to him, but there were far too many to be ignored.  There was something here, something that seemed to be staring him in the face, but he couldn’t see what it was, so he couldn’t use it.  Not yet, anyway.

Maybe Briarton really was crazy, maybe he hadn’t seen Y/N Frazier crawl out of that grave that night and he’d simply snapped like everyone suggested he had.  But there was nothing to have caused him to snap, no trigger.  Not to mention, the sheer coincidence was far too strong to be a coincidence.

So, he entertained the possibility that the bizarre and impossible happened, that Y/N Frazier somehow survived, a mistake had been made somewhere and she was buried alive, and managed to crawl out of this very grave.  Ignoring the impossibility of that scenario still didn’t give him many answers.  If Y/N Frazier was still alive, she would have been sixty, seventy years old by now.  L/N back at the Scout Headquarters was in her early twenties, and very clearly /not dead/.  So, L/N definitely wasn’t this Y/N Frazier.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be related somehow.  If the original girl did survive, it would be possible for L/N to be Frazier’s daughter, maybe even grand-daughter, though that was starting to push the theory beyond what he was willing to suspend believing as impossible.

One thing the Screaming Sally horror story had made him remember, and that Briarton’s recounting had brought to the front of his mind to offer him another connection, was the conversation the other day between the rest of his Squad and L/N.

He remembered the tremble in her hand, the stillness in her posture, the flash of soul-deep fear, trauma, and pain in her eyes as L/N had softly stated that her biggest fear was being buried alive.

He had something big here, but he wasn’t sure where it fit in this messed up puzzle he was trying to solve, and was missing some key piece that connected it to something else.  He needed more than ever to see what she was doing in the Underground when she snuck out at night--whatever it was, he was convinced at this point it was the missing piece he needed to make sense of all of this.

But first, he needed to do something that would give him a definitive answer amongst all these legends and tall tales.

It was a new low for him, he knew that.  The entire ordeal felt wrong and filthy on an entirely new level, but it was something he had to do.  No one else had thought to look, to disturb the grave of one of the murdered girls to see if there was any validity to Briarton’s claims, to the stories of Screaming Sally.  Everyone brushed it off as nonsense and went about their day, probably because it was so certain, and it was easier to believe the horror stories were nonsense.

Levi didn’t have that luxury.  He didn’t have the certainty, and the easier route was not the one he was going to take.  He needed answers.  So, he’d returned briefly to Headquarters in order to enlist Erwin’s help to give him the opportunity late that very same night to dig up the grave and settle once and for all whether Y/N Frazier had died.  It would help clear up some of the questions and theories when he found her body in the coffin, and it might put them back at square one in figuring out why this place and this name had been chosen by Y/N, but it would help bring them back to a world that made some sense, and it would help weed out a few questions that these legends and stories had brought up.

He didn’t want to think of the implications if the grave was empty.  He doubted it would be, but if it was...then this entire mess went far deeper than he could ever imagine.

Perhaps that was why Erwin agreed to help him, why he’d paid off the caretaker to make sure the grave was empty but leave the section Levi was going to be in undisturbed until Levi left.  Erwin clearly hadn’t approved of disturbing a gravesite, especially the gravesite of a murder victim, but Levi had strongly believed it was necessary despite his own misgivings, so Erwin had relented.

Now, Levi was in a hole that passed his head, digging the last few inches to the willow coffin Y/N Frazier had been buried in, filthy and tired but determined to get to the bottom.  Just a little further, and he would have his answer.  He would see the bones in an undisturbed grave, fill in the grave once more, go home, wash up, hate himself for a while for doing this to confirm what he already knew, and then go back to trying to figure out why L/N seemed so deeply connected to this place.

He hadn’t found any bodies frozen on its way to the surface, so he could already rule out the legitimacy of the children’s scary story about Screaming Sally, at least.

The shovel Levi was using scraped against something solid, and Levi paused.  Here it was.  He’d found it.

Kneeling down, Levi started brushing away at dirt so he could find the coffin lid, fingers brushing against wood, hand brushing a little harder to smooth away dirt--

He had to pull his hand back as he unexpectedly came into contact with splintered wood sticking up into the dirt, piercing his hand and drawing blood as he jerked in surprise, breath catching.

No…

A few more careful brushes with his hand, and he was staring at a coffin lid that had been busted open, shards of wood buried in dirt, but the hole clearly enough for a person to crawl out of.  He froze where he was as he stared at the sight before him, the odd, irrational fear that a hand was going to burst out of the hole and grasp his wrist strangely flashing through his mind before he pushed it aside.  He wasn’t breathing anymore, an admittedly trembling hand reaching out to pull back the lid, just to double check and confirm what he was seeing.

The grave was, in fact, empty.  The coffin was busted open with gouges that had old red stains upon them, as if it had been punched and clawed through from the inside.

His blood running cold and his breaths shallow, Levi had to fight not to think of the haunting image Briarton had described, the fear in L/N’s eyes, and the mental image of a woman trapped in this grave screaming and crying for help, having to tear apart her own body and defy all odds to crawl her way to the surface, tried not to imagine the terror of being buried alive like this.

Kenny had been right.  There was always a bit of truth to the legend.  He never imagined it would be this much truth, though.

When Levi returned to HQ, the first thing he did was clean himself up and get changed.  Then, he made himself some of the tea L/N had gifted him, choosing one of the blends meant to calm in the hopes that it would help settle his nerves after what he’d seen.

Outside, he might still appear stoic, but inside, he was shaken.

Once he was clean, he had his tea, and he felt he had a better grip on himself internally and he was ready for the conversation, he went to Erwin’s office and very solemnly relayed his findings to the man, who looked no less disturbed by this unexpected turn of events than Levi had been.  They’d expected some kind of secret while digging into the truth about L/N, they hadn’t been expecting a full blown conspiracy on this level.

Once Erwin was up to speed on Levi’s findings, they started to hash out some theories and details, both of them well aware that they were still missing something crucial as they attempted to make a broader picture with the pieces they were currently in possession of.

The running theory they were working with was that Y/N Frazier was L/N’s mother.  It was the most logical connection they could come up with, even though it dumped a whole new slew of questions into this mess.

Why did Frazier run after she crawled out of her grave?  Why not return to her home and family, alive and well?  Why leave the town behind and everyone in it believing she’d died so terribly?  Why never come back to tell who had attacked her and her friend Victoria?  What happened that night forty years ago?  How had she managed to crawl her way out of a grave?  Why had she instead disappeared somewhere inside the walls never to be discovered or heard from again, hiding her true identity remarkably well?  Or more importantly, how had she been alive?  How did she survive those injuries?  Had a mistake been made and she’d been assumed dead?  Was the report faked?

How was the Underground supposed to come into play in all of this, and what part did L/N have in it as well?  If Frazier was indeed L/N’s mother, was Frazier still alive and living in the Underground?  Was that why L/N went down there every now and then?  Why not bring her mother to the surface with her?  Why, when she came to the surface, did L/N take Frazier’s first name and not use her last name?  Why not use her real name?  How did the events of forty years ago play into now, and how had it had an affect on L/N?

As always, whenever they uncovered something about L/N, it always came with a thousand more questions.  They could theorize all they wanted, but it wouldn’t bring them closer to finding the answers that they craved at this point.

And still, despite the shock and the...unease he had felt to find the empty grave and realize the reality of what happened in that town--or at least part of it--Levi still felt like there was another reality altering twist in this dark tale that was unraveling in front of them that would be far worse.  He still felt like they were far off the mark, that the still failed to understand the reality of what they were stepping into.  More than ever, Levi felt there was something dark behind this, and he began to feel the first hints of malice surrounding these secrets.

Whatever L/N was hiding, at this point, Levi knew it had to be dangerous.

Erwin’s concerned eyes probed Levi’s expression as Levi gazed at the empty teacup in front of him, well aware that despite his feeble attempt to calm his nerves and thoughts, he wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight.

“Levi--” Erwin started to say in a grave tone of voice, but Levi cut him off.  He knew what Erwin was about to say, and he already knew what he had to do next.

“I know.  All I’m waiting for now is for her to make the next move.  This time, she won’t shake me.”

Next Chapter---->

Levi Tags:  @clary-quinn @humanitys-hottestsoldier@whalerus @sunny-flo @thirstyforsometea​

Wings in the Dark Tags:  @regalillegal @animeluver23 @theshylittleelfgirl @queenthorin1 @dilucs-thighs @sociallyanxiousmouse

[gayhuckleberryinatrenchcoat]

Just a stupid human tradition

Part 1 of my Destiel wedding series.

Click here for the masterpost.

Dean finally talks about his feelings and asks Cas to marry him.

@bonchickabelle thank you for inspiring me and encouraging me to post my writing, I hope you enjoy it🤗💛

He’s never really said it. It just didn’t feel right. It wasn’t that he hadn’t come to terms with his feelings, he knew now for nearly a decade how he felt about Cas. It also wasn’t fear of what John – he didn’t refer to him as his father anymore – would think, or rather do, if he knew. Dean couldn’t care less about his father’s opinions these days. He was happy about who he was. He was out and proud to a point were Sam got annoyed by the amount of gay jokes Dean made. (Charly reassured him that Dean would eventually “grow out of it”, that it was completely normal to obsess about his newly embraced identity after having suppressed this part of himself for so long, but Sam wasn’t so sure about that.) So yeah, it wasn’t like anything held Dean back anymore from saying those three words to Cas. He just ... didn’t.

When he got Cas back from the empty, he immediately hugged him like his life depended on it, not entirely sure that this wasn’t just a cruel dream. When Cas hesitantly whispered his name, he interrupted him with a sigh. His right hand grasping Cas’ hair, he buried his face in the bow of his neck and grumbled “You can have me. Of course you can. Always did”. He squeezed him once more before he pulled back and was met with the same expression of pure adoration that he saw last right before the empty ripped Cas away from him. He loosened his grip in Cas’ hair and let his hand slide down to cup the angel’s face instead. Cas understood Dean’s longing glance at his lips and bridged the gap between them, letting his lips touch Dean’s ever so softly. Dean felt himself melting into their kiss, first hesitantly, then more firmly, his lips parting to taste Cas’ tongue against his own. When they stopped to catch their breath, foreheads resting against each other, Dean mumbled in a raspy voice “Never do this again, okay dude? Never leave me again.” The moment was perfect. He didn’t need to say anything more and he wouldn’t even have had the time. After the two were forced to sit through a quick obligatory welcome-back-to-life-round with the others, Dean pulled Cas into his room where the angel showed him happily what the pizza man had taught him.

He never had to say it. It was obvious how he felt for Cas when he introduced the angel as his devastatingly handsome boyfriend and bragged about him whenever he got the chance, when he woke Cas every morning with soft kisses and called him sunshine, when he somehow always gravitated towards Cas, some part of him always brushing against his partner, as if to make sure he was really there. After Cas had gifted Dean his grace in a little vial so that they would be able to grow old with each other, Dean even fed Cas with the pie he had made for himself that morning because “now that you can taste food again, I’ll be damned to waste another day without you trying some goddamn homemade pie”. Dean’s feelings were obvious whenever Cas woke up at night and Dean, although sound asleep, pulled him a little closer as if he wanted to tell him that he was safe. It was crystal clear how Dean felt about Cas because he was so openly, blatantly in love with him, it was impossible to ignore.

So yeah, Dean never had to say the big three words, because Cas knew. And Dean knew that Cas knew. It’s not like he didn’t want to say those three words. But after Cas’ speech, he felt like the bar for a romantic speech was pretty high and he wasn’t exactly good in talking about his feelings. He was sure that he couldn’t possibly express in words how he felt for Cas. How could he fit feelings this big in just three words? It wouldn’t do their love justice. He felt clumsy, like him coming out with these words for the first time would just make him sound like a sappy teenager from some crappy high school romance movie. Like they would sound silly, inaccurate. When Cas confessed his feelings, it was the most wonderful thing Dean had ever heard. Back then, he was frozen in utter disbelief that an angel could feel love this way and that THIS angel, the most precious soul in existence, could feel this way for HIM, Dean fucking Winchester. Sometimes he wished he had a recording of Cas’ speech, because even though he remembered every damn word, he’d do anything to see this moment, the moment that changed his life forever, unravel again.

Dean always beamed with happiness whenever Cas spoke those three words. Ever since he got back, he’s been constantly saying them. He said them when he woke up to Dean’s kisses, when they went to bed, when they finished up some chores, when Dean made him wear a cowboy hat to watch old westerns and when Dean made him smile with a silly joke Cas didn’t really understand. He must have repeated those words a million times, but somehow, they never lost their meaning. Cas always stated them like a fact, so sincerely and honestly, like he was stating a universal truth. And although Dean never failed to reply to Cas’ declarations of love with a kiss, a loving smile or a simple “and I you, Cas”, it wasn’t the same as actually telling Cas himself that he loved him. And Cas deserved to hear it.

Lying awake yet again, Dean ruminated about this topic yet once more. He felt so incredibly lucky, the love of his life sprawled over him, breathing quietly, Dean’s hands running through his hair and over his back. He never thought he could have this and he had been okay with it. Just having Cas in his life was enough for him. But now that he had everything he could have ever possibly wished for – living a peaceful life in the bunker with Sam, Eileen and of course Jack, who visited them whenever he could, real freedom to do whatever he wants for the first time in his life and, most importantly, the love of his life sleeping in his arms – he would be stupid to take any of this for granted. To take Cas for granted. To not show him the love and appreciation he deserved. To not tell him. A smile found its way onto his face as he checked the clock. He had been awake since 2am. Now it was almost 5am. He gently brushed over Cas’ cheek. “Cas? Wake up sunshine” Cas grumbled, clueless why Dean would wake him at such an ungodly hour, but he felt that Dean was up to something. After some very convincing wake up kisses he agreed to get up and let Dean lead him to baby. After a short drive, Dean parked at a nice viewpoint.

“Do you mind telling me why you dragged me out of bed this early?” Cas muttered, shivering in the cold morning air. Dean sat down next to him on the hood of the Impala and wrapped a blanket around his grumpy boyfriend. Dean scrambled to find the right words. “Fuck it”, he whispered almost inaudibly. Cas tilted his head in question. “You know I’m not good at this, expressing my feelings and everything...” He lifted his head to meet Cas’ eyes. “I love you Cas. And I need you to know that”. A nervous smile flickered across Cas’ face. “I love you too, Dean...” he cleared his throat “...But... I know how you feel for me. So why did we drive here in the middle of the night? Is something wrong with you? Are you ill?” His eyes scanned Dean, as if he was looking for a sign what was wrong. Dean let out a nervous laugh. “No man, look, I just... Damn it, I can’t even do this right”. He ran a hand over his face before looking at Cas again. “See, I never told you that I love you, but you deserve to hear it, even if you know it anyways.” Encouraged by Cas’ fond smile he took his hand. “And... umm... so this is just a stupid human tradition, but with you being human now maybe you’d like to... umm, so...” Dean bit his lip and exhaled sharply. “Do you want to marry me, Cas?” Without hesitation, Cas broke into a smile and nodded. “Yes, I would very much like to do that”. As the sun started to rise in the background, Cas cupped Deans face and admired him for a moment, then Dean leaned in and kissed his fiancé deeply. In between kisses, he murmured against Cas’ lips “I love you, I love you so freakin’ much.”

[brandstifter-sys]

Sonnets

Word Count: 2144 (Ao3)

Pairing: Dukexiety with some Creativitwins

Rating: T+

Warnings: Sexual themes, brotherly angst, talk of death

Roman finds a journal and assumes it’s Remus’ but when Remus says it’s not his Roman leaves him with it, so he has some time to read. Little does he know what will come from perusing that book.

-----

Remus was chaos, he didn't bend to anyone else's rules unless he wanted to. Almost nothing was off the table for him—gore, violence, monsters, pain—but he had limits. Don't steal Janus' hat when he isn't holding or wearing it, because an angry Janus meant silence, or worse being silenced and alone. Never ever get too gross with Patton, because he will scream and cry and flash those hideous puppy dog eyes! Stay at least 6 feet away from Logan or suffer through a lecture on how little influence the duke held. Never let Roman hurt himself so bad he can't heal. And never ever read Virgil's diaries. 

Remus was happily throwing shurikens at a large canvas with paint balloons, having fun despite only hitting the ones filled with red. It was just a little annoying to only have one color on a solid white background, and even more annoying when it was Roman's colors staring at him. Roman hadn't been much of a good brother in the past few years, and it stung to think about how they drifted apart. How almost everyone ran from him to Roman. It hurt to be so lonely. 

"Greetings, Your Disgrace!" Roman said as he entered the castle atrium suddenly. Remus threw another star that lodged itself in the canvas with a splash and a thump, and grinned manically at the unsettled prince. 

"Well if it isn't MacBetty himself!" Remus said and cracked his neck sharply, "What hell did I probably unleash on you today?" 

"Don't flatter yourself," Roman scoffed and held up a black journal with sparkling green trim, "You left this in the common area." 

"Did I?" he asked and righted his head with a sickening pop. He was as bad as Roman about collecting cool journals and never filling them, so it could be his, even if he didn't recognize it. Roman handed it to him and crossed his arms. 

"It would appear so. If Logan yells at me for leaving my notes lying about, he will certainly yell at me for yours." 

Remus hummed softly and ran his fingers over the cover, ignoring the jab. The trim pricked his fingers as they glided over it. It was a nice journal, but definitely not something he conjured up. He supposed it might have been a gift, but that would mean someone made something for him—someone other than Janus, and maybe just one other side, but he remembered every gift Virgil ever gave him.

"He likes to yell. Are you sure this is mine?" he questioned, still learning the rise and fall of the trim.

"I assumed, considering the design. I don't like to open other people's journals," Roman answered. Remus knew he was scared of leafing through it, probably expecting some security monster popping out the second he opened it. He didn't blame him for that one, but it stung nonetheless.

"Me neither, but now I'm curious!" Remus laughed and opened to a random page. It was all hand-written poetry. Interesting!

"It's a poetry book! Wanna hear one? It could be a hint!" Remus wiggled his eyebrows. Roman let out a short sigh but went tense. 

"I have other things to do. I came to drop off the book and now I must depart. Farewell." Roman bowed and sank out with flourish. He left far too quickly for comfort.

"Love you too, nice seeing you again, don't be a stranger," Remus pouted and went back to his room, too bummed to paint anymore. 

  He rose up and flopped on his bed with the journal open. Some angsty poetry might make him feel better. He got comfy and let his eyes traverse the page

My mouth is dry Sugary sweet and kind Choking me with my own tongue Out of everything, that saccharine isn't a lie

Remus pursed his lips. That one was really short, and with the talk of lies, he had to wonder. Was this actually Roman's? Did he want to share this with him covertly? Remus bit back a squeal at the thought and kept reading with some hope. 

Lost in translation Obstinate and selfish Get over yourself Avoidance builds pressure Never any quiet when you snap

Remus giggled, knowing exactly who that one was about! Someone pissed the author off! And he knew that that person pissed Roman off a lot! He turned the page, expecting to learn more about this author, believing they could be his brother wanting to reconnect. He was a little surprised to find a skull doodled in the corner but brushed it off.

I want to pull him from the shadows and into my heart Will he see me? Will he disappear if I reach for his hand? Am I blind and staggering in desperation? Someone like him would be better without me Someone like him deserves someone better No star deserves to succumb to a black hole

That one hurt. Remus wiped away the tears forming in his eyes. He knew that feeling all too well. The one side who made him want to obey, the side that made his heart flutter like the bats in his tummy—that side was his best friend and then he left. He missed his partner in crime and he wished that Virgil would come back, just for a visit, and spend time with him again. But that wasn't happening and he had a whole book to read about an author he could really connect with, Roman or not.

He went through several poems that were angsty and angry, full of self-loathing. With each piece he read, the more he doubted it was Roman. The language wasn't formal enough and it didn't match his style at all! It was good stuff, most of it, and Remus kind of hoped the real author would be willing to collaborate with him. He liked this guy.

Like the sun overhead, you're on fire The big man has a little golden boy Pompous and cruel with haughty desire Which one of us are you gonna destroy?

Darkness and shadow that cannot be lit Overshadowing you to make it stop Use that hubris to land another hit I'll keep fighting until the curtains drop

You think you're Hercules when you're so weak Rise like a phoenix Icarus, just try  Maybe you'll learn what it means to be meek Until that day you won't see me cry

I will rain on your parade every damn time Stopping stupidity is my worst crime

Okay so that one threw him for a loop. It would take a few minutes to piece it together. Remus decided that he could assume it was about Roman this time. Princey loved the classics and he had a pet phoenix. This author had some beef with him! Remus hoped for more anger at Roman with the next poem, because he certainly had enough pent up with the snobby, best-friend stealing, always got the spotlight prince. He didn’t get that catharsis, he got more than he bargained for.

I find comfort in breathing in his scent Even if his hands are mine for tonight If he asks, I don't know where his clothes went What I'm doing is wrong but it feels right

If I close my eyes I can taste his kiss A dream in a nightmare clouding my mind Hearing my name on his lips would be bliss To pin him down, our fingers intertwined

I long to stare into piercing jade pools So he thinks of me while I stake my claim I want him to never want to let go I always thought that love was just for fools But on his green sash, love, or something, came I almost regret that he'll never know

This was definitely not a book the author wanted to share. Remus was pretty sure that his face was going to melt off. Now he really wanted to figure out who wrote these! Someone actually liked him like that at some point! It definitely wasn't Princey in that poem—Remus still had the sash mentioned! He was just the tiniest bit turned on, but most of his hype went into his famous wiggles.

"You're so dead!" 

Remus jolted up and beamed. Virgil never stopped by anymore, so when he popped up threateningly, Remus was too happy to care or put the pieces together.

"And how do you wanna kill me? I have some suggestions!" he sang and shimmied. Virgil scowled and crossed his arms. 

"Have Janus wipe your memory and give it back." 

"What, the book?" Remus questioned and held it up. Virgil snatched it and held it to his chest protectively. Remus' eyes widened in horror.

"You wrote all that?! And I read it!? Oh no no no no no! I had no idea—I'll get Hisster Myde and scrub it away with steel wool! Dammit I am so sorry, Sca–Virgil!" Remus yelped and got up to pace. His only rule about Virgil, broken! The only rule he wanted to follow—tarnished!

"Were you about to call me 'Scabby Doo' again?" Virgil scoffed, hiding the fear and hurt he felt. 

"No, 'Scare Bear,' something kinda cute but that’s not important right now!" Remus answered, "I read your stuff without asking! I might be a crazed Camus Stranger boy, but I have some standards!" 

"Remus. Breathe. You're gonna wipe this trash from your memory and it'll be okay," Virgil tried to soothe him, only for the duke to go rigid. 

"Trash!?" Remus snarled and spun on his heels and marched up to Virgil until the lumbering emo hit the wall, confused and scared. 

"It's not trash! I know trash! I eat it for breakfast! That book holds some of the best stuff my critical creative ass has read in ages!" Remus snapped and glared up at him with a fire in his eyes. 

"What?" 

"Those poems are great! I was gonna find the author and beg on my knees like a needy subby bitch to collab with him because holy shit! I felt something with each one!" 

"Even the one with the skull doodle on the page?" Virgil squeaked, his face a beautiful shade of red. Remus smiled sadly. 

"Yeah, that one hit a little too close to home. I got all teary eyed. Thinking about it now after reading that saucy sonnet, it really hurts!" 

"I uh—" Virgil stammered, "I'm, uh, 'm sorry for the sash and the whole—"

"If you apologize for anything else I am going to lip wrestle that apology away!" Remus cut him off, "Because dammit, Virgil, I love you, even if you don't feel the same way anymore. No more self-hate and no more doubting yourself." 

"Puppy," Virgil said and finally took back some control, guiding Remus back and having him sit down, "I can't promise I'll be able to stop that completely, but if you can stand a little bit of it, I wouldn't mind making that collab a date." 

"Really!?" Remus grinned making Virgil's eyeshadow turn purple, "Can we paint too? And watch scary movies? And make out? And then try and woo each other with some dark prose until one of us caves and asks the other to be his boyfriend? And then f—" 

"Yeah," Virgil cut him off and pressed a finger to Remus' lips, "Except for the part about caving. Will you–I mean, only if you want to, would you–and it’s cool if you say ‘no’ since things might be a little weird but—”

“Band-aid, Emoraptor!” Remus cut him off, like he used to do back in the day when Virgil started down one of his nervous tangents.

“Maybe be my boyfriend now?" Virgil said quickly and winced.

"Yes!" Remus cheered and dragged Virgil into a hug, tumbling on the sheets, "Loom over me like a cypress tree and stay with me until I taste death for a night." 

"Stay here and cuddle until we pass out like touch starved gremlins? Only if you visit me in the abyss until this world calls," Virge mused and wrapped his arms around the duke, curling around him protectively. 

"And then the next," Remus hummed softly and kissed his hand, “But you’re always in my dreams!” Virgil buried his face in Remus’ neck and smiled against his skin. Who would have thought that they would wind up here?

Roman sat on his bed and stared at the collage of pictures he had on the wall. In the very center was an old drawing of him and Remus in front of a castle. He sighed wistfully and stared at it, admiring Remus' work. He hoped that sneaking into Virgil's room was worth it—he wanted Remus to be happy even if he couldn't provide that joy. Maybe one day he’d be able to, but until then, he hoped he got his best friend and brother together to make some amends if not more.

[hognosesnakehalloweenfest]

Oct 1: A Season for Spirits

By HognoseSnake (@snakeHognose on twitter, Hognose Snake on AO3)

It had been hard going, in the thin daylight of late-September. These were days of the lengthening nights, days that turned his breath to mist, days hostile to long journeys.

The young man had managed to find his way to the forest, just as the sun was setting. The shadows stretched out long in front of him, the light starting to dim. It had been hard going. He had hoped to find his way to a village for the night.

He raked a hand through his unruly hair and heaved a sigh, a cloud of breath lazily snaking its way into the air. He had no lantern -  he’d left it at Liledal, lost it in a drunken game of cards. To be out in the open air on days like this-

(On nights like this, dark nights, cold night, in places like this at the edge of these woods-)

He took another deep breath and paused. Woodsmoke. Smooth and rugged. He glanced around again and saw a pinprick of light emanating from the distance, glowing in the early evening.

It seemed worth a try.

He set off, down the gentle slope he’d found himself on, towards the house. Smoke was rising from the chimney. Someone was home.

(Who would want to live here, at the edge of the woods, at the edge of these woods, alone with nobody around for miles-)

It was a small, squat cottage. The walls were a bright, cheerful white, nearly dazzling him with the reflection of the setting sun. The door was rounded at the top, the wood thick and smooth and shining in the early evening light. Thin tendrils of smoke slithered up from the squat chimney, just visible from the worn, well swept doorway. There was a window box, the flowers no longer in bloom, and thick windows that warped the shapes of whatever lay within.

Just above the entryway was the lantern, glowing gently, providing the little spot of light that had caught his eye from all that way away. He rested his hand on the rough cottage walls, testing to see if it was there, if it was really there-

(He’d heard stories about these woods, and not just the good ones, not just the ones that he had followed all this way, he’d heard of the hungry lonely broken things that lurked in the shadows of this forest, waiting, waiting, waiting for him-)

He knocked. He heard the muffled sounds of someone rising, making their way over to the door. It slowly creaked open, the first few gusts of warmth creeping out and laying flat against his skin.

The woman in the doorway was old, her face lined with deep grooves. Her hair fell in limp, grey strands about her shoulders. Her hands were old and gnarled, knotted like the roots of a tree, the skin thick like scales. She was a head shorter than him, and looked up with milky eyes that didn’t quite fix onto his face.

“Hello?” she croaked, and her voice was like woodsmoke too.

The young man took off his hat, distantly remembering his manners. “Sorry to trouble you,” he said, mustering up the charming smile that had gotten him out of a dozen half-paid debts.

The old woman hummed. Go on, then.

“I’m travelling east, see, but I must have made a mistake and gotten myself stranded halfway between towns,” he said, as apologetically as he could. “It’s awful embarrassing. I don’t suppose you’d mind me staying the night?”

The old woman stared up in his direction, not quite at him, not quite at the darkening sky behind him.

“Come in,” she said, after a long pause. “I’ve not got anything worth stealing anyway.”

It sounded like a joke, so the young man laughed. She opened the door a little wider and gestured for him to come in.

The room was warm and homely. A fire crackled loudly in its place, sputtering as the old woman threw another log onto the fire. Firewood, he noted. Split firewood. Someone must care about her, then.

The rug beneath his feet was faded but clean, and the table was laid, and there was the warm smell of porridge emanating from a pot hung over the fire. She paused to stir it a few times.

“You’ll want dinner?” she asked over her shoulder. The young man settled on a chair at the table.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” he said. She hummed again, before steadily making her way back to the spinning wheel. With a great effort she settled herself back on her chair, spinning her yarn from a small pile of fibres next to her.

“What brings you east?” she asked, glancing up in his direction again. The young man eased the pack from his shoulders.

“Visiting a friend,” he said absently. The lie he’d told a thousand times over fell easily from his lips.

The spinning slowed slightly. “Where?”

“Arabay.”

“And where’re you from?”

“Shanshannon.”

The spinning returned to its usual speed. “Long way.”

“I suppose.”

“What drew your friend to Arabay, then?”

She was asking a lot of questions. “Work.”

“For who?”

“A farmer?”

“You sound unsure.”

“We weren’t close.”

“Long way to go for someone you’re not close with.”

“I-“

“Stop,” she said, and her voice was harsh, firm. Steady. “Enough lying. What brings you east?”

There was a long silence, the only sound the gentle creaking and whooshing of the spinning wheel.

“You know,” he said eventually, even though his heart was racing, even though he felt like he was about to start trembling in every bone of his body. “You know.”

The spinning slowed, stopped. She looked up towards him again.

“You’re here for the forest, aren’t you?” she asked. Her voice was thin and small and husky again.

The young man nodded. She huffed and went back to spinning.

“Is that so wrong?” he asked, and tried to sound confrontational.

(Tried to hide the shake in his voice.)

“A hundred men before you have walked into that forest looking for their heart’s desire. I have seen none return,” she said evenly, focused on the yarn between her hands.

“I’ll be the lucky hundred and first, then,” he said, crossing his arms. He felt petulant, childlike.

“Tell yourself that,” she muttered, “if it makes you feel better.”

“Please,” he scoffed, feeling himself again (and also quite rude), “they must have found another way out. Or been stupid enough to not notice they were wandering into a wolf’s territory.”

“So you don’t think there is anything to fear?” she asked, glancing in his direction, briefly. The spinning quickened. “You believe there is nothing in the forest beyond your comprehension.”

“Of course not.”

“And yet you search for it, don’t you?” Again, the spinning quickened. “The heart of the forest, the beating heart that will offer you untold riches. Or is it a loved one back from the dead? Or a life unbothered by sickness? There are so many stories out there I cannot possibly guess which it is you are chasing.”

“All of them! None of them!” he snapped, glaring at her. “What is it to you?”

“Your journey is nothing to me,” she snapped back, and he distantly wondered why it was he was sitting here, arguing with a woman in her eighties, and why it was his heart was racing in his chest. The spinning kept quickening. “Your journey is nothing, and your life is nothing as well. I am telling you to leave. Go back to Shanshannon a failure. It is better than not returning at all.”

“You dumb bitch,” he hissed, “how can you possibly believe that? At your age, believing ghost stories for children! You can’t think I’d believe that you really think any of this nonsense, can you? When you live out here, in the middle of nowhere, all alone. It can’t be that dangerous, if someone as frail as you has survived this whole time!”

The spinning came to a sudden halt and her head snapped up to look at him.

(To look at him.)

“Listen carefully,” she said, her voice quiet, steady, flickering in the light of the fire “I will say this only once. Tomorrow, it is October, and with it come the days of the lengthening nights, the days that turn your breath to mist, days hostile to long journeys. Now are the days of bonfire evenings, appleyard harvests, carving gruesome visages into gourds and setting them as sentinels outside your door.”

“Whilst children dress as monsters and beg for sweets, their parents watch the shapes of the shadows and wait. They lock their doors and keep the candles burning long throughout the night and wait. They say their prayers and cross their hearts and wait for the sounds of the parade they’ll join in their time.”

“Now is the season for spirits, boy, when things benign and cruel and kind and hungry seep forth from the night. They are waiting, too. For whatever fool has deluded himself into thinking he is walking on virgin ground. For whoever is so arrogant he can ignore the pricking of a hundred eyes on his skin. For the hundred and first young man to think he is deserving for whatever is at the heart of the forest, to wander in and convince himself that he is alone.”

She grinned, her gaze clear on his face, and everything about her was sharp. In the flickering light of the fire, in the gathering dark outside, he swore her smile held to many teeth.

“It is October now, boy. I am never alone, here. Neither are you.”

After a long pause, the spinning resumed. The young man tried to work out why his heart was beating so thick and heavy in his chest.

“The porridge is done,” she said, her voice thin and wispy again in the quiet, homely room. “I’ll make up the spare bed for you.”

 ----

In the morning, the young man woke up in the ruins of a house. Where the spinning wheel had sat, the roof had caved in. The fireplace was ancient, filled with soot and dust. He sat up, hearing the rotting wood of a bedframe creek ominously underneath him, and he flung the mouldy, damp quilt off him in disgust.

His pack and boots were exactly where he’d left them the night before. He’d tidily put them away, leaning them against the doorframe. Now, the door was hanging off its hinges, warped with a hundred years of weather.

He put his feet into his boots and cautiously pushed the door open. He glanced up – the lantern was smashed to pieces. He wasn’t sure what he expected.

He pushed the door a little further and tried not to jump back in surprise. Where yesterday the door had opened to rolling hills and wide open fields, he now found himself mere inches from an enormous oak tree. He craned his neck but couldn’t quite see the top of it – just the endless stretch of tree trunk reaching up into the sky.

Edging around it didn’t prove much more encouraging. Just another enormous tree, the grass beneath his feet thick and long and overgrown.

This was it, the forest. He paid no mind to how he came here, how the cottage had aged a hundred years overnight, or how he now awoke in the thick of it. He took a steadying breath, and headed deeper in.

Alone.

(Except for the hundreds of eyes he felt on his back, watching, waiting, waiting.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Hognose Snake is a 23 year old who likes doing things such as burrying herself in soft dirt, eating toads, and writing fanfic. Best known for Green & Gold, she is the founder and primary organizer for the Halloween festival.

[xo-cuteplosion-xo]

The Ending of The Everlasting Sun.

Soukoku angst: will have 2 parts, one is Chuuya pov another is Dazai pov (Dazai is part 1 aka this piece. I'll start chuuya's tomorrow)

I’ll do a version for Dazai after (not pov but version so Chuuya can have the dose of Dazai’s pain T_T).

Warnings: Death, gore, violence, angst with just more angst. (idk if i consider dazai ooc but towards the end is mostly how i feel the situation would happen, so kinda ooc)

TBH, I don't know why I wrote this but hey I love feeding peeps and myself angst so, here you go.

The Ending of The Everlasting Sun. | A Soukoku Angst one-shot |

words: 4264

Dazai’s pov- (it swaps between third and first. I know my writing style is weird af)

The sun, a forever gleaming light in life. They say even in death, the sun won’t fade from your view. For light, something that brings reason to a life so pitched in black is everlasting. There is a place that resides within a person the sun that will never leave. Like the memories that one left behind shall forever hold. Memories will not fade, even as the deceased are placed within mounds of dirt, their body left to neatly decompose.

They say it is natural to feel your heart so heavy. To feel so pained when death washes over. Death can change a human, they say, death is rebirth, something shall always come from it. In some ways, Dazai knew the truth of such words. For he’s experienced the death of his light. At least he had thought the brunette, who’d stuck by his suicidal tendencies, his cruel ways, he thought that man had been the light. He had changed, he’d moved on into the light of this world. His heart may still be shadowed in the darkness the mafia left. The memories of those he left may never leave, but he was in the light. He was the light for another now. Still, dark himself, he’d help lead his news pupil to the light. He repeated this so often, yet why, why did his mind travel back to those days, the days when he was alongside that small ginger boy? The boy with anger issues could be heard a mile away, was he important? Why must he feel as if he left behind something important when he’d listened to a friend's dying wish? Surely he was better off now? He felt better, life wasn’t as black or as unlit as it had once been. So why? Why was it always that ginger that popped into his head on those restless nights? He worried so much if he was okay. If he was out there using that uncontrollable side without him. Ever since he left, he’d worried that ginger would do something as stupid as that. So maybe, just maybe, this world had blessed him with two lights. A light to change, that light had left him to save him. Then the second light, the light that showed him he could love and be loved. This world could take both lights to make such a realization, and eventually, this world, so cruel and dark would. Not by fate, but by the hand of an enemy who sought out Dazai’s weakness.

I stood beneath pelting rain, my mind held within it one thought, where was he? Never had the small boy I'd fallen for in my early teens missed a chance to torment me as I had tormented him. Never had he let the phone, to which we still held each other's numbers unblocked, reach the full number of rings before the voicemail kicked in. I had never felt this before. Nor had I the courage to admit such a thing. For feelings were only a danger to men like myself. I am undoubtedly cruel. Even now, in my early twenties, I stand beneath the rain alone. The mistakes of my past hanging over me for somebody to eventually discover. The past profession I had tried to hide and had hidden well for many years was creeping to my heels. The man whom I'd sought help from was gone, his final words my reason to be in the light. If neither side means anything, he told me to help the defenseless, to help the orphans. That is what I did. I left behind the ginger-haired boy whom, I now say with hesitance, I loved. It is a fine point that I was able to decline such things until after I left the mafia, for otherwise, I may have tried to do good whilst in the mafia, so I could stay with my final light within my life. Many have shed their light on me. The orphan I took in has shocked me many times, reading me in a way I thought only Oda, my extinguished light, could. He knew I was mourning that past friend when he found me at his grave. He continues to shock me to this day, the only one who can occasionally see past the mask I've worn since I was 14, since Mori found me. Kunikida has taught me responsibility and morals. There is still a bottle of things I shall never change. Some people can’t change. My mind prevents me from collecting such information about being human. My ability says it all, does it not? It is a perfect description of myself. The intelligence I share with Dostoevsky is merely one of the many things that keep me behind the wall of change. I may do things for another reason, but I am still a shadow over the people around me. I curse them all, I have brought heavy burdens onto the agency, I harm all of those around me. Love is a feeling I'm incapable of. At least, I can not recognize true love, only conclude that is what this pain is. It is a pain like no other, it is not physical, but no sense of being can push away the tangent throb of every beat. It is my mind, and the way I was brought up so young, that initially warped me beyond repair. That is why I am here, running in the rain despite my coworkers protesting to stop me.

Dazai understood the trap he was headed for, but he knew the trap would result in a fatality either way. If it was his death that waited for him, then he was alright with that. If it was painless, and he died a quick death before his mouth could run to say final bidding words to Chuuya, then he’d die. If this taunt was to break him, if he were to be late, he would drop to his knees and beg his old friend, who lay watching over him, to be forgiven for his actions tonight. If some awful being really did oversee this world, let it give Dazai one moment of peace. Let him have one good light stay until he is gone. He couldn’t do it again, the pain of holding a bloodied body within his arms, it would be hell. He knew not of true mourning, the pain of losing the one, who in a storybook, could be considered a soulmate. He knew it, others knew it, so many people knew the way he stared at Chuuya was not a friendly matter. There was lust within his soft chocolate hues, a hidden cave behind closed doors. Secret thoughts hidden in his mind. The things he wished he could have done before he left, the way he wanted to fix things, to regain what he had lost by leaving the mafia.

With every soft patter, Dazai flew between streets and yards. With every step, he grew closer and closer. With every new step, he felt his heart sink. For the area around was brittle and frail. The ground was crushed and indented. Some buildings lay in tattered pieces. Holes the size of beds lay stretched in the buildings and grass. The worst began to form in his head as his legs picked up into a pace he thought he could never take into. His lungs burned with the inhaled drips of water that turned to flames within his lungs. He pushed past the pain, the burn, the tired flail of limbs. His legs grew numb, but he refused to stop until his arms were flying open doors to a building that looked so horribly damaged.

As if I were the show that night, I could remember the lights. My lungs felt like fire, and my legs were ready to buckle beneath my frail body. I had not eaten a proper meal for weeks, my pockets empty from money spent to cover the scars I had littered my body with. The night is a haze within my mind. An unwilling nightmare I wish to set aside and to never look at again. A night I wish could be rewritten. It was a night that even I had thought the same way as Destoveski. My mind was no longer set right, that side of me to which was feared, had ripped from its confines and torn through to confine me to my own mind. I had truly wanted to tear a sheet from the book spoken about so much in this little town of Yokohama. If it meant my lights could come back and this world could change, then I would, I would do it without a blink. I’d make myself the villain to free my light. I would do it for the right reasons. Yet, I could never ruin the lights of others. There would be too many sacrifices to do such a thing at that moment. To this day, I curse myself for thinking like that man, thinking about such things would make me like him. Dostoevsky was no man I wanted to be.

The light pulsed for a moment before illuminating the room in a sharp glow of white. Dazai stood blinded before the room came into focus, the empty space warm in comparison to the pelting rain. For a moment, the world had paused, allowing his mind to make a sharp halt and think. Though his thoughts were not something he wished to hear. The thoughts inside his head screamed an equal verse to the night he’d lost Oda. He had no more time to pause, as soon as he’d adjusted to the blaring lights, he was scanning the room, finding the spots of blood, the corpses littered on the ground. Then, he was running against his will again. The next thing he knew, he was diving forward too quickly brush against the ginger, who’d consumed his thoughts since they reunited all that time ago.

The first thoughts I had when I felt the cloth of his jacket, the same one I had sown hat-rack into when we were 15, were thoughts of panic. I was always the type of man who wore a mask, but that mask only masked my depression. I yearned for death, I lived to be human, and that feeling you have right as you fall victim to death may be my only chance at life. My co-workers were never worried about me. At first, I had shocked them. I remember the way Kunikida halted with his trust, how on my first job he watched me with a hawk's eye. Never once did I not feel the burning gaze of his judgment. I never blamed him, I was a man with an erased past. There was nothing to tell whether I was good or evil. The day I entered the agency, I would have said I was that darker gray that wisps on the side of black. Today, I would tell you I wanted to be the light, to be good, but I am far from it. It shall always be my nature to look up into another and dive within their soul. My hands are skilled in ways of torture. I could shoot down an enemy with my eyes closed. These pieces of me still exist, even though I had locked them to the confine of my mind, a faraway nightmare that haunted me. The faces of the victims who plead because they had family, haunt me. It’s not remorse I feel, it’s a haunting reminder that I shall never see that friend again. When I die, I shall not meet him in the afterlife, if there is one at all. I like to believe that one can look up and think there is such a place. These thoughts, wishes, all suddenly reappeared the moment his body fell to the floor. Yet, even coated in his own blood, his breathing so unsteady I feared he was only a few breaths from death, he remained beautiful. How could I, a genius strategist with an inhumane IQ, let this happen? Why had I not called him, this ginger, ocean-eyed slug? Chuuya, he’d always be those names to me. I still wonder why we call each other such things, but it makes us both feel alive. With him, I could act like a child, as I never had a true chance to be a child. Even now, if I could muster up the courage as I write, I'd twist the narrative so it looked as if I did not care. If I did that, I would dishonor the words we had shared that night.

Dazai rushed over the pavement to grab hold of Chuuya. His hands sliding over the boy's body to pull him over his lap. His eyes are a sea of worry and panic. One of his hands grabbed the boy’s wrist lightly, his pulse was so slow, his eyes were already slowly dropping, but Dazai stayed confident. “Hey Chibi, you’re an idiot.”

The frail form of the boy beneath him cracked a small smile. “You’re the idiot you- his body racked itself with a spurt of coughs, his lips dripping crimson to join the stains on his perfectly pale skin.- d-damn mackerel.”

Dazai dropped the boy's wrist with a chuckle, pressing his hand to the boy's lips. “Yeah, I know Chibi, I know. - The ginger's eyes began to flutter shut.- No Chibi, your eyes have to stay open. Look, I've got people coming to fix you up. So just try to keep yourself awake.” Dazai’s hand moved to cup the other's cheek. “You’ll be okay.”

Chuuya’s breath staggered a wheeze interrupting the shallow breaths he’d been going through. “I’m dying, aren't I?”

Dazai shook his head, feeling his chest sting with the familiar pain of grief. As if somebody took a microscope over the feeling, it continued to grow. By now, he was sure the pain exceeded the total amount of grief he’d gone through with Oda’s passing. “No Chibi, you’re not… you're not dying.” He paused in that sentence looking down at Chuuya, who laughed dryly.

“So fucking optimistic.” They sat in silence, and Chuuya's eyes fixed on Dazai. Though it was unnoticed by Dazai, his clouded tired eyes were on his lips. He was taking into memory the parts of wishes he’d never get. Every passing second, Chuuya felt his eyes threaten to drip shut. He was trying to listen to Dazai, but his eyes were bricks; sleep a melody that sang to him. With the fear of never waking up again, Chuuya lifted his hand from his side to reach Dazai’s cheek, his blood leaving a mark. “Hey, Dazai.” His voice lacked anything but sincerity.

“No Chuuya. No, you’re okay! Just a few more minutes and Yosano will be here! Fuck, just stop moving, keep your eyes open, keep breathing because you’re alright.” Chuuya had never seen Dazai act like this before. So as Dazai’s hand warmly wrapped around his, his head pressing into the cold touch of Chuuya’s, words were spoken.

“Dazai, I. Never. H-hated… you. I. lov-” before those words could finish, his body was shaking. Tears were forming, he was still conscious and very much alive, but his entire system of organs and cells were rejecting him. The use of corruption had been at its limit long before Dazai had touched him. Before his ability had been canceled out, he was beyond death. The way he coughed his hands, flailing out to grab Dazai’s shirt and press their bodies together, made even Dazai emotional. Dazai managed to still the boy's movements. His eyes half-open as he tried to hold onto whatever string was left. “Lo-” this time he was cut off by Dazai’s hand. His head shaking, hearing Chuuya speak would make this far too real.

He wasn’t ready to let him go. For the first time, he wanted to be far from death, far from the pain and suffering of humankind. So as Chuuya smiled and looked to the ceiling, his hand continued to stroke Dazai’s cheek. A reminder he was still alive.

That moment ended all too quickly when Chuuya took a final staggered breath and looked to Dazai. “Loved you.” He finished his sentence before his eyes dropped shut. His hand slipped into a limp state within Dazai’s hold.

It took the brunette no time to jump to compressions. He continuously screamed. A voice that had never once mourned, or shed a tear, now sat in a contorted expression between agony and doubt. His mind was static, for the first time nothing clear could form within his head. He shrieked out for Chuuya. Open your eyes, he had chanted and begged before he no longer had the strength to continue. He simply fell on top of Chuuya, his ear to his chest praying to hear a soft thud. Three minutes passed before his body, devoid of any, and everything was yanked away. Had he been shown a mirror, one would not have recognized Dazai. His clothes were bloodied, his hair disheveled and wet from the rain he’d run in only a handful of minutes ago.

Dazai sat numbly as his co-workers looked around trying to find if there was any danger left. When the scene was clear and Yosano made the final statement, the world truly crumbled. Still, despite having started CPR and rescue breaths, despite having felt the cooling touch of his skin, Dazai had held onto the hope that Yosano would fix this. He watched as she put on a work face. Her heels clicked across the ground as she walked over to Dazai with a doctor's approach, not a friend's approach. She bent before Dazai and began to speak. “Dazai, I need you to focus your eyes on me, alright?” Dazai could read her mind like an open book. His mind, in his numb state, had returned to his 17-year-old self. Devoid of any real feeling, bent on causing pain and suffering. He tilted his head like that child-self would in this situation. For once, he genuinely felt human. “I understand you were close to Nakahara-san. You were also here at the scene. It’s with much regret-” before she could finish, Dazai’s eyes grew cold and clouded, his lips a snarl as he shoved her.

“He’s okay! Chuuya is okay, he’ll wake up! He always does, even when I have to change things in a second advance because I fucked up. He's okay! We’re soukoku, double black. We can’t be put down. We’re partners, we need each other." even Yosano froze at the sudden outburst. The way Dazai cried without realizing the tears were falling. The way he tried to look happy as if he hadn’t watched Chuuya die within his arms. “Right… he’s okay right?” Dazai hardly knew what he was saying, his head foggy, his mind trying to stay collected.

If one could compare him to anything, one would say that moment he'd looked like a child, no older than fourteen, who’d watched a death before their eyes. Yosano collected herself before shaking her head. She decided to take the approach she’d have with a child instead of an adult. For in this moment, Dazai was experiencing what one could call his first-ever truly emotional loss. This was the first time his mind was catching up with him. “Dazai, Chuuya cared very much for you. You know that right?”

Dazai seemed to calm slightly at the thought as he focused on Yosano. “Yeah, he loved me… he said he loved me.” Suddenly, the situation became worse than she’d thought.

“Mhm, and you loved him too?” Dazai took his time to slowly nod before gulping and shrinking down.

“And now… he’s not coming home. No more loud, annoying comments. No more nights at the bar…” Dazai’s voice choked before the sounds of more footsteps followed in.

A high-pitched female voice screamed in a shrieking roar. “Where is he!” Dazai knew that voice. Kouyo, his Ane-san. At least, at one point she’d been his Ane-san. But his eyes stopped looking at Yosano and instead took a glimpse at Chuuya, whose corpse still lay there.

Once more, Dazai’s emotions took control, and he placed his hands over his eyes and shut himself away. Yosano swore under her breath and stood up. “Which one is he?” Yosano stood up rather angrily. She disliked her conversations being so rudely interrupted, even if it were somebody she had a small connection with.

“Chuuya…” the red-haired female stormed over before spotting Dazai first. His body cradled in like a child. A position she’d never seen him in. Her heart could only lurch to the worst. Hesitantly, she looked off to the side and saw it. The bloodied corpse. She spent no more time looking, she couldn’t.

She shoved Yosano away from Dazai, a boy she had once helped to look after and almost raise. Though she resented the boy for abandoning his role as an executive, she knew how much the pair had been connected. So she’d be a mother or older sister for a bit. Something Dazai had never seemed to have. “Dazai, it’s Kouyo, can you look at me? I just wanna make sure you’re alright.”

Dazai peeked from his arms, sniffing in his delirious state as he lunged towards her. Not in a hostile way, but an embrace. Something he never thought he’d need. He felt so human, so alive, but at the same time, he felt so dead inside. He felt as if his life had been torn and replaced within seconds. This feeling he couldn’t place a name on. “I was too late… I couldn’t, and now he’s and I… it’s all my-'' Kouyo was quick to shut him down, muffling her own sobs as she rocked Dazai in her arms.

“Hush child, these things happen. The fault is never that you could not make it in time. The fault lies within the bastard who did this. He always took extremes to protect you, Dazai. So hush now, let yourself grieve.” There was a slight pause as the agency starred in shock. This woman, who most of them knew as a vengeful woman with no remorse, sat cradling a grown man from an opposing organization as if he were her child, no more like an older sister cradling a younger brother. “Dazai, I won’t criticize your reaction, I've seen it many times in the mafia. Little children who witness death at such a young age think they are immune to it. They find another blame or they say they are monsters. You were 14 when Mori took you in. You never had somebody to teach you to grieve. You never needed to, not until now. So listen to me child, you’re going to let it all out, the years of pain and suffering, the years of grief for lost friends, even I have cried in my life. Nobody is immune to pain, some of us just think we are.” As Kouyo spoke, she noted Dazai’s breathing reached a slowing point. He was fast asleep before she finished her words. Her touch was gentle as she brushed a lock of his hair behind his ears.

Next, she walked over to Chuuya and hung her head, murmuring words of mourning. She walked off quickly, but came back moments later with his hat. “He’d want somebody to have it.” Yosano stood beside Kouyo, who choked back her own tears.

“I think it should go to Dazai. He always mocked his hats, even though he loved seeing Chuuya in them. They really were meant for each other. It’s unfortunate such a great pair ended up… in a life like this. Perhaps they will be reborn in an era where they are nothing but students who fall in love. I like to think there is always a second chance for lives that end too short.”

With a nod, they both looked to Dazai, who looked at peace sleeping on the ground.

~

When I woke up that day after, I could hardly remember anything. I had lost myself completely to the side that was human. I truly did try to live on, but it was difficult. No matter where I looked, I could see his laugh, I hated it. The pain that constantly wrapped around me. Hence, why I sit here with a pen. I never took myself to write my thoughts down. Oda had once ruminated about being a reader, he died before he ever could. I miss them both. I say that, but when I look down at the tear-stained paper, so many of them were for Chuuya. A love I never got to kiss or truly love. Today, I will not wake up. I no longer care about things like making my death overly complex and comfortable. I shall go to sleep with Chuuya’s hat at my side. I shall die with him at my side. That is how it should have been. Chuuya should have lived that night. I shall never know what sparked him to use corruption without me there. All I know is the worst person in the world, Destovesky, who now lay in a ditch from my own pistol, threatened the ginger to such an extent he felt the need to use it. In a way, I have solved several problems with one action. I killed the criminal, and I'm killing the single person whose blood runs more mafia black than any other.

Tag list If you want to be added when I upload fics/HC etc., just shoot me an ask: @jadegreenimmortality

[multi-fandom-imagine]

but it's all coming back to me || Jin Sakai ||

A/n: I got people wanting more of Jin....so I am giving more of Jin!!! lot’s of angst and spoilers in this fic, also flash backs between the reader and Jin are italicized...aka moments before the start of the game.

Also this will take place during the events of the game and after...really couldn’t give Jin all the angst! the man needs some happiness.

Warnings: Hinted smut, some graphic content.

Listen to this- It's All Coming Back to Me Now

There were nights when the wind was so cold. That my body froze in bed. If I just listened to it. Right outside the window. There were days when the sun was so cruel. That all the tears turned to dust. And I just knew my eyes were. Drying up forever. I finished crying in the instant that you left. And I can't remember where or when or how. And I banished every memory you and I had ever made.

You remembered those sleepless nights, the nights where the cold that kept you up. The night you left the estate was the night you left a piece of your heart behind. After what happened between you and Jin, you knew you had too. That fight you both had, the hurtful things you had said to each other. You cried for most of the nights you were alone, your tears drying up until you had nothing but over the years you slowly pushed back the memories you and Jin shared together, you did not think you had the strength to go on if you didn’t.

But then it happened, you saw him again. You thought he was dead, after what happened on the beach but Ryuzo had mentioned something about the Ghost and that Ghost being the very man you tried to forget.

But when you touch me like this And you hold me like that I just have to admit That it's all coming back to me When I touch you like this And I hold you like that It's so hard to believe but It's all coming back to me (It's all coming back, it's all coming back to me now)

It was awkward at first, you two not knowing what to do. After the fight you two shared you were even surprised that the man greeted you with a smile. He was the first one to step forward, the first one to wrap his arms around you for a gentle hug. 

And that was all it took, one touch for all those memories to come flooding back. It was strange, it felt you were teenagers again, being in his arms brought back in his arms. It seemed neither of you wanted to break apart but you had too. 

“It’s good to see you again...Jin.” Smiling at the man you placed your hand against his cheek, the man relishing the feeling of your palm on his skin. 

“It is good to see you too....y/n.”

There were moments of gold And there were flashes of light There were things I'd never do again But then they'd always seemed right

Stifling your laughter, it was hard not to snicker at your friend. You managed to dodge his strike only to trip him in the nearby pond.

“It’s a good look on you Jin.” Giving him a wink, you held out your hand for him to take. Feeling his wet hand in yours you suddenly let out a gasp as he tugged you forward. Letting a shriek escape your lips you tumbled into the water as Jin started to laugh.

“I can say the same thing too you too!”

Rolling your eyes you gave him a smile as you splashed a waved of water at him, ignoring the golden bird flying above you both. 

There were nights of endless pleasure It was more than any laws allow Baby, baby.

“Jin.”

Crying out his name in pleasure was something that you never thought would happen. You never expected this moment to happen, Jin taking you as his first though you were just happy the man you loved was the one that you were losing your first too.

Doing your best to bask in the after glow, you let out a small laugh as your hand rested against his cheek. Leaning into your touch Jin let out a blissful sigh. 

“I love you.” Muttering against your neck, he remains in his position. Arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he felt sleep creeping in his vision. He didn’t care what his Uncle might have thought. This felt right, you felt right.

“I love you too...Jin.” placing a small kiss against his cheek it wasn’t long until you both had fallen asleep.

If I kiss you like this And if you whisper like that It was lost long ago But it's all coming back to me If you want me like this And if you need me like that It was dead long ago But it's all coming back to me It's so hard to resist And it's all coming back to me I can barely recall But it's all coming back to me now But it's all coming back.

“Jin.”

You both were still trying to process Ryuzo’s betrayal, you hated seeing Jin like this. He looked so heart broken, you didn’t even know what to do, how could you fix this?

Biting your lip you stepped forward then placed a hand on his shoulder doing your best to comfort him. “Jin, I know it huts....but I promise you...I will not leave you....not again.”

Closing his eyes, Jin was unsure on what to do. He was unsure if he could confine in Yuna and his Uncle was out of the question. He had to believe you, swallowing the lump that was forming in his throat he let his arms weave around your waist.

“I know.”

You could feel your heart clench in your chest once you felt tears against your neck. Closing your eyes for a moment you then placed your hand against his cheek. “Good.” Unsure if this might make things worse for him you slowly placed your lips against his before you pulled away stepping back.

“If you need me Jin...in anyway.”

Feeling Jin’s hand against your own you were already in his arms, his lips placing a gentle kiss against your head.

“Please...stay the night with me.”

“Of course.”

There were those empty threats and hollow lies And whenever you tried to hurt me I just hurt you even worse And so much deeper There were hours that just went on for days When alone at last we'd count up all the chances That were lost to us forever But you were history with the slamming of the door And I made myself so strong again somehow And I never wasted any of my time on you since then.

“I can not marry you!”

“Why is that?! Is it because of my Uncle? What did he say to you.”

“Nothing!” You could feel yourself on edge, tears already staining your cheeks but you forced yourself to be strong.

“y/n....please...talk to me.” This was supposed to be a happy moment for him, one that he wanted to share with, reaching out to grasp your hands you quickly pulled them away, forcing yourself to avoid his gaze.

“I am not good enough for you Jin....find another girl.” You whispered, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I will never be good enough.” Whistling for your horse you quickly slipped onto it’s back before he could stop you, the worst thing was not being able to tell him you were pregnant.

You didn’t know how you did it, but you managed to stay hidden for eight years. You hated that you had to stay hidden but you made a promise to Lord Shimura. You would leave the man you loved only if it meant that you and you son would be safe.

You some how managed to make yourself become stronger, you knew that was due to your little boy.

Though overhearing Ryuzo talking to another Straw hat member. 

“Everyone was slaughtered on Komoda Beach.”

“Jin.”

Shaking your head you did not want to believe that Jin was killed, turning around you walked over to your small boy. Knowing the only place you knew he would be safe you had to find your own answers about Jin.

But if I touch you like this And if you kiss me like that It was so long ago But it's all coming back to me If you touch me like this And if I kiss you like that It was gone with the wind But it's all coming back to me (It's all coming back, it's all coming back to me now)

“Jin...you could have been killed.”

Jin shook his head, that didn’t matter to him, not when he nearly lost Taka. The young man was lucky enough too lose a hand. If you had not stopped that blade he would be burying to friends instead of one.

Though what you did was stupid, he saw the Khan’s blade catch your side. He did not want to think about losing you. If Yuna had not have been their to save you....that was a thought that he did not want to think about. He could tell you were still in pain, from your winces but he wanted to take you to see Shimura. To tell his uncle what you did, that you were to thank, the reason why he was saved.

“I could have lost you.” Reaching you he grasped your hand gently in his.

Letting his thumb run over the back of your palm he then pressed his lips against yours for a soft kiss. Trying to make the kiss last you clutched the fabric of his kimono before pulling away.

“I still love you Jin...I always will...but I can not see your uncle and if you must know why...then ask him.”

Stepping back took a deep breath as you started to walk away. “If he does tell you and if you still love me....then meet me where we first kissed.”

Watching you leave, Jin desperately wanted to stop you. But he needed to know what is uncle did.

There were moments of gold And there were flashes of light There were things we'd never do again But then they'd always seemed right There were nights of endless pleasure It was more than all your laws allow Baby, baby, baby

Stifling a laugh, you cleared out your throat holding your hand out to the young man.

Taking it, Jin scowled as he rubbed his bruise cheek, his arms folding over his chest. 

“Stupid Ryuzo...”

“I thought you would blame me, I am the one who beat you.”

“That’s because I was distracted!”

“Is this about what Ryuzo said....if it is then it’s not true Jin. Lord Shimura loves you.” Smiling you suddenly wrapped your arms around his neck, closing your eyes you relaxed into his arms as he hugged you tightly.

“You are going to win that tournament and I will be cheering you for you.” Biting your lips you gave him a gentle kiss before pulling back. “If you catch me! I’ll give you a great way to take your mind of a few things.” Giving him a wink you pinched his cheek before rushing off laughing.

When you touch me like this And when you hold me like that It was gone with the wind But it's all coming back to me When you see me like this And when I see you like that Then we see what we want to see All coming back to me The flesh and the fantasies All coming back to me I can barely recall But it's all coming back to me now.

You weren’t expecting Jin to show up, sitting under the tree you watched as the red leaves fall down. You son laughing as he tried to catch any that got near him.

“Y/n?”

He was quiet at first, it was hard to read the expression on his face though it did not take long for his gaze to land on the little boy.

“Is he?”

“Yes...I’m assuming your uncle told you?”

You did not want to look at Jin anymore, it was to painful. Sinking your teeth in your lower lip your body stiffened suddenly feeling Jin’s arms wrapped around you tightly.

“Why didn’t you tell me, I could have protected you.”

Holding back a sob you buried your face into Jin’s neck. “We were young...I was scared.”

Rubbing your back gently he pressed his lips against your head, the moment he saw you again he felt all his old memories and feelings rushing back to him. The past did not matter, the only thing that did was having you in his arms and him being able to raise his son once the Khan was dead.

“Do you forgive me Jin?”

“I have nothing to forgive, when you did nothing wrong.”

Three years have passed since he defeated Kotal Khan, since he sparred his Uncle and drove back the Mongol forces. He still kept in touch with the others, it was good to see everyone now and then.

But right now he had his son to teach, to show him the things Shimura had taught him.

If you forgive me all this If I forgive you all that We forgive and forget And it's all coming back to me When you see me like this And when I see you like that We see just what we want to see All coming back to me The flesh and the fantasies All coming back to me I can barely recall, but it's all coming back to me now.

You found out that Jin was not lying when he told you that he had nothing to forgive,how could he? He knew he could not blame you for leaving. Not when you and him were both so young and having a child out of wedlock. 

While he hated what his Uncle did, he got not blame you. Perhaps some time he would be able to forgive the man but right now he just wanted to spend time with his family.

Hearing his son’s laughter he noticed the boy playing with the dog he had gotten him.

After the pleasurable and blissful nights with you, he was happy to know that he you were pregnant with his third child. While the second was just starting to walk the man couldn’t be happier seeing your stomach swell.

Feeling a smile form on his face, he watched you step out of the door. Your daughter clinging to your skirts until she spotted him. 

“Papa” Reaching out, Jin chuckled as he quickly made his way over to his little girl. 

Closing his eyes he lifted his daughter up as his free hand placed it on your stomach. “Hello, my love.”

Smiling you placed your hand on top of his then cleared out your throat. While Jin off helping Nori and the others, you were busy writing to Shimura. You knew the man was lonely and you wanted him to see Jin’s children, you knew he hated what he’s done and that he just wanted to see Jin again, he did not care what would become of him. 

“You can...come out now.”

Slowly stepping out of the doorway you gave Jin a smile as his eyes widened with shock.

“Uncle?”

“Hello....my son.”

[zuffer-weird-girl]

You don't have to do it rn but can we have more of Pirate AU? I think I'm falling for this oh maybe the conflict in Kai's head for having feelings like those for the first time? Or how lose he is into how to make her feel the same?

"That woman has something..." he hissed while looking down at you, cleaning the deck and accidentaly hitting Tabe's on the face with the mop and apologizing profusely as the man only shaked his hands that it was fine...

"What you mean?" Chrono sighed, spitting the toothpick that was on his mouth on the sea as Mimic snorted.

"Cant any of you blind people see it?" He hissed, showing his gloved palm at you on the deck, Nemoto calling everyone to assign the chores as you listened with a bored face "She just... I cant be the only one that notice it."

"Uh... notice it what?" Mimic chuckled as Chisaki sighed in dissapointment and annoyance.

"She catches too much... attention."

"Well." Chrono said while getting up from the box he was sitted on "Excluding the fact she is indeed the only woman on board... she kinda has a nice personality."

He glared at his commurate but soon returned his gaze at you, singing a song that not all his years at the sea and earth ever heard of...

"... she is just a street rat. A thug thief." He muttered in disgust before marching down to his quarters as the two males shrugged at the action of their captain.

As soon as he closed the door he let out a deep sigh while he rested his forehead on the door, taking off his hat while he narrowed his eyes at nothing.

"Did she threw a spell on me or something? I cant just take her off my mind..." he chuffed while walking towards his desk and putting his hat and jacket neatly aside.

.

.

.

You walked on the board of the ship while humming, watching the starts and playing with the rope attached to the main post of Overhaul's ship.

After Neptune knows how long you've been here, you actually found out that pirates weren't all that bad thing that the people of your village that you lived many years ago talked about ... they were just ocassional freddy mans that looked for something in life...

And well, you hatred for pirates wasn't even yours. Your mother threw this at you becaus eof your father being a pirate himself and abandoning his family. The only thing he left you was a song that not even once left your mind alone especially when you were kidnapped.

"We're beggars and blighters, ne'er-do-well cads Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho Aye..." you singed quietly while supporting yourself by only the rope you were holding, ocassionaly twirling yourself and smiling now at then at the bright shiny sky or at the sea that surrounded you.

"But we're loved by our mommies and dads-"

"Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho." You yelped and accidentaly losed the grip of the rope and almost fell into the cold sea if it wasn't for a gloved hand grabbing your arm.

"C-Captain!" You almost yelped while pulling away from him. He tilted his head, that sick and arrogant smirk showing on his face as you tried to hide your embarrassment.

"Now you call me 'captain' brat? After two years confided on thsi ship." You scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest while furrowing your eyebrows up at him.

"Prefer me to call you mister buck head or fucker again?" You muttered as he shaked his head, folding his arms on his back as he started to walk away from you.

"Not quite. I much rather enjoy my tittle being finally slipped from that silver tongue of yours." He spoke nonchantly as you uncrossed your arms and followed him.

"How did you know this song?" You asked as he looked at you.

"Eto..?"

"You know!" You almost exclaimed before looking away from his face "... the one I was singing a few minutes ago..."

"Simple. I listened it. Is quite a verm in my opinion..." he looked up at the sky while furrowing his eyebrows at the sky "...yo ho We're devils and black sheep, really bad eggs Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho.." he sighed as you widened your eyes.. he did paid attention to the song.

And his voice... was so... magical, beautiful even to hear.

"This particulary one got me interested. Devils and black sheep, what a stupid yet accurate ... comparation." He looked at you and stopped walking at the smug smile you were wearing as he furrowed his eyebrows "What?"

"You've been watching and listening to me? Captain?" This time his tittle came off as a sound of teasing and you couldn't believe in your own eyes at the bright red color that was starting to form on the man's cheeks.

He scoffed and covered his face with his jacket and started to walk away as you started to giggled in amusement.

"Oh my Poseidon! You were!" You trailed after him as his boots clicked on the deck as be trued to just leave that place immediate

"Was not. With the amount of problem you cause I have to watch over you." He growled, still knot looking at your face.

"Bullshit!" You cackled before stopping at the sword on your throat as he glared down at you.

"You have the nerve to laugh on the face of the most cruel and terrifying captains of all seas you brat?" His lips parted in shock as you giggled and swatted the tip of his sword away.

"A cruel captain that blushes over a silly question like mine? Was I suppose to cry at that?"

"A bold one you are..." he growled while twirling his sword on his hold before putting it back on his belt.

It was silence for a bit before he walked away opening the door that gave entrance to his own quarter. You just giggled and gave your back to him before you listened to him whistle.

"Oi." You turned to look at him, holding the door open as his nonchantly gaze was stuck on you "... Come. We never actually discussed that time you were injured."

"You mean the one I was kidnapped by another crew or when you threw me to the cold as fuck sea?" You pointed at the sea with emphasizes as his eyes narrowed.

"Forget that." He growled, entering before hsi eyes opened a but wide at seing you giggling and walking past him.

"Ya know?" You hlgave him a smile and a wink over your shoulder "You could just ask if I wanted to hang out with you."

"As if." He rolled his eyes at the back of his head while closing the door.

"Sir... I read your journal." You smiled at the shock on his face as you giggled "So I am not just a thug street rat to you? Am I?"

He tsked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I would more consider you as a witch." He growled as you shaked your head.

"You're no good with emotions right? Mister captain Overhaul?" He looked at you and only saw good intentions on your eyes... something so rare to him on all his life, both when he was adopted by a pirate and before that.

"... that doesn't matter." He sighed, walking past you and taking a bottle and showing it to you "May I have your company this night?"

"Well.." you pretended to think before smiling at him "If I get to know your real name then yes..."

He thought for a bit before smirking, taking your hand on his gloved one more like a noble then a pirate.

"As long as it doesn't leave your lips outside from here." He sighed at your mention to zip your mouth shut "Is.. Chisaki Kai." Your eyes widened and body freezes... not only at seing that he actually spoke his name but...

"Are... are you that lost of the Chisaki-"

"No." He took his hand away from you and you actually felt cold without his one fu king hand on you "Dont speak the name of someone whose faked my own death and caused me so much suffering."

"S-Sorry..." you looked at him giving your back as got two calices made of fucking gold "I... had no idea."

He tsked ince again while handling you.

"You're the first one on this ship asides from Chronostasis to know about this. And I hope your mouth stay shut or else-"

"You will throw me at the sea for the sharks?" You snorted while taking the drink.

"Worse." He growled as you giggled, smilling up at him.

"Well, where is that part where you admit you have feelings for me?" You actually laughed at how he gagged on his won drink and opened the window of his quarters to spit "Too far?" You giggled while patting his back as he coughed.

"You're such a headache to my life you brat..." he wheezed out as you muffled your giggled at seing his tomato yet grumpy as hell face.

[fleetingpieces]

Everything we were

I know I probably shouldn’t do this cause I’ve only just started posting my neighbour fic, but this is the first Wolfstar fic I’ve ever written and I’ve been thinking about sharing it for months now, soo...here goes nothing I guess

This is a Marauder era fic, it’s a long WIP, but I’m VERY excited about it, I would love to know what you guys think!

Tagging @asthmaticpansexual in case you’re up for the ride this is going to be :D As always, thanks for reading  ❤️

Chapter 1 

The room was completely dark when Remus Lupin suddenly woke up. He hated waking up in the middle of the night, it brought back memories he would certainly like to forget. The faint red light coming from the alarm clock on his desk casted faint shadows, which was the only reason why he could vaguely make out the shapes in his empty room. He breathed out slowly, trying to calm his nerves.

There’s no one there, everything is fine.

He repeated that a few times like a mantra before glancing at the time, that read 10.30 pm in glowing numbers. There was only one hour and a half left of his eleventh birthday.

The feeling of disappointment was mild. He had already cried about it to his mum before he had gone to bed, and his dad had prepared him for this possibility for years, so he told himself he had been stupid for waiting for that letter anyway. That morning, when he had woken up to both his parents wishing him a happy birthday, he had tried very hard not to show them how much he was looking forward to checking the mail. But the day had come and gone, and no owls had visited their old cottage. Remus didn’t know much about it, but he was sure if he had been accepted at Hogwarts, he would have received word of it already.

It wasn’t that he really wanted to go to that school. He had already resigned himself to staying at home, given his special circumstances. Anyway, he didn’t need it ‘cause he was home-schooled. His dad had done his best to teach him everything he could about magic, without giving him too many details about his own time at Hogwarts, as it would be too painful. His mum had also taught him a few of the usual muggle subjects. They had been very patient and comforting when he turned five, and they had to explain why he wouldn’t be able to go to any school, wizarding or muggle. They had promised they would do anything to make him feel like he wasn’t missing out on anything.

“My love, we know you would prefer to meet other kids your age, but I promise you we will love you enough to compensate for everything.” His mother had cradled him in her lap, stroking his hair while saying those words with a sad smile on her face. Hope and Lyall had kept that promise, doting on him without restraints.

And Remus was very happy. He told himself he didn’t need more than this, both his parents loved him deeply and gave him everything they could, even with their limited resources. Not that Remus asked for much, he knew the family’s situation and the only thing he needed was company.

So no, Remus didn’t need a stupid letter.

He turned around in bed, preparing himself to sleep again, when he heard the voices. His ears perked up, curiosity getting the better of him, and he pressed his lips trying to listen. His mum and dad’s hushed voices drifted up, but there was another one he didn’t recognize. Remus frowned. Why was there someone at their house at this hour?

Slowly, the small boy crept out of bed and tiptoed to the door, cracking it open a tiny fraction. It sounded like they were in the living room downstairs, but he still couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying. As quietly as he could, he padded bare footed down the stairs, stopping just before the entrance to the room, where a warm fire was blazing.

“How do you know about it Dumbledore?”

Remus held his breath in surprise at the tone in his Dad’s voice. There was anger in it, but also something else, something Remus had only heard from his father on the first days after That Night. Fear. Cold, crippling fear that brought back memories of blood, pain and despair. Remus shook his head to get rid of them.

“Lyall, my old friend, please do not worry.” The stranger’s voice was old, wise and soothing. “I can assure you I have no intention of giving you any trouble at all.”

“But how do you know?! We were so careful, we tried to–”

“I am aware.” The old man interrupted. “Like I said, please don’t worry. As you may know, with the way things are going, I have decided to set a few spies of my own in place. One of them was watching over Greyback.”

Remus heard his parents’ sharp intake of breath, and a small, fearful sob that wobbled out of his Mum. They were quiet for a few seconds, the air in the room seemed to shift and still, forcing Remus to fight the urge to burst in and ask what they were talking about.

“Indeed,” the stranger continued as if answering something Remus’ parents couldn’t say out loud. “He was boasting about what he did and my spy picked up on it. The secret is safe, we will do our best so that no one else finds out. But I thought it would be better to come in personally to deliver this.”

There was a sound of rustling paper and another sob from Hope, this time a surprised one. Silence fell again for a few minutes and Remus was just about to peek around the corner when his dad spoke again.

“Dumbledore…This is more than we could ever hope for…but I am not sure this is the safest path for my son.”

Remus jumped at the last word, a small gasp escaping his lips. Why were they talking about him? There was a beat of stillness in the room as he covered his mouth to remain quiet. He waited until the conversation resumed again before risking a look around the corner, barely half of his face timidly poking out. His parents were sitting together, their backs facing Remus, and in front of them was the most eccentric wizard Remus had ever seen in his short life. He was wearing dark purple robes with golden stars and moons, and a matching hat. White hair and beard went past his shoulders, merging together, almost hiding the knowing smile on his face. He directed that smile at Remus as soon as he had appeared, looking at him straight through his half-moon spectacles with a twinkle in his eyes, making the young boy jump again.

“Well, I am fairly certain Remus would like to have a say in this.”

Hope and Lyall spun around as Remus stood awkwardly at the door, fiddling with his hands and looking sheepish. His mum got up at once, coming to put her hands on his cheeks.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing down here? You should be sleeping.” She stroked his hair gently.

“I heard voices…” he said, before looking up at the old wizard. “Who is that?”

The man called Dumbledore stood up, coming over to shake his hand. “Happy birthday, Remus. I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts.” Remus’ eyes widened, and his heart started beating so fast it felt like a drum inside his little body. “I take it by your expression that you’ve heard of Hogwarts?”

Remus nodded cautiously. “Not much really…but it’s the school where kids learn everything about magic.”

It sounded like a question, and with his words Lyall seemed to come to life again, as he stood up as well. “Now wait a second, Dumbledore. We still haven’t decided anything, you can’t just go to my son and–”

“Lyall, please.” Hope’s voice was soft, but it made his dad stop in his tracks. “Maybe we should listen to what he has to say. We’ve always believed Remus wouldn’t be able to go to school, but if there’s even a slight chance…” Her voice cracked, eyes lined with silver. “I want him to have a normal childhood.”

Lyall looked like he wanted to argue, but he also couldn’t deny Hope something they’d both wanted so much but had deemed impossible. He nodded, defeated. Dumbledore beamed at the boy, gesturing to the seating area.

“Would you fancy a game of gobstones?”

Remus was taken aback but he nodded, dropping gingerly to the floor in front of Dumbledore’s armchair as the old man sat down again. He wasn’t an expert on people but he was weary, the old bloke was just weird. Could this all be a prank? No, his parents wouldn’t allow something so cruel. He eyed every move the man made as he waved his wand to produce a set of stones between them.

“Your mother was just telling me you are very good at studying?”

Remus shrugged, flipping his first stone. “I wouldn’t know…But I like reading. There’s not much else for me to do in the house. Oh, I also like helping Mum when she is cooking.” He looked up at Hope, who smiled affectionately at him. Dumbledore chuckled, before asking casually.

“And how would you feel about coming to study at Hogwarts?”

Remus’ heart doubled in time again. Could this be real? He hadn’t dared believe it until that moment. He thought he’d lost his last hope today about going to wizarding school and all that it implied. Meeting other boys, making friends. He could imagine himself with a wand like the one his dad used, the same one that he sometimes held between his fingers when no one was looking. He could see himself surrounded by kids, learning all sorts of tricks, turning beetles into buttons, making things hover in the air.

Remus didn’t realize how much he was smiling until his cheeks started hurting. He couldn’t believe he would actually be able to do it! All his life, he knew he was different, that he couldn’t be around other people, that...

His mind came to an abrupt halt. He couldn’t let his thoughts go further than that. He felt himself deflate, shoulders slouching and eyes going down to his lap, because surely Dumbledore didn’t know what he really was. He had read, behind his parents backs, a few of the books about dark creatures that his dad had brought home in hopes to find a cure for him. These books were not very nice when depicting him, leaving no doubts as to what wizards thought of his kind. He’d understood long ago that he wasn’t allowed to go to school not only because he was dangerous, but also because everyone would hate him.

“I can’t.” He didn’t miss how miserable his own voice sounded, “I’m not like the other kids. I’m dangerous.”

“Forgive me if I offend you, Mr Lupin, but you don’t look very dangerous to me,” said Dumbledore, smiling kindly at him.

Remus looked angrily to the side when he felt the tears prickling his eyes. He had been so good at not expecting more than what he knew he could have. He had convinced himself time and time again that this was enough, his parents’ love was enough.

It had taken all but one question for him to realize how much he wanted everything he wasn’t allowed to wish for. And it had taken all but a few seconds to destroy that hope, and now he was aching all over. There was no taking that longing back now. He wanted to learn how to make cakes out of thin air for his Mum, he wanted to learn how to defend himself. He didn't want to be helpless ever again, not after That Night. He wanted it. He really wanted to go. His voice sounded strained and desperate when he spoke next.

“You don’t understand. I’m…I’m a monster.”

“That’s not true!” Hope came in to hug him, but Remus scooted away, putting his arms around himself.

“Yes it is! I’m bad and I shouldn’t be around people! I could hurt them!”

He said this last bit looking at Dumbledore, willing him to understand, letting him know he would love to accept his offer, but it was better for everyone else if he didn’t. To his surprise, the old man was still smiling kindly at him, if not a little bit sad.

“Mr Lupin, I know perfectly well that you are a werewolf.”

Everything else froze then. Remus straightened up, surprised not only that the old man knew his secret, but also at his bluntness. Remus himself often tiptoed around the word, not to mention his own father. Dumbledore pushed further.

“But I see no reason why you shouldn’t attend Hogwarts. I am looking at you right now, and you seem like a normal boy to me. A slight setback one night a month should not be enough to keep you from your birthright.”

Remus wanted to laugh and scoff at the words “slight setback”, but weirdly enough they also comforted him. He could feel a sob ripping out of him, the tears that had gathered in his eyes spilling out.

“R-really? Ca-can I really go?”

Dumbledore’s expression softened. “Of course. I came here myself so I could discuss safety measures with your parents, and put them at ease.” He looked up at Hope and Lyall, the game of gobstones completely forgotten. Remus’ parents were standing there, unsure of how to react as Dumbledore suddenly adopted a business-like attitude. “I already have a plan of action, should you choose to accept my offer. I will make arrangements for the full moons, so that Remus can have a safe place to transform. It will be heavily protected with spells, and accessible only through a secret passage from the school grounds, guarded by a Whomping Willow. Madam Pomfrey, our school’s healer, will help young Remus to get there and heal him afterwards if needed.”

Remus dared a look at his parents. Lyall seemed at a loss for words at how fast things were going; Hope clearly didn’t understand everything Dumbledore had just said, but she was smiling brightly nonetheless. Dumbledore arched his eyebrows.

“I can assure you, I will do everything in my power to make sure Remus is safe and has a normal school life. Now Remus,” he looked down at him again, “I am sure you understand, given the prejudice around werewolves, that sadly not everyone will be as accepting, so it’s of the utmost importance to keep all of this a secret. Can you do that?” Remus hurried to nod, and the headmaster addressed his parents once more. “Does this sound like an acceptable plan to you?”

“Yes…yes!” Hope said eagerly, overwhelmed with images of her son surrounded with other kids his age, as he should be. Lyall just nodded, dumbfounded.

“So, Remus, I will ask you once again.” The wizard’s blue eyes were shining brightly when they pierced him, and Remus’ heart was beating like it was trying to run away from his own body. “Would you like to study at Hogwarts?”

Remus couldn’t help the way his face scrunched up with a new stream of tears coming down his cheeks, the sob in his throat that made him hiccough, or the way his chest seemed to expand with unbelievable joy. He almost wailed.

“Yes…Please, I want to go!” His eyesight was blurry, but he could feel his mum and dad kneeling next to him and hugging him, both crying as well. Dumbledore stood up, trying to give the family some privacy.

“Wonderful. Mr Lupin, I gave your letter to your dad. In there you will find everything you’ll need for the school year. I will see myself out.” He headed towards the entrance, stopping only for a few seconds. “I will see you again in a few months, Remus. I have no doubt you will do incredible things at Hogwarts.” He smiled down at the bundled family, and Remus tried to return one of his own through the tears.

“Thank you,” he said fervently.

The three of them stayed on the floor for a while, laughing and enjoying the moment even minutes after Dumbledore had left the house.

“Dad, can I see the letter?”

Lyall reached into his pocket and handed him the envelope that had his name written in green letters. They got up and settled together on the couch while Remus opened the flap, but before he could take out the piece of parchment, his dad put a gentle hand over his.

“Son, there’s something we should discuss first.” Remus’ heart dropped, but his dad smiled at him. “Don’t worry, I won’t say no to this.” He scoffed. “Seems to me that you will probably be more protected at Hogwarts anyway. It has always been your mom and mine’s dream to see you attend Hogwarts, you showed signs of magic from a very young age. However…”

He sighed, frowning. Then he turned so he was facing Remus completely, making sure the boy was looking at him and paying him full attention.

“Other than Dumbledore, you can’t trust anyone. Like he said, werewolves are frowned upon,” he said with a pained expression that Remus wasn’t sure how to interpret. “So whatever happens, you must not let anyone know about this, ok?” Lyall grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him a bit in the process. “I am really, really sorry to have to say this Remus, but you are gonna have to be very careful around the kids at school. I know you want to make friends, but they will not trust you if they find out. You would be putting yourself in danger, we can’t risk that. No one can ever know. No one. Do you understand?”

Lyall looked a little maniac by the end of his speech, the hold on his son was almost painful. He didn’t let go of Remus’ shoulders until the boy nodded slowly and said, “Yes dad, I understand.”