#his own childhood was kind of harsh so he tries to give silver some of the comfort he didnt get where he can

[0rchidm4ntis]

La la lu, la la lu

Oh, my little star sweeper

I'll sweep the stardust for you

[bloodycassian]

HARSH - Anon request reader x azriel

“ hey there , ngl i’ve had a pretty rough week and now in desperate need for angst to fluff, az x reader where reader had struggles talking through her life bc of a rough childhood and az helped her talk freely and helped her gain confidence when talking. Reader is talking abt something she loves and az is stressed and tells her to shut up and hurts reader alotttt but….. we can’t have a sad ending, fluff and cuddles after :)) “

"Keep going." He encouraged with a smile, his shadows tickling your cheek. It made you shy away, but you continued your story anyway. The book's pages didnt tremble when you held them anymore. You could see the pride shining from him with every new paragraph you read aloud.

  Reading was always step one of your consulting with him. It opened the connection you shared with him and his past. The poems or stories were never too long, but always held some significance to either of you. Usually the ones he read when you took turns were about darkness, or fire. Never about the hostility of others and the cruelty of nature. Nature was a relief to him in his past. In yours it was a punishment. 

Your families last words to you were as brutal as they had been your entire life. "Leave and dont come back." with nothing more than a satchel of silvers and coppers, you had no other choice than to fight to survive against the cold of winter court. Then you started travelling, far and wide. Until you met Az. 

The rest didn't matter after you met him. He was yours, and yours his. And that was the only thing you needed from then on. His chosen family welcomed you in with a loving embrace. and you learned a new kind of love. One full of understanding and patience. 

you finished your poems together and talked as long as you could before he got called away to a meeting with the high lord. You assumed it was about the forces to the east as he had mentioned earlier that week. But you left him to it, not wanting to have him more stressed than he'd already been about the threat that week. 

+ You rejoined him again in his room. You'd made both of you a cup of tea for winding down. He didn't take it when you offered, so you set it down on one of the few empty spaces on the enormous table in his room. He seemed flustered, poring over the map on his table beside a half polished sword. The dark marks under his eyes indicated another rough night. "You should rest." You said softly. He didn't move. Didn't even tear his eyes away from the map.

You stared at it with him, noting the natural limitations of troop movements. "You could get Illyrians to fly over..." You suggested, but to no response. Nerves twisted your gut. Whatever had him in such a locked state was something you likely should be worried about as well. 

His cold stare was like the one he wore on the battlefield. Some internal blocking to cope with the horror. You noted the worn book under his clenched fist. One of the ones he'd read from before. Many of its verses were about a quality of males, the infamous duality of man. How precious life was in the balance of good and evil.

You saw the doubt there in his eyes then. The anger, the guilt of everything he'd ever done in his centuries of life. The blood spilled, the words that left people broken that could never be taken back.

You desperately wanted to snap him out of his dismal state. You pulled at his arm, trying to get him to break the lock he had on the corner of the map. He didn't budge. Frustration began building deep inside you. You knew he wouldn't let you sit in silence like this. What would he do for you? 

You picked up an indicator from the map, and spun it. "Az, staring will not help it. You need rest." He was locked in though, in a trance almost. The concern pushed harder into you. Were you to get Rhys? You'd never seen Az so... cold before. With you he was always a welcoming open lover. Never this... closed off. 

His shadows slowed, but he didn't move. his eyes scanned the paper from up to down, over and over again. You rubbed your eyes. "When I was small, I would stay up late reading. Very late. My family would-"

"Just shut up for two seconds, I'm trying-" He sighed, his face going red. The fist on the book curled around it's spine. Whit knuckles bulging out. 

You blanched and stepped back. Stunned at the aggressiveness of his words. He finally looked away, his mouth pinching into a thin line at the sight of your wide eyes. He abandoned the table finally, and reached for you. His scarred hands trembled slightly. The tiredness left his features. Only regret was left there. 

You didnt know what to do. Your mind raced with the rejection. The aggression of his words. You turned and strode out of the room, shaken.

+ He found you deep in the library after giving you a few to cool down. Giving himself the verbal lashing of a lifetime. That accompanied with Clotho's harsh glare.... he didn't know if he'd ever live the words down.

He approached you slowly. As if he were approaching a spooked animal. "I'm fine." You announced. And truly, you were. You had gone to the library because it was a safe spot for you, where you could practice your breathing alone. 

You knew he didn't mean to hurt you. You knew he'd had a rough week. It wasn't an attack against you. You told yourself those affirmations over and over but they still didn't fully settle you. His presence was unmistakable. You knew he'd been beating himself up over the harsh words too. 

That didn't make you feel better though. You gave him a slight nod and he took the seat across from where you were curled up. You hoped he didn't notice the red spottiness of your cheeks, or the way your eyes were red rimmed.  By the tension in his body though, you knew he saw through your act. 

He sat at the edge of the lounge chair across from you. His looked absolutely ragged. His hair was a mess, the dark circles were back under his eyes that held all the regret in the world. "I am so sorry." He started, those dark brown eyes boring into yours. "I will never do anything like that again. I promise. I am so sorry." He continued, wringing his hands. "I dont know why I -"

"Stop..." You said, voice shaking. He obeyed, and tried to hide his own emotion. "Just.." You sighed, walked around the small table separating you and took his hands, wrapped them around your middle and sat in his lap. He held you, rocked with you while you took in his scent. The mix of it with the smell of the books was like a heavy blanket over you.

You didn't remember him taking you back to your room. But when you woke, there was a cool glass of water on the bedside table with a fresh vase of flowers. Az quietly snored beside you, blanket pulled up to his chin. 

You took a sip of the water and returned to him, wrapping yourself around his wings and sharing your body heat together in the cool room. He muttered once you settled. One small movement of his lips. "Love you..." 

[phantasmagoriaoriginals]

Here There be Monsters: Mage Basic Intros (Part 1)

Hyousa

She/her, Red Mage.

Her history is fairly normal. While her mother died in Hyousa’s early childhood, she was close with her father and lived happily enough even after the loss. She joined the Organization willingly for the sake of making a difference in the world, even mostly unaware of how difficult that would be. Cream was given to her as a Familiar a couple years in. 

Cheerful, energetic, and persistently optimistic, Hyousa is the kind of person who aggressively sees the best in the world and everyone in it. While some people consider her hopelessly naive, her determination can’t be beat. Hyousa is actively, willingly kind to everyone who crosses her path, whether they deserve it or not. She chooses to see the best. 

Her magic is the typical Red— pure power made of her own magical energy. It’s completely suited for physical combat, but somehow, Hyousa manages not to make it violent. She fights to help people!

5′5, 19. Thin, girlish build which nonetheless carries quite a bit of lean muscle. Short, cinnamon brown hair worn mostly slicked back and out of her face, with only a few strands escaping to fall on her forehead. Wide, bright brown eyes, fair skin. She constantly fidgets around. 

Sinclair

She/her, Purple Mage.

After growing up at an orphanage following the death of her parents in an unfortunate accident, Sinclair willingly joined the Organization as a way of making use of her magic. She’d mostly taught it to herself as a way of looking after the orphanage’s children, and once she had access to a real way to improve it, she wanted to learn how to use it properly. 

Sinclair’s personality is best defined as motherly. She’s an incredibly kind, soft person who others feel innately comfortable around. However, she’s also strict on those who do wrong and wants to see people improve, not be coddled. Caretaking is in her nature. She looks after those around her and does her best to keep everyone happy and well. 

Her magic primarily operates around charms imbued with curses and blessings. While she generally prefers to use the blessings to help her allies, when she sets her mind to a curse, it’s deadly. 

5′6, early 30′s. Fat, with a pear-shaped, soft build. Wide through the hips and all-around soft. Black, frizzy hair worn around shoulder-length, with shorter-cut bangs. Black eyes, round glasses, and soft, sweet features. Moderately dark brown skin. 

Livva

She/her, Yellow Mage.

Born with an innate magic known as the “human sealing container”, Livva was highly valued even from childhood. She spent her early years being passed between “homes” and different people who owned her— usually to use her for her magic or to own an expensive prize—, until the Organization took possession of her instead. 

Serious, cold, and disinterested in the world, Livva is the kind of person who rarely shows fondness for anything. She’s seen some of the most selfish sides of humanity, so her worldview is quite corrupted. The things she does are only because she’s forced to, and she has no real attachment or loyalty to anyone or anything. She just exists. 

Her magic, as mentioned above, is sealing-based. A seal on her tongue allowed her to hold “objects” inside of her body and release them at will. These things range from artifacts to spells, to even offensive energy. 

5′10, mid 20′s. Tall, slightly pear-shaped build with notable curves. White, fluffy hair that falls to her shoulders and has considerably more volume towards the ends. Dark brown, somewhat lifeless eyes, fair skin. Posture is always stiff and near-perfect. 

Madeleine

She/her, Orange Mage.

An amnesiac, she lacks any memories from what she assumes to be almost twenty years of life. She only remembers her time with the Organization, and is currently in the process of trying to discover more about her past— including a large, mysterious scar across her chest. However, she doesn’t necessarily want to look too deeply. 

Madeleine is friendly, open, and upbeat. Despite her internal issues, she tries to make life better for herself and the people around her. She’s close friends with Sinclair, likes to use her magic for other people’s enjoyment, and is generally a very kind-hearted sort. However, when it comes to missions, she has a serious, brutal side that comes out. 

Her magic is similar to Sinclair’s but involves food (specifically sweets) instead of handmade charms. Her desserts have a variety of effects and are more useful in a conflict situation than you’d expect. 

5′9, early 30′s. Tall, athletic, curveless build with wide shoulders and strong legs. Dark brown, thigh-length hair worn in thick box braids and a high ponytail. Dark, warm-undertoned skin and sparkling brown eyes. Large, diagonal scar across her chest from collarbone to navel. 

Aurora

She/her, Green Mage.

Born without her left leg from the knee down. It took a while to find her a suitable prosthetic, but after getting a highly functional one and practicing plenty, she’s completely adjusted to it. She’s always lived in the shadow of her older sister, Rosaria, who she both adores and resents thanks to a feeling of having to live up to her success. 

Strict, intense, and serious, Aurora is the picture of ambition and hard work. She’s always felt a need to compensate for her self-perceived weaknesses and feeling of being “second best”. However, her cold exterior hides a warm heart and burning passion. She’s the type to never give up on anyone or anything when she sets her mind to them. 

Aurora’s magic, as Green magic always is, is derived from the world around her. The main way she uses it is to increase her speed, agility, and mobility through absorbed energy from other moving objects. 

5′7, early 20′s. Slim, straight build with long legs and a narrow shape. Long, hip-length, white hair worn loose and straight with bangs and shoulder-length sidelocks. Intense gray eyes with pale lashes. Black and silver, high-tech prosthetic from below the knee down on her left leg. 

Ranisha

She/they, Blue Mage.

The oldest of many siblings, Ranisha had to grow up fast and take on a lot of responsibility. Developing excessive maturity so early gave her a jaded, logical outlook on the world, where she prioritizes what needs to be done instead of what she wants. She joined the Organization for money as well as something to do with herself that felt like success. 

Ranisha is most notably aloof, cold, and efficient. She takes her work very seriously, places her job before any personal desires, and doesn’t make friends easily or well. Seemingly uninterested in anything but what’s assigned to her, many people feel intimidated by her strict nature and harsh standards. She butts heads with Vash quite a bit. 

Her magic turns written symbols into weapons manifested solely from her energy. Ranisha favors guns over bladed weapons, can use anything from small pistols to larger rifles, and her accuracy is near-unmatched.

5′8, early-mid 20′s. Fairly average build with slight curves. Somehow petite despite her height. Black, thick hair styled in a short, natural faux hawk with close-cropped sides. Black eyes, dark, cool-toned skin, and pleasant features that are always set in a stern, neutral expression. 

Katz

He/him, Brown Mage.

While he grew up as a relatively normal Mage, Katz considers getting involved with the Organization to be the worst mistake he ever made. The job is stable and suits his skills well, but the people he has to deal with drive him absolutely insane. He developed a stress-related drinking habit from a young age, which did nothing to help his nasty attitude.

Katz is the kind of person who’s hit his breaking point. He’s an angry, bitter man who’s perpetually exhausted, short-tempered with everyone around him, and a raging alcoholic on top of all of that. While he’s very good at what he does, Katz is the type who most want to stay far away from. His dead-eyed glare is incredibly intimidating. 

His magic focuses on sealing. Specifically, sealing the powers of others. Katz creates items that, when placed on someone’s body, restrain some or all of their magic to whatever extent he crafted them to. 

5′11, mid 30′s. Thicker build that’s on the stockier side of muscular. Reddish taupe-colored hair worn in a short style that falls about to his ears and is often slicked back. Fair skin, dark eyes, and a good amount of stubble on his upper lip, cheeks, and chin. Perpetual scowl. 

Emilio

He/they, Purple Mage.

A lot of Emilio’s life has been spent wishing he was something other than himself. He grew up relatively average, but underwent a fair amount of bullying for being shy and reclusive. When he learned magic, his main goal was to change himself— and he did that completely. He’s always trying to hide from the person he used to be. 

Emilio is best described as a charismatic jokester. Despite being very much a “class clown” type, he exudes so much pleasant, cheerful energy that people can’t help but be drawn to him. However, underneath his sunny disposition is a serious, capable man who wants to give his best to the people close to him... as well as something of a dark side. 

The magic he uses revolves around shapeshifting. Emilio can change his own appearance at will and is known to constantly be doing so. No one is sure what his original appearance is, and Emilio isn’t telling. 

Mid 20′s. Everything about Emilio’s appearance varies. He can change his height, hair color, eye color, features, build, and more with a simple spell, and he does that frequently. He seems to favor taller, more handsome looks, though, and usually retains bright hair and eye colors. 

Vash

He/him, Orange Mage.

Trained in magic from a young age, Vash made it his mission to be as good at it as possible— and gather all the admiration and respect he can. He’s never experienced much in the means of personal hardship, but the standards he’s placed on himself do plenty of damage. He’s been in the organization since he was fifteen, thanks to his family’s choices. 

Short-tempered, viciously ambitious, and high-strung to a fault, the main things in life that drive Vash are gaining the approval of everyone around him and making himself look as impressive as possible. He’s a hot-blooded teenager in every sense of the word, and painfully unaware of his own inexperience and how dangerously reckless he can be. 

Vash’s magic is typical for the Orange kind. He uses elemental powers; in his case, fire. Despite being made of magic, this fire burns just like the real thing and is every bit as destructive and hard to control. 

19, 5′8. Skinny, lanky build with less muscle than you’d expect. Straight, chin-length, black hair usually worn covering one eye. Pale skin, orange eyes, and numerous silver piercings all over his body. Extensive burn scars covering him from his magic going haywire.

Alexander

He/him, Brown Mage.

Born to a prestigious and high-class Mage family, Alexander grew up in the lap of luxury. He was spoiled to a fair extent, but the consequences are fortunately mild. Told from a young age that he’s destined for great things and incredibly capable, Alexander has always felt like he doesn’t have to do much of anything to be successful and loved. 

Alexander is friendly, sociable, polite, and generally pleasant to be around. He’s the kind of charismatic person who draws others to him whether he tries to or not. However, he also has an unfortunate tendency of viewing people as lesser than him and expects things that he shouldn’t more often than not. He’s also worryingly naive. 

The magic he uses relates to forcefields. Alexander can generate and manipulate forcefields out of his magical energy, and uses them for defense as well as offense. Their purposes are quite varied. 

6′1, early 20′s. Tall, broad-shouldered, elegant build. Dark red, wavy hair worn in a short-ish cut and sometimes styled with a low ponytail or pins holding the side back. Dark hazel eyes, handsome features, and fair skin. A perpetually welcoming smile and the posture of a trained nobleman. 

[sunnysviolin]

currently having so many thoughts about aubrey getting sick of her moms mess one day and packing her bunny into her carrier and just leaving... she drifts about friends houses for a while before basil braves up to ask if she's okay :(( she's all out of energy + too stubborn to go home so she doesn't bother arguing and lets him take her to see polly (sorry me again with aubrey ramblings pls tell me to shush if you dont vibe w it)

Wow....I love this so much so I’m gonna combine it with that ask I got the other day and noodle on this a bit. Hope you don’t mind me taking your idea and running nonnie!!!

This got really long and kind of intense, so I’m putting it under a Read More. There’s also gonna be way more ahead!! This AU has caught me. But y’all Serious warning for emotional child abuse and neglect. Aubrey’s mother is decidedly not a good person, and their relationship is very damaged. Read only if you know you mentally can handle it, and no shame in skipping this. This part of it is heavy.  TW: Child abuse and neglect. TW: Alcoholism TW: Running Away TW: Homelessness

In the end it’s the rain that does it. The rain, the drafts in their weary old house, and the bucket that sits in the corner of her room next to her half broken laundry basket

On the last night Aubrey spends in her mother’s house the rain is coming down in freezing icy sheets. It’s bitterly cold, and she is weary. 

The summer of her 16th year has come and gone, and they are firm into the grip of September. It was a summer that had changed everything in her life. A summer where she found her way back to her chosen family, while becoming more isolated than ever from her real family. She had spent almost every hour out of the house- riding scooters with her gang, reconnecting with Basil, finding her way back into Kel’s loyal heart, letting her walls down around Hero, even discovering a hidden strength within her to forgive Sunny.  

It was the best summer of her life, even beating out the perfect summers spent in her childhood with Mari. In those days Aubrey had been naive. She didn’t know what she had, she just assumed she would always have it. This summer she had seen every experience for what it was- a gift. 

Fall coming had been difficult. Really almost nothing had changed, except it had. 

Hero had gone back to college, promising to visit at every chance he could. Aubrey had pushed down the spike of jaded denial that had risen up inside her at his words, and put her arm around Kel who was misty eyed saying goodbye to his brother. 

Sunny had spent most days in Faraway at either Kel or Basil’s house over the summer, but now he only came on weekends. He had started school again, a new school where no one knew his name or his face. He didn’t say much about it, but he hadn’t stopped going yet, so Aubrey considered it progress.

Kel and Basil had stuck close to her, and she was thankful for it. Aubrey knew now that nothing would ever separate the five of them again, but there was still the irrational fear inside of her that they would all leave her sooner or later. Her gang must’ve seen something too, because they had been awkwardly affectionate in a way that both irritated and comforted her.

But her mother....

Her mother had changed too. 

By sixteen Aubrey knew her mothers rhythms like the back of her hand. She knew the cycles that played out. Her mother would circle through various moods- cleaning, ignoring, depressing, drinking, regretting, promising, and then cleaning again. 

The regularity of it all had numbed her to the terrible conditions of her childhood home, and Aubrey spent most of her time out of the house anyway. (She had never been so grateful for nine hours at school, four hours after school goofing off in a big group, and the usual invitation to dinner with Polly or Kel’s mother. Aubrey usually only went home to sleep these days)

But her mother had added and taken away from her cycle. There was a new cycle now, and it was impossible to deal with. 

Ignoring, Depressing, Drinking, Angry, Regretting. Rinse and Repeat. 

Angry was new. Angry was (terrifying)....Angry was new. 

Aubrey had never tried to disrupt her mother’s cycle before, but Angry was enough to get her to try. She would clean the house top to bottom, putting in an effort she had never put in before to make things nice. She had thrown away bottles, cleaned dishes, cooked food, on and on all in an effort to change what she knew was coming. It still came. Her mother still wailed like a banshee, shrieking and hollering loud enough neighbors had called. 

The calls were the worst part. The low humiliation that sat in her stomach as she assured these people who didn’t really care that everything was fine, all while her mother continued to scream in the background. 

With Angry, Regretting was also different too. Aubrey, never one to take things lying down, screamed back until angry tears burst from her eyes. She would break down and sob in front of her mother, her walls finally ripped apart brick by brick by the woman who was supposed to love her most. 

Then her mom would hold her tight and promise things would be different. Regretting had mixed with Promising, and as much as Aubrey wanted to shove away the confusing affection, she couldn’t bring herself to. 

Screaming at each other was the only time that Aubrey’s mother looked at her. Curled in her mother’s arms weeping was the only time that her mother had a kind word. Aubrey couldn’t resist what she always craved, and some sick twisted part of her even longed for the point where her mother would snap and start yelling, just because she knew the release of emotions was soon to follow. 

That last night in her house was one of those nights. Her mother was yelling, too incoherent for Aubrey to even make out the words, but the tone said everything. Her mother had lost it over the dishes in the sink piling up. Aubrey had done them this morning, yet somehow she came home to a sink full of chipped dirty dishes. Those dishes felt like an ironic symbol of her life. No matter how many times she wiped it away. The dishes would be dirty the second she turned around. 

Aubrey was already in tears, her fists bunched at her sides and her teeth grinding down against each other. Soon enough it would be time for her to start yelling back, and the cycle would go on and on and on. The dishes would never be clean. 

Aubrey didn’t want it to go on. Not even her mother holding her was worth how torn apart her heart was becoming. She fled upstairs, slamming the door to attic and locking it tight. It didn’t matter anyway. By this point of drinking, her mother could barely stand, let alone climb a ladder. 

The rain was slamming against her windows, a steady drip already starting in the bucket in her room. It was freezing cold, and goosebumps rose on her bare arms. Maribelle was sitting in her pen, her nose twitching as she watched her Aubrey. Aubrey brushed at her damp cheeks and picked her bunny up, snuggling the tiny white creature close to her chest. 

Maribelle was too cold. Her mother hadn’t paid the heating bill again. The rain was too loud, and the wind sneaking in wrapped Aubrey in a tight grip. Aubrey sat on the edge of the bed and rocked her bun, trying in vain to warm them both up. A single thought ran through her head over and over

This wasn’t worth it. This wasn’t worth the love she craved from a woman who couldn’t give it. This wasn’t worth her pride at keeping things together. This wasn’t worth trying to fix over and over with no results. 

The rain began to slow to a quieter drizzle. Her mother was silent below. In the cold wet of her tiny attic room, Aubrey decided. 

No. This really just...wasn’t worth it. 

Aubrey slipped onto her knees, keeping Maribelle close as she pulled her backpack towards her and began to empty it out. She kept only her English textbook and her history notes. Everything else she could get a spare of. in her bag went two spare shirts and one pair of jeans. She packed in underwear and socks into the smaller front pouch. Aubrey stood and pulled the false bottom out of her desk drawer, taking the cash and the pack of cigarettes she had pinched off her mom and throwing them in as well. 

Finally there were the pictures. The frame of her photo of her and Kim had to be abandoned, but the actual picture was placed carefully inside her backpack. She had never been more happy to have her tiny carrier for Maribelle. The bunny happily hopped inside and burrowed deep in the soft downy blanket Aubrey put inside for her. 

It was depressingly easy to pack up her important things. Shockingly simple to write a note to her mother (I’m leaving. I’m not coming back. Two short sentences and that was it) It hadn’t even been hard to sneak out. After the hour or so it took to gather the rest of her necessities from the house and steal whatever money was in her mother’s purse, said woman had passed out on the couch in an alcoholic haze. 

Aubrey locked the door and stared at the silver key gleaming in her palm. She had only her backpack, a messenger bag, and her tiny bunny carrier. Her whole life fit into two bags. Aubrey left her key on the doorstep. 

She wouldn’t need it anymore. 

The rain had let up, but a harsh breeze whipped around her as she walked, pushing Aubrey to move faster. She took the sidewalks she had taken since she was little, letting her feet move as her mind went blank. Before she knew it she was standing on another street, one more familiar to her than her own. 

Aubrey spared a long look at Kel’s hosue. The lights were on inside, bathing their front yard in a warm golden glow. She stared at it for a moment, considering, and then the chill became too great. 

Aubrey bypassed Kel’s house and quietly snuck into the backyard of Sunny’s old home. The elderly couple that owned the house now was sure to be asleep. Kel said that they were quiet and almost never noticed anything going on. Perfect. 

Aubrey knew exactly where she was going. It was still standing. Faded and beaten down, probably rickety too, but it would be safe for her and her Belle. 

Besides only four other people even knew this treehouse existed. No one would ever find her here. 

[fandom-space-princess]

Radio Silence

midam week prompt 3: Connection - a relationship in which a person, thing, or idea is linked or associated with something else

Rating: Teen

[1.5k words, angst with a happy ending and hurt/comfort]

One by one, the voices of the Host are falling silent.

Michael struggles to come to terms with the deaths of his family. Adam helps.

read below the cut, or on AO3

Michael's first memory of Lucifer is song.

The Creation was still so young then, so new. For some undefinable period of existence, Michael had been not First, but Only. Sole companion to Father in his dominion of light. Though time had no meaning in that early formless void, in Michael's memories his solitary existence at his Father's side was a small stretch of eternity.

He did not know loneliness. How could he? He had his Father. Moreover, he had no basis for comparison.

But from one moment (or year or epoch) to the next, he was suddenly no longer Only.

Father's hands, alternately stirring and stilling the fabric of spacetime around him. Urging matter and energy into coalescence, a weave of plasma and starlight and intention condensing in on itself. Reaching out and taking a piece of Michael himself, his essence of silver and steel, the better to bind and grow this new creature. As he did all things, Michael gave of himself joyously. Felt the twist of his rehomed grace as it rooted and flourished, blossoming and expanding into —

(this creature of blinding luminescence, stretching wings like his own from grace like his own with a voice, oh, a voice like his own)

The Second turned to face the First, and raised his voice in glory. Michael, knowing naught but the love and the rightness of it, echoed back the song. And all the kingdom of his Father, all the dominion of light, rang with the birth of the first harmony.

— companion.

Kin. 

Second.

Go, My creations. Father's whispered first instructions. Go forth and expand My domain, in My name.

Singing, they circled each other. They flew through the void trailing gravity in their wake, shedding stardust from their vast wings, and nebulas swirled into being as they passed. Where they went, existence followed.

Soon their Father called them home, and commanded them to give of themselves once more.

Grace from the First, grace from the Second. Starstuff and intention, and twin blooms of being. The Third, a creature of bright sparking joy and gentle hands, so like Father's. The Fourth, wings as golden and unwavering as the timbre of his voice.

They were Four, and at Father's side they were complete. Theirs was the first choir.

There came a time, of course, when more voices joined the chorus. In the millennia that followed, Michael grew to love all of his brothers; every voice in the Host was welcomed, wanted, cherished, a vital addition to the melody. Such was Heaven. Yet for the rest of his long existence, Michael would guard most closely those early memories. Before their smaller kin had been spoken into being. Before Father's absence. Before the amputation of self that was Lucifer's Fall, was Gabriel's departure.

When they were Four, in and of only each other, and their melody was whole.

-----

"Can you still hear them?" Adam asked once, and Michael had been unable to meet his eyes.

The Cage was a lonely place, only the four of them. But at least Michael still had this connection, however tenuous, to his brothers. Adam didn't even have that much.

After a heartbeat (or a year or an epoch; the quality of time passing here was oddly reminiscent of the timeless Beginning), Michael nodded.

"I can," he murmured, "if I focus. I can't reach out to them, but... I can hear them."

The voices of the Host in his mind. Years, now, since the choir of Heaven sung in well-ordered harmony, but they were there nonetheless. Discordance or not, their presence gave him comfort.

He had glanced at Lucifer, brooding on the other side of the Cage near Sam Winchester's sleeping form. Adam had followed his gaze.

"What about him?" Adam asked. "Does he talk to you? Does he try to talk to them?"

Michael shook his head.

"He hasn't tried to talk to me in a very long time," he sighed. "I doubt he has any greater interest in the others."

-----

Something is brewing. The singing of his brothers is strident, strained. There is no harmony here.

There is fighting, and whispers. One by one, voices begin to vanish from the chorus.

----

No amount of the Host falling silent can compare to the moment Raphael is slain.

Lucifer does meet his eyes, then. For the first time in a hundred years, their gazes lock across the expanse of the Cage, and Michael knows that their pain is, in that instant, identical.

Gone, gone, gone. It hadn't felt like this when Gabriel died, and why...? But Michael hurts too much to think about it, too much to do anything but let himself be gathered into Adam's lap and weep.

He feels a part of his grace return to him then, a piece missing since the beginning. An remnant of bright sparking joy and caring hands. His healing, gentle brother.

He has never wanted anything less.

-----

Michael's head is splitting, his grace tearing apart at the seams. Thousands of voices reverberating agony. Deaths — there had never been so many of their kind to perish at once. Deaths and an echo of war cries, some in terror, some in joy, and all the same.

Castiel. Castiel. Castiel!

He slumps into Adam's arms, hands gripped tight enough to bruise on his vessel's shoulders. Adam runs fingertips over his scalp and mutters soothing nonsense into his ear.

He wonders if Lucifer can hear them too. Wonders if he cares.

-----

Sometime around year 700, Lucifer disappears from the Cage. One moment, he is there, a silent shadow opposite Michael and Adam, and the next — he is gone.

For a while, this feels like a glimmer of hope. A sick sort of hope. But hope nonetheless.

Even this fades in time.

They have long since passed the point of keeping anything from each other. Down here, with no one to hear them but the Cage walls and the howling damned, Adam cradles Michael's head on his lap while the archangel whispers fears, fears of silence and the dark, and clutches his hand.

Adam's soul is not like the grace of his brothers. Michael's mouth twists in wry amusement at the notion. Once, his younger self would have considered a human soul to be beneath his notice — unable to be harmonized with, such a far cry from the resplendence of celestial hymns. But in the confines of the Cage, against the growing backdrop of silence and static from the Host, Michael has found himself in a position to reevaluate.

Quiet Adam's soul may be, small and fragile and human. But it is so much more than that, too. Its song is steadfast, so determined, and the love it radiates is all the more fierce for the comparison to Michael's divinity.

Here in the dark, Adam is a lighthouse. And Michael —

— it is blasphemous to even think it, but Michael has never seen a light so bright.

-----

When Gabriel dies, this time, he knows it. Can feel the reality of it in threading back into his grace, broken strands of gold returning to wend back whence they originated.

It is no comfort that Lucifer follows soon after.

He stares up at the shadowy ceiling of the Cage, and contemplates what it is to be Only once again.

-----

"I can't hear any of them any more," he says one day, and Adam pulls him back to lean against his chest, sheltering in his arms.

"None at all?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing. It's just static."

Too quiet. It had never been quiet before. Not since the Beginning. This — this can't be the End. This is all wrong, it can't, it can't. His grace flares out, one long distressed lash, glaring and harsh in the dim space.

"Hey, hey. Listen to me, Michael." Adam is a comforting weight at his back. "I've got you. I've got you."

Adam begins to sing.

He is not companion and other-self and kin-in-kind, not the way Lucifer and Raphael and Gabriel were. Not even a long-beloved note among the melody of the Host.

His voice is not like his brothers' — Adam sings human hymns, songs he only half-recollects from a childhood a thousand years gone. But there is something in it, a vein of simple solace that has Michael's grace reaching out to brush up against and twine around Adam's soul.

Adam sings, and there Michael takes shelter. Adam raises his voice, and there Michael finds love.

Michael's own voice is cracking, rusty from disuse. It has been so long since he sang. But as he allows his grace to ebb and thrum along with the words, matches pitch and volume with Adam until they might ring through into even the depths of the Pit outside, he finds the harmony that he had feared gone for good.

Archangel and vessel join in song, and Michael hopes this may not be the End after all.

Hopes that, maybe, they can sing a new Beginning.

[meta-squash]

Brick Club 1.5.8 “Madame Victurnien Spends Thirty-Five Francs On Morality”

Hugo does this with so many of the societal tragedies in this book. He sets everything up like everything is great and everyone is happy, only to have the facade crumble. It happened with the students/grisettes outing in 1.4 and in the description of the Thenardier children at Montfermeil, and it’s happening now with the description of Montreuil-sur-Mer’s prosperity. Everyone’s so happy and has good income and pays taxes! Oh wait, here’s how the people of this town fucked over one poor woman. (And how many other women have had something similar happen to them because of the nosey people.)

I’m really stuck on the line that Fantine “forgot many things.” She admired her appearance and thought about Cosette and the future and was almost happy, but she also forgot many things. What did she forget? Not Tholomyes, I don’t think, because on the next page he says she thinks of him. It’s such an odd little phrase. I just can’t think of what “many things” she could forget.

Hugo says she rented a room and furniture on credit, “a remnant of her former disorderly ways.” Fantine thinks she’s getting herself back on track, that this renting stuff on credit will be the last time she’ll have to do something “disorderly” and that now that she’s making a living with her own work she’ll be fine. The Hapgood translation is “improvident,” by the way, which I think makes more sense. However I find it interesting that Hugo calls her renting a room on credit a lack of foresight, when really it’s just a necessity out of extreme poverty. She had 23 francs when she left Montfermeil, and I can’t imagine she has much--or any--left when she arrives. Her behavior in Paris, of not taking job opportunities when they arose because of her affair with Tholomyes, I think that makes at least a little sense to call improvident. But not her renting and furnishing her rooms on credit, which seems desperate rather than prodigal.

The townspeople whisper that Fantine “put on airs,” which is the same accusation Favourite had of her back in 1.3.4 while on the swing. Something about Fantine’s odd sort of innocence makes people think she feels superior to them. I was going to say I wonder if this is another way of Hugo insinuating her goodness, but I don’t think Fantine’s “goodness” is the same as Myriel or Valjean’s. Hugo called Fantine “wise,” and I think an aspect about her is that she’s wise on an emotional level, not on a social level. She understands the importance of emotional connection and devotion on a level we don’t see with the other grisettes or with the people of M-sur-M. She doesn’t seem to have any idea about the whisperings going on around her, she has no idea that her child has been discovered until she’s fired. And yet even when she hardens due to her suffering, she never loses the softness about Cosette. Her wisdom is about sacrifice, which is exactly the kind of wisdom that these nosey townspeople (and probably Favourite) lack.

I love Hugo’s condemnation of gossip and rubbernecking. It also makes me laugh because it’s so similar to the way that cops act. This feels like a condemnation of both gossips and cops. What’s the phrase? Kill the cop inside your head? Anyway, he sounds so frustrated and exasperated here. I haven’t read very much further into the Hugo bio, but I’m wondering if there was some rumor or scandal that he personally experienced that made him feel so strongly here.

Hugo’s really hammering home the beauty of Fantine’s hair and teeth here in preparation for two chapters ahead. Weirdly, this reminds me of the Bishop’s silver. Back in 1.1.6 we learn about Myriel’s silver, and it’s mentioned multiple times afterward. When he gives it up, he’s giving up the last thing that connects him to his past life and is put on the same level as any of the poor parishioners or citizens of Digne. When Fantine gives up her teeth and hair, she sacrifices the last two things that tie her not only to her old life in Paris, but to the possibility of success in society as a woman.

So from what I can tell, the Bernardines are a Catholic order also called “Cistercians.” Originally they tried to observe the Rule of St Benedict and focused mostly on manual labor, but later become more focused on intellectual and academic rigor. There was a semi-successful reform movement to go back to old ways in the 17th century. By the 19th century it seems it was mostly dissolved. The “Bernard” of Bernardine was Bernard of Clairvaux, a powerful French abbot who actually wrote up rules that allowed Templar knights to pass through all borders freely. He also encouraged the Second Crusade, though it failed. The Jacobins were anti-royalist republicans who encouraged dechristianization of the country. The Jacobins spoke on behalf of the people but many were bourgeoisie.

So Mme. Victurnien’s ex-monk husband went from being a monk of a fairly intellectual order who observed pretty strict Benedictine rules to joining the fairly atheistic, republican, radical Jacobins.

Madame Victurnien was strict and harsh because her husband was strict and harsh to her. Something I’ve noticed about the way Hugo writes about toxic/abusive/bad relationships between people is how children are affected versus adults. Victurnien and her dead husband, the Thenardier parents, even Gillenormand (with his spinster daughter) to some extent, are all horrible relationships where the treatment of each other means they both turn out pretty awful. However, the same treatment to children (Thenardier parents to their children and even more so to Cosette, Gillenormand to Marius) actually creates an opposite personality. Eponine and Gavroche are both pretty rough, but they’re also both fairly kind in certain ways, which their parents are definitely not. Marius is socially awkward but happy to help when he can. Cosette defies her childhood completely. It’s just an interesting observation that adults abused as adults become abusive themselves while children who were abused have the chance to end the cycle.

“She was a nettle bruised by a frock.” Does Hugo use “nettle” in this metaphor as a verb or a noun? Because to nettle someone is to annoy them, which works, as Victurnien seems to be an extremely annoying individual. But also we have nettles as prickly, stinging plants and as a metaphor from a few chapters ago for the way people become hurtful when neglected. Here we have Victurnien, this nettle bruised by a frock, hurt and damaged by this ex-monk, who becomes prickly and abusive herself. Perhaps with better treatment she would not have turned out this way; but she continues the cycle, beating down others and turning them into stinging nettles rather than them becoming useful.

Fantine is given her fifty francs upon her termination “on behalf of the mayor.” Madeleine is not even Madeleine at all in this chapter. He’s just “the mayor,” as Fantine had been just “the mother” back in 1.4.1. To her he’s this entity that has power over her, that even hates and persecutes her the way the townspeople are. She doesn’t see him, and neither do we; by this point he seems to have relegated factory admin jobs to others, who are then able to make the choice about who to dismiss and why. Again this presents a problem to his rules. People can make up any old rumor or reason to dismiss a person they don’t like or see as morally unfit, and because Valjean doesn’t seem to play as much a part in the running of the factory as before, there’s no way to dispute, except to go to him. And who’s going to go to him, if they feel the same shame that Fantine does?

Fantine is in limbo; she’s told to leave the city but she cannot because of debt. Hugo’s characters in limbo are usually on the edge of an emotional or ethical breakthrough, as with Valjean leaving Digne, Marius just outside the barricade, or Javert at the bridge. Fantine’s limbo doesn’t seem like the edge of a breakthrough, more like the edge of collapse. She really doesn’t have many avenues open to her anymore.

Also, what about sex workers who are more obvious? Later, we see Fantine walking the street in a ballgown. That’s very unsubtle. And, I don’t know, maybe it goes with her sort of social innocence that she would do something like that, but surely there are other desperate women who blatantly walk the streets like that. They haven’t been kicked out of the city. Surely they don’t--or can’t--hide their trade completely. It must be some sort of open secret. I understand that the reasoning for her being banished from M-sur-M is that Valjean has very strict rules, but it still seems so weird to me to set these rules up for some of the city but not all.

Fantine feels shame more than she feels despair. Which. Is a lot. It’s just awful that she has to feel ashamed for this thing that she would have kept hidden if the townspeople weren’t so awful. She has to feel ashamed for the one thing in her life that she truly actually loves and sacrifices for. Which is another parallel between her and Valjean. Fantine feels ashamed not because of her love of Cosette, but because of the “mistake” and stigma that Cosette’s existence implies. Valjean loves Cosette but he always feels a little bit ashamed, not at loving her, but because he feels she doesn’t deserve his love. Despite both of their shame regarding their love for Cosette, both Fantine and Valjean will sacrifice anything for her. It’s definitely a statement about the power of Love, but I think it’s also a good illustration of how both Valjean and Fantine seem to think of themselves as people meant to Suffer For The Good Of Another.

Fantine was “advised to see the mayor; she did not dare.” She believes this was his decision, and not some foreman’s. This is a failure on her part and on Valjean’s part as well. It’s a failure on Fantine’s part because had she gathered her courage and gone, she could have avoided everything that soon comes. But Fantine is so optimistic and sees through rose-tinted glasses, all the way until the moment everything collapses on her, and then she can’t go on. Her optimism doesn’t get her far enough to stand up again immediately; it has to rest first. But more than Fantine’s failing, this is Valjean’s. I assume he gets notified of who is hired and fired at his factory; does he not reach out when someone is dismissed to make sure they’re okay and to see if he can help? Even more of a failure is this rigid system he’s set up combined with his kind-but-mysterious air. He’s so nice and fair that the townspeople see these rules as kind and fair as well, when they’re very much not. But no one--including Fantine--is going to question it because they assume it’s set up in the spirit of kindness. Which I suppose it is, from Valjean’s point of view, but it’s misguided and twisted and ends up being far more damaging than it could ever be helpful.

[rocorambles]

Imagine villain Hinata about to order his men to kill someone when Natsu comes running in with her guards behind her trying to catch her. She barrels into Hinata in a poofy sparkly princess dress(clothing Hinata bought her) begging him to have a tea party with her because he promised and the captives expect Hinata to kill her on the spot but instead he pulls her into his embrace and starts cooing at her that he’ll come play but her big brother has something important to do first. He’s(1/2)

tickling her and peppering kisses on her forehead and everyone is so confused because he’s acting so different but his sister seems to be a teenager not someone who should be acting like a toddler. And when the captive puts two and two together(imagine a hq character or something) he tells him how fucked up it is what he’s doing and how much he’s fucked up his little sister which leaves Natsu in teary confusion. Hinata is just steaming. (2/2)

Oh gosh. Well, I’m making the captive Lev to make this hurt even more. 

Warnings: Yandere, Toxic Relationship, Infantilism, Implied Murder/Torture

Lev is defiant even in the face of death, head proudly standing tall, shoulders squared as he scowls at Hinata who only maliciously smiles in return, his hand in the air about to give the final order to execute the taller man, when suddenly the door bursts open and a child dressed in pretty, fairy tale like poofs of pink tulle dashes in. And suddenly, Lev isn’t feeling as confident anymore, sick horror pooling in his stomach as his mind frantically thinks of how he can save this poor child who’d somehow accidentally stumbled upon this hell hole. 

But he stares in confusion as she leaps into Hinata’s arms, jaw dropping as Hinata does a 180, countenance suddenly warm and doting, voice soft and gentle as he coos down at the little girl...Well actually, now that he’s looking at her more closely, she’s really not as little as her princess outfit would make her seem, maybe 15? 16? Far far too old to be playing dress-up and baby talking to a villain about tea parties and Lev’s brows furrow in concentration as he tries to make sense of the bizarre sight in front of him. 

But the pieces click as he stares at the similar heads of orange hair they both have and suddenly surprise turns into disgust and despite the multiple guns pointed at his head, he can’t bite back the furious words he directs at the orange-haired villain in front of him. 

“Fucking up your own life and becoming a villain wasn’t good enough for you? You had to ruin your sister’s life too? This is messed up even for you Hinata. She deserves to live a normal life, to be a normal girl. Not be stuck in some messed up childhood thinking she’s a princess when she’s really just a damaged teenager wearing children costumes.”

Natsu doesn’t really understand what the silver-haired man is saying, but her eyes tear up at the harsh tone, the anger in his eyes, the mean way he’s talking at her and her brother. Villain? Damaged? She clutches at Hinata, looking up at him with watery eyes as she begs him to make the mean man stop talking. And suddenly killing Lev swiftly seems too kind when Hinata sees the hurt in his sister’s eyes.  

[creepy-spooghetti]

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Chapter 7 - I’m On My Way

With fatigue, she leans on the wall for support and stands, weakly stumbling to the sink, refusing to look at her reflection in the mirror as she bends over and turns the faucet on. She gets soap from the dispenser on her palm and rubs both of her hands together before holding them under the water to rinse them, and immediately after that, sticks her face underneath, hoping to rid herself of the foul taste still very present in her mouth. 

She spits minuscule pieces of undigested food into the sink, letting the cool water run over and wash them down the drain without another thought. The sickening stench of bile sitting in the porcelain bowl almost has her gagging once more, so she reaches over, pushes on the little silver lever, and flushes it down into the sewer pipes, never to be seen again. 

Only then does she look at herself in the reflecting glass hung over the sink, not surprised when she sees dark bags under her eyes and unnaturally pale skin, no doubt results from lack of sleep and getting hit by an extreme wave of nausea so suddenly. Her lip trembles from the exertion, her eyes distant, stressed wrinkles creasing her forehead. What is happening? Why is it happening? Why are such terrifying thoughts invading her subconscious each time she goes to sleep?

Perhaps she can blame this one on the news she received yesterday, but that doesn’t explain the strange symbol. Why would she draw such a thing? What does it even mean? And what about the buzzing noise? It’s accompanied each dream she’s had down here thus far, and it made itself apparent before and during she was heaving her lungs out yesterday. It also started when she saw that figure in the woods earlier. Is it connected to something?

She rubs at her eyes listlessly and pushes herself away from the sink at once, switching the light to the bathroom off and wandering back into the living room at a pace much slower than normal. Her eyes trail up from the floor to Marshmallow, who sits on the arm of the couch, eyes narrowed as he stares at her with dilated pupils. Maybe this should worry her; after all, animals can sense things that humans can’t. But she can’t bring herself to care very much. She just wants it all to stop. She doesn’t want to be sick 24\7, or have nightmares far worse than what’s considered healthy, or be on the look-out constantly for something that’s possibly hunting her down. 

She flops onto the couch rather sluggishly and runs her hands through her messy hair, gaining sight of the large symbol that she seemingly sketched onto the paper for unknown reasons. Come to think of it, her hand is beginning to cramp due to how tightly she had been holding that pencil after she woke up, and who-knows-how-long before then. Does she have an illness? Is there medication to cure it? Should she go to a doctor and explain her symptoms? She’d prefer to wait and get medical attention, if it is necessary, once she returns home, so she won’t burden her grandparents with her problems and cause them to worry. 

She knows for a fact that her parents wouldn’t give it much thought if she told them she needed to go to the doctor, nor would they be very concerned. If she told them the reason, having hallucinations, nightmares, irrational and paranoid thoughts, insomnia, they’d probably call her behavior ridiculous and refuse to allow her to make an appointment. Or would they? She is still their daughter— surely they couldn’t just brush aside something like that, right? 

Then again, her father did it with the murder of his sister and the disappearance of his nephew, so she can’t ever be sure. But what about her mother? Isn’t the whole maternal instinct thing still there with her? If her child was hurt or scared, isn’t it natural to be worried? 

She glances over at her phone, still sat on the coffee table charging, unable to rid herself of the sudden thought that creeps into her mind. Somebody to talk to would be nice. But would she actually listen?

Sure, her grandparents are just upstairs, but not only does she not feel like making that trek all the way to the second floor, but both her Nana and Pops are likely fast asleep. They've done more than enough for her already, and they have enough stress on their shoulders as it is. She wants to avoid troubling them with anything else and make them unnecessarily frantic about her health, both physical and mental.

Reaching out a hesitant, mildly trembling hand, she unplugs her phone and unlocks it, scrolling to contacts and swiping her thumb along the screen until she sees 'Mom'. Should she really? What if she disturbs her? Or wakes her up? Even if she did, that shouldn't be an issue once she hears about her daughter possibly having some mental illness that needs to be fixed.

Mental illness is a strong way to word it. She shakes her head, continuing to stare at the call icon that pops up once she clicks her mother's contact. It's just... stressed hallucinations. Or... or strange coincidences. Yeah, that's all.

Letting out a soft sigh, she presses the green button and brings the small device to her ear, hearing it ring several times as the anticipation in her heart grows. Is this a mistake? Should she back out? Maybe she's making a big deal over nothing.

"Hello?" She sucks in a sudden breath, heart rate increasing as the familiar voice meets her ear. How should she start this?

"Um... hi, Mom." Clear anxiety is present in her tone, though she hopes that it isn't as noticeable as she thinks. 

"Y\n? What is it?" There's a hint of irritation hidden in that sentence, but the girl tries to ignore it and instead focuses on the reason she called her in the first place.

"Y-yeah, uh... I need to talk to you."

"About what? You know I'm busy. If it's more questions about your father, you know I—"

"No, Mom, it isn't about Dad." She's silent a moment as she hears her mother's soft breaths over the line, trying to collect her thoughts and put them into words. "It's... it's about me."

"...Well? Did you make another painting or something?"

She shakes her head, though she knows it can't be seen. "It's... weird things that have been happening to me. I-I don't know what's going on but it's really getting to me, and I feel sick and tired and stressed out. I don't know what to do."

"What exactly has been 'happening' to you, Y\n?" Her hand tightens slightly around her phone and she lets out an inaudible sigh. 

"It started out with bad dreams... really bad dreams. Of people being dead, or freaky voices, or strange markings in a tree. A-and I've been seeing things in the middle of the night, or even in the day. I can't sleep because it's so scary and I'm afraid that when I go to sleep I'll have another nightmare..."

"Y\n," An exasperated sigh erupts from the other end. "aren't you a little too old to be scared of bad dreams or the boogeyman?" It's as if a knife is shoved into her chest from the harsh words of her mother, and she fights the tears stinging her eyes, attempting to keep her voice steady. 

"Mom, it... i-it isn't like that."

"You used to complain to me all the time about bad dreams when you were a kid. You aren't a kid anymore, Y\n. You're almost seventeen."

"It's more serious than just dreams, Mom—"

"Grow up. You're a teenager, Y\n. Act like it." The girl swallows hard and lands her hard gaze on the floor, unable to stop the tears from slowly rolling down her cheeks. 

"You're not even listening to me!" She keeps her voice in a whisper but raises it slightly to make sure she gets the older woman's attention. "This isn't some stupid childhood fear. It's something bad, and it's really affecting me..."

"I don't have time for this. I have about a weeks' worth of papers stacked up on my desk and I have to do them. You'll get over yourself eventually and stop being so childish. Goodbye, Y\n." Before she can say anything else, a beep is heard before the line goes dead, signifying that her mother hung up. What else was she expecting? Sympathy? Concern? Reassurance? She should've known better. 

"Fine," she snaps, slamming her phone down on the couch beside her and releasing a huff, "who needs you anyway?" She plants her face into the palms of her hands to stifle the quiet whimpers emanating from between her lips. "I have myself and that's all I need. You're just a... a useless, irresponsible, incompetent piece of crap for a mom." Her fingers run through her h\c locks and she shakes her head, trying to compose herself. "Why are you even a mom..."

Of course her mother would blow her off. Her very own flesh and blood, brush her aside as if she means nothing to her. It's what she's been doing for years now, so why would she expect any different? I'm stupid. I'm stupid for assuming she would be worried. She doesn't care about me. She just doesn't care. She never does.

Soon, her shoulders are shaking as sobs wrack her body. She has to go through this alone, doesn't she? Her parents won't help her, her grandparents don't need that kind of pressure. None of her friends, if she can even call them that anymore, can help her. And they wouldn't. She's the one that left them behind, and they owe her nothing.

She shakily stands to her feet, wiping away the tears with the back of her hands in order to clear up her vision so she doesn't trip over anything, and begins her ascent up the stairs, not caring to bring her phone and instead only turns off the lamp as she passes it by. She walks warily up the staircase, doing her best to avoid looking anywhere but the ground for fear of seeing something lurking in the darkness until she reaches her bedroom, thankful that the light was left on previously.

She's unsure if Marshmallow will even follow her this time and bring her some kind of company, though, considering the aggressive way he was acting just minutes ago, she highly doubts it. Her gaze falls onto her bed, then onto the window that it's attached to, unable to quell the rush of anxiety that goes through her chest. The last time she was in here, she saw... something. What was it? A trick of the light? No, surely not. It was too... strange to be a trick of the light. Not to even mention the droning that formed in her mind while she looked at it. The same kind of droning that was present in her dreams, and at the river with Jack.

Is this normal? If it was, you'd think there would be more talk about it. In blogs, on the news, in books. But she's seen no such thing. Shaking her head in dismay, she steps farther inside, edging her way toward the window and anticipating what may be standing on the other side of the glass. She takes in a deep breath, hoping to calm her nerves a bit and brace herself before peering around the corner, over past her bed, and straight through to the dark woods across from the cottage. 

She scans the treeline, her heart rate slowing down when she doesn't find anything out-of-the-ordinary and releases a puff of air she didn't know she was holding in, her muscles relaxing slightly. Nothing. There's nothing, so maybe, she can actually go to sleep without having to worry about anything creeping around. She doesn't want to sleep, but she doesn't want to get sick, again, either. Although that may happen anyway if she has another unexplainably terrifying dream. She can only hope that she'll get lucky and her mind will give her a break, at least for the rest of the night.

She doesn't know what time it is, and she can't gather up the energy to check. It doesn't even matter, does it? She glances over at her lamp, silently debating on whether she should turn it off to both save electricity and hopefully hide her position to anything that may be waiting outside, or if she should leave it on to give her peace of mind. She hasn't really liked sleeping with the light on, not since she was a small child, but recently it's sounded a lot more comforting than being surrounded by pitch blackness, save for the moonbeams shining in through the window and spilling out onto the floor. 

What's better, hiding or feeling safer? Maybe there's a way she can compromise and do both. Her eyes avert around the room, eventually landing on the closet across from where she's facing. Could she do that...? Wouldn't that corner her? But it would be safer than sleeping in front of a window where some cryptic being can plainly see me. She remembers seeing a couple of spare blankets folded up on a shelf, and she could use her pillows as both a headrest and a weak attempt at a barrier. As unappealing as it sounds, staying in clear view of whatever is currently trying to get into her head sounds even less so. Closet it is.

She steps over and opens the door, switching on the light and glimpsing around for a good, somewhat comfortable spot to take shelter in. Under the clothes? No, too tight. In the little cabinet of old, stored things belonging to her aunt? Again, too tight. She decides on the opposite end of the closet, in-between a shelf and the wall, not too cramped but not too open either. And she'd be able to see the door clearly. That'll work. 

She grabs the two pillows from off of her bed, plus an oversized teddy bear that had been originally sitting in the corner of the room, untouched, and goes back into the walk-in storage room, placing all three items in her self-proclaimed area of safety, before also taking a folded-up blanket from the small stack and tossing it onto the pillows. She releases a yawn, blinking slowly afterward and shutting the door behind her prior to double-checking the room for anything else she may need, only finding her water bottle, and switches off the lamp. 

She sets it on the floor and shifts around everything until it meets her intentions, dimming the overhead light on the lowest setting, then walks back over and sits down, wrapping the blanket around her b\t frame, leaning against the wall, and tucking the large stuffed bear into her side. This is good. She feels secure here. There is nothing that can get in here without her knowing about it first... unless it's a hallucination. Then she can't escape. "I guess that's where you come in, Fuzzy," she mutters, hugging the bear half her size to earn some type of reassurance and consolation she had failed to get from her mother.

She stares ahead of her, at the closed door, waiting to hear something. Waiting to hear the creak of floorboards or the stamp of footsteps, or see the knob to the door slowly twist as it swings open. But one minute passes, then two, then five, then eight. Nothing of the sort happens. She just stays there, her breathing leveling out the more time passes, and she finds herself becoming relaxed. Maybe she should sleep in a closet more often...

She snuggles into the soft, though mildly dusty, coat of the bear, inhaling its old, washed-out scent of vanilla and allowing her eyes to droop. "Protect me if the 'boogeyman' comes in here, alright?" Her voice comes out as no more than a whisper, indirectly mocking her mother's previous choice of words to describe her state before fluttering her eyes closed and drifting off into a surprising, though thankfully peaceful, sleep.

___

His footsteps are almost inaudible as he walks through the darkened forest, his senses heightened due to the gloom around him. He's always more active at night, and it's been that way since... well, since the incident took place, all that long ago. Or was it even that long ago? He supposes it feels longer than what it actually is, probably because off of everything that's happened the past few years. But in reality, it's only been, what... eight, nine years ago? He was only seventeen at the time, and physically, he always will be. If he had been able to fulfill his career choice and live a normal life without meeting her, then he would be around twenty-six. 

Maybe he'd have a girlfriend, heck, maybe he'd have a wife, although becoming a doctor takes years of dedication so he doubts that he would have the time to put that much commitment into a relationship. Either way, he would be happy. He wouldn't have to worry about being hunted by some otherworldly entity, or stocking up on the less-than-desirable diet his body has unfortunately given him. He wishes he could have something normal for a change... like pizza. He would just about kill for some pizza, preferably supreme, but pepperoni would work, too. 

He shakes his head in disregard at his own thoughts, knowing more than anyone that pizza wouldn't ever happen, just like enchiladas wouldn't happen, or cheese sticks, or even something simple like cereal. It isn't possible, and though he accepted that long ago, he still gets certain cravings for things he used to enjoy. If he even tried eating them, now, he'd be sick for a week. One of the many disadvantages of being him. If only, right?

He checks the map on his phone that Ben had sent him about two hours prior, the direction he was supposed to go marked with bright red ink and making it pretty hard to miss. Let's see, he already passed the river, and he knows she took a certain trail to get to it. Just which trail did she take? He would follow footsteps but there's too much grass obscuring the actual dirt beneath, and even though he can see to a point, his vision has still been drastically altered, so he can't make out any pristine details. 

He makes a turn and comes across an overgrown area of the trail he's been sticking with, though it looks like it's already been walked through several times. Up ahead a few feet is what looks to be a dirt road and past that sits a quaint property with a white picket fence, a garden, and a gate. This is the place he's been searching for, right? Guess there's only one way to find out.

Will great stealth, he slinks out from behind the trees, creeping across the natural driveway and up to the house, where he hopes his target is currently resting inside. If she's awake, it would make his job quite a bit harder, and he doesn't want to take any lives if it's unnecessary. Once he's directly in front, he scans possible entry points that wouldn't draw attention. A window? Sure, if the front door isn't locked. He quietly jiggles the knob after opening the screen, only to find that yes, the door is locked. Just his luck, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't expecting it. 

He peers in through the first window he sees on the bottom floor, quickly realizing that it leads to the living room. All of the lights are off, and it doesn't look like anybody is currently active. Releasing a silent breath from his nose, though instantly being hit with a familiar bout of hot air thanks to his mask, he slips his fingers beneath the rim, briefly tugging upward and being grateful when the window slides up without much struggle. 

There's a table placed in front of it, but he can easily maneuver over that. Conquering obstacles is something that he's mastered over the years of breaking and entering other peoples' households, so one measly table shouldn't halt his process too much. With one hand, he holds the strap of his satchel that's been thrown over his shoulder in order to anchor it to his side to make sure it doesn't make any noise, and with the other, he grips the side of the wall, skillfully propping himself up and slipping through the now-open space lacking so much as a thud. 

Once his feet hit the carpet beneath them, he does a quick one-eighty of the room, wanting to make sure he isn't disturbing anything by making his appearance, and closing the window when he deems the coast clear. She never mentioned anything about having a dog, or any other kind of pet when he talked to her, then again he didn't exactly ask her about it, either. Maybe he got lucky this time.

Thought too soon, Jack, he thinks as he finally notices the fluffy white feline perching on the back of the couch, ears folded back as it quietly growls at him. Of course it's a cat. It couldn't have been a bunny, a gerbil, or even a ferret, no. It had to be a freaking cat. When he was still human, he was never particularly fond of them, but now he hates them with a passion. They get under his feet when he's trying to work and trips him, they scratch and bite him, they latch on and it takes a lot of force to get them off. Granted, he can and does get rid of them pretty easily, but they're still obnoxious little creatures.

But he has to admit, as bad as cats are, dogs are even worse in these types of situations. At least cats stay quiet. Dogs, however, he can't get dogs to shut up. Especially little ones, like Chihuahuas and Pomeranians. God, those things love barking. How could anyone want to put up with something that isn't even cute barking constantly? He isn't Smile's biggest fan, but he puts his barking to use. And he never gets in his way. At least he can respect bigger dogs for that very reason because they actually protect rather than just yap all the time.

He huffs, brushing the insignificant thoughts aside and walking farther into the living room, ignoring the growls of protest from the cat attempting to defend its territory and making it very clear to Jack who this place belongs to. Not that he cares, he just wants to get in and back out without much trouble. As he passes the couch, something catches his attention. Not only is there a phone lying discarded on the cushion, but there also seems to be a pencil, and beside it is a sketchbook. 

He leans down a bit to get a better look, seeing and instantly recognizing the large symbol drawn—or more like scribbled— on the piece of paper, completely overriding the original picture beneath it. Not much care seems to have been taken while it was being created, which is normal if it was made during the frantic state that he imagines it to have been made in. It's been apparent to him that Y\n was being greatly affected by him, but now she's to the point of drawing his symbol, his mark? That isn't good. His stomach does an uncomfortable flip, and he spins around, going up the staircase of the house after making sure there are no bedrooms down here with him. 

The hallway on the second floor likely leads to various rooms, his only problem is looking discreetly into each one and identifying his target. He chooses to check the first door on the left, the door inexplicably wide open, only to find a nicer than average girly room. He assumes this to be where Y\n is sleeping, but to his slight surprise, he doesn't see her in the bed. Well... maybe she's staying elsewhere? But why would there be bags on the floor if there was nobody staying inside? Is this someone else's room?

He peeks back out into the hallway, seeing what he recognizes as a bathroom unoccupied right beside a closed door, likely one leading to another bedroom. And at the very end of the corridor is a door also closed. Which one of these rooms leads to her grandparents? Is he even in the right house? He has to be. Unless he's just conveniently landed himself in the home of another individual that's being mentally tormented by the ominous creature, which is highly doubtful. They would know about it.

He hears the sudden squeak of a door as it opens, and just barely catches a glimpse of a masculine figure stepping out into the hallway before he darts back into the previous bedroom, ducking for cover inside of what he assumes is a closet. He closes the door softly behind him, being careful not to make any sound whatsoever, and takes a step back, only just starting to notice the dim lighting around him. He tilts his head up, seeing a light bulb attached to the ceiling, and confirming that it's the source of the light. The question is, why would the closet light be on when virtually every other light in the house is turned off?

Looking back and into the small walk-in closet, he sees a figure curled up in the corner, bundled up in a blanket and hidden behind the clothes hanging in front of her. She's holding tightly onto what looks like a large teddy bear, her eyes are closed, and her breathing is mellow and steady. She's asleep. Good. 

He's been getting to her. She must've thought the closet was safer than anywhere else. He eases closer to her, squatting down in front and making sure to not wake her up. Getting a better look at her face, he can tell that she most certainly is the girl he's been trying to find, and quietly opens his satchel, sticking his hand inside and pulling out a needle and a small, clear bottle of a powerful anesthetic. It isn't his go-to method, usually, he would use Midazolam or even Chloroform, but then again, he isn't currently trying to sedate one of his victims, he just wants to knock her out long enough to bring her back, all without harming her in the process.

He sticks the end of the needle into the lid of the glass container after properly sanitizing it, draws the correct amount needed for the injection, and puts the bottle back into the bag. He snaps his fingers in front of her face in order to test how deep of a sleep she's in. It would be hazardous if she woke up as the mediation was being given to her, it would also be mildly frustrating and make his job even more strenuous. Thankfully, her eyes don't even flutter, giving him the leeway he needs to lightly take her arm, twist it around, stretch it, and stick the end of the needle through her skin. 

He notices when she flinches, but only slightly, and he begins to inject the sedative into her system. He had no trouble locating a blood vein, as he could hear the blood coursing through her arm from several feet away; yet another ability he possesses that makes people fear him. Most could compare him to a vampire, what, with his unnaturally sharp teeth and his constant craving for human blood. It isn't his fault, it never has been. But he's learned to accept it, no matter how disgusting it may be to others.

His intention is that it will keep her knocked out for around two hours, preferably four or five, in case he runs into any delays. This particular bottle of medicine is the only one he has that causes longer-lasting unconsciousness without any life-threatening symptoms, and he got it by mixing Propofol with another mild, over-the-counter drug with lengthy repercussions. Perhaps not the best thing to use, but oh well, it's all he has at his grasp. He isn't actually a doctor, no matter how much he may be treated like one. 

He slides the needle out of her arm, places it into a Ziplock bag, and puts the bag into his satchel, looking down at her when he senses movement. She rubs the area that the drug was injected through, eyes only half-way open as she brings her arm up to her chest, likely wondering where the small twinge of pain came from so abruptly. He stays still, waiting to see if she'll notice his presence or just go back to sleep. It won't be too much of an inconvenience, either way, considering the medicine should be taking effect in the next couple of minutes.

She blinks slowly, shifting around in her position to get more comfortable, and landing her bleary gaze on the startling figure squatting directly in front of her. Letting out a strangled gasp, she tries to crawl backward, though the wall pressed up against her back prevents that and gives him the opportunity to reach out and force his hand against her mouth, muffling her yelps of protest. He can almost swear that her skin gets pale as she takes in his unusual features; a reaction he isn't phased by at all. He's a monster, right? It's only natural to fear him. 

She grabs at his wrists, attempting to push him away and twisting her legs out of the blanket covering her body to try and get a good kick in. Only when she frees her legs does he lunge forward and straddle her, stopping any attempts she may have made to harm him, and looks directly into her wide, panicked eyes with his black, tar-dripping sockets. 

"Calm down," he instructs in a quiet, yet authoritative voice, putting more of his weight on top of her as her striving to escape gradually increases. She thrashes, pulls at his arms, punches his chest, though he makes sure to keep his neck craned back to avoid getting hit in the face. Even with his mask on, offering a layer of protection, it wouldn't exactly feel good. He knows this from experience.

She tries screaming and yanking her head out of his strong grip, though fails, and can't stop her eyes from watering from the utter terror that rushes through her.

"You're okay, just calm down." He keeps his tone gentle, knowing the thoughts that must be racing through her mind at lightening speed and wanting to make this easier on himself. The faster the drug works, the quicker he can get out of here and go back to the base. She doesn't listen to him, either that, or she's physically incapable of listening with the erratic beating of her heart thumping in her ears and briefly deafening her. 

They both sit there for another couple of minutes, her struggling getting weaker the groggier she gets until eventually, her eyes hesitantly close and her body goes limp. Before he does anything, he needs to make sure that one guy—probably her grandfather— went back to bed after using the restroom. Jack knows he was, indeed, in the bathroom because he heard the toilet flush from the other side of the wall, though he didn't hear any footsteps. 

Stealthily, he stands to his feet, walks out of the closet, and looks out into the hall just in time to see the bedroom door close softly. Perfect. Now hopefully it will all continue going as smoothly as it has been so far. He returns to the closet, taking her hands and pulling her motionless body up, and wrapping his arms around her torso before she can fall back down. Making sure he has a firm hold on her waist, he bends down, allows her body to drop over his shoulder and across his back, before standing back up, tightening his grip around her and quickly adjusting to the extra body weight as he turns and steps out of the closet. 

Hoody never told him to grab any of her things, so he assumes that he'll take care of that himself, even though he's not sure how. Is he going to sneak into her house to take them, or just get one of the girls to pick up a whole new wardrobe? Those questions are meaningless right now, he supposes, and he doesn't let it take up too much of his time before dismissing them altogether and making his way cautiously down the staircase, the girl slung over his shoulder making it a little more difficult than it normally would be. 

His hand slides down to her thighs as he comes up in front of the door, and he uses his other one to soundlessly unlock it, not willing to go back through the window with the unconscious girl and take a chance on alerting the other members residing in the household of his presence, drop her, or both, so he opts to go harmlessly through the door. Twisting the knob, he eases the door open, then the screen, inwardly wincing when it lets out a rather loud and obnoxious squeak. 

Not wanting to stick around and take any chances on being heard, he hurries out onto the porch, softly shutting the door and screen behind him, and quickens his pace once he's out of the yard and through the gate. He scans the treeline, making sure there's nothing insidious waiting for him inside, before taking his original path and pulling out his phone. He clicks on Hoody's contact and presses the phone to his ear, waiting for the ringing to stop.

"Did you do it?"

"Yeah, I got her. I'm coming back now."

[kookitykook]

Seven Soulmarks: Jimin (”Stop right there!”)

~genre: soulmate au, fluff, some angst but like just barely, sfw, this is cute as HELL

~word count: 3.8k 

~warnings: sadboi jimin i’m sorry

~pairing: hairstylist!jimin x photographer!reader

~summary: At the exact moment of your twentieth birthday, the first words your soulmate will ever say to you appear on the inside of your left wrist. Seven boys meeting their soulmates is more proof that the universe really does know what it’s doing. 

See how the other boys meet their soulmates (all interconnected) 

Jungkook -- Taehyung  -- Namjoon -- Hoseok -- Yoongi -- Jin

~~~~~~~~~

One time at a party, Jimin and his friends had played a game where they all tried to agree on one word to best describe each person. 

The word that Jimin’s friends thought best described him?

Charming.

Some of the other contenders had been polite, well-mannered, kind, compassionate. All great words honestly, and Jimin had been incredibly flattered. 

Growing up, his mother had instilled kindness in him as one of the greatest qualities he could possess, the thing that would set him apart in this harsh world. Jimin believed with all of his heart that kindness was one of the things that truly made him a man and not a boy. 

So to know that the people closest to him saw that in him as well, and believed him to be charming and affable, that made Jimin’s heart swell with pride. He wanted to be charming to those that he loved the most, he wanted to make them smile and feel safe. 

So it’s not hard to imagine how surprised he was when his soulmark appeared on his twentieth party. 

“I don’t understand,” Jimin murmured, sitting next to his mother in his childhood home. He had come home to celebrate his birthday with his family, taking a few days off from the hair salon he was an apprentice at. “Why is my soulmate scared of me? What do I do?”

“Oh honey, I’m sure it will make sense when you meet them.” His mother ran her hands through his silver hair (which was not her favorite color he had tried, something she had made sure to let him know as soon as he’d walked through the door). “Soulmarks are fickle things. They tell you the first words your soulmate will say, but not the situation.”

“Eomma,” Jimin shook his head, “how can this be any sort of good situation?”

Jimin held out the inside of his left wrist, he and his mother looking once again at the words in black ink that had appeared only half an hour ago. 

‘Stop right there!’

The fact that the soulmark even had punctuation told Jimin plenty. Soulmarks were typically ambiguous unless the emotion behind the first words was particularly strong. 

Jimin’s mother sighed once again, taking her son’s hand in both of her own and squeezing it tightly. 

“You are my son,” she said, giving Jimin that look that said he better pay attention to what she was saying or else. “You are kind and have the biggest heart in the world. Whoever your soulmate is, they are going to be blessed to have you loving them because you will love them fiercely. No matter how you first meet them, that is what they will come to know about you because that is who you are. Do you hear me?” 

Jimin nodded, his eyes downcast. His mother reached out and grabbed his chin, forcing her to look at him. 

“Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Eomma. I hear you.”

As Jimin rested his head on his mother’s shoulder and let her comfort him once again, he tried to believe her words, he really did. 

But the idea of his soulmate being afraid of him continued to fester in his heart. 

***

“Dad, I’m home!”

Your father lifted his head from the book he was reading, scrambling to push his glasses back up his nose as they teetered dangerously. 

“You’re late.”

“Missed you too, Dad,” you teased, bounding over and kissing the top of his head before tossing your bags in your bedroom. “Traffic was crazy since everyone is coming home for the holidays.”

Your birthday just so happened to land just three days before Christmas, which meant visiting your father one city over was a double celebration of sorts.

“Sorry again that I couldn’t make it back yesterday,” you said as you flopped down on the sofa beside your father. He reached over and threw an arm around your shoulders. “I got a last minute call for a family Christmas card photoshoot and they were willing to pay me big bucks since they waited so long.”

“Big bucks, huh?”

“Oh yeah. I might be able to buy the fancy ramen now with my Christmas advance.”

Your father laughed at that, tipping his head back. You smiled at the sound, happy to finally be home. Ever since your mother had passed, the two of you had been especially close. 

“I’ll get you fancy ramen for Christmas, sweetheart,” your father murmured, kissing the top of your head. “So the photography is going well though?”

“Yeah!” you affirmed, smiling wide. “It’s going really well actually. I found this group of aspiring photographers on Facebook and it’s been really great to get some advice from other people in the same position. I’m getting bookings fairly regularly now, too.

“And get this,” you continued, excited to talk about your budding career. “There’s a local animal shelter nearby, and they’re looking for a photographer to help take shots of animals that need to be adopted. It doesn’t pay anything, but they’ve promised to give me credit on every posting of mine. And I get to help the animals, so that’s a win too of course.”

“That’s great!” your father said sincerely, ruffling your hair. “I’m proud of you sweetheart.”

“Thanks, Dad.” You snuggled closer to him, and a few moments of comfortable silence fell between the two of you. 

“So are you going to tell me or do I have to ask?”

You laughed, pulling away and scrunching your nose at him. “I’ll have you know I haven’t even looked yet. I wanted to wait for you!”

“Really?” your father asked incredulously. “You? The least patient person on Earth waited to look at your soulmark?”

You shoved at his arm playfully, making him laugh. “Yes, I waited! This is a big deal, I wanted to share it with you!”

“Well come on then, let’s see it. What are the first words my daughter’s soulmate will say to her?”

You took a deep breath as you reached down to the sleeve of your sweater, pulling it up slowly.

You hadn’t lied when you said you waited to look at your soulmark, but it had been difficult. 

“Okay, okay. It says …”

‘Wait!’

“Huh,” you murmured to yourself. “That’s … something.”

“It has an exclamation point,” your father pointed out. “Your soulmate must really want to make sure they don’t lose you.”

You chuckled, running your fingertips over the fresh black ink. 

“My soulmate,” you whispered. “I can’t believe I have an actual soulmate out there.”

Your father smiled, tucking you into his side once again. “As much as I don’t want anyone stealing more of my time with you, I do hope you get to meet them soon.”

You knew your father was thinking of your mother, who had been his soulmate. The ink on his wrist had faded to white in the wake of her passing. 

Your father was the kindest man you knew, you looked up to and admired him with your whole heart. 

You could only hope that your soulmate was going to be someone like that, too. 

***

2 YEARS LATER 

Jimin loved the mornings. It was when he would go on his run, walk his dog Chim (not that he had to worry about that anymore since Taehyung and his soulmate took him on walks practically every day), or just run errands. 

Mornings were quiet. There weren’t many people, the dawning of the sun took its time, and everything was … peaceful. And with the colder months approaching, the mornings were extra beautiful, with frost on the grass and that small amount of mist that makes everything seem so magical. It’s when he felt the most calm. 

It’s also when he felt the most lonely. 

Not that loneliness was a stranger to Jimin anymore — no, it was practically an old friend at this point. Ever since his soulmark had appeared — those awful, awful words — Jimin had kept to himself. Where he was once outgoing, the life of the party, charming in every sense of the word, now he kept to himself. Of course he lived with Taehyung (who would likely be moving in with his soulmate soon though), and he talked to his clients at the hair studio, and he had Chim. But other than that, Jimin didn’t go out. He kept to himself, because if he did that, he wouldn’t run the risk of hurting his soulmate. 

She was out there somewhere, and if he never met her, he would never have to hear the one he was supposed to love and cherish say “Stop right there!”

His family and friends tried to encourage him. Tried to tell him that maybe his soulmate was going to save him from some terrible fate, or maybe they were a police officer, or something along those lines.

But they always ended up grasping for straws trying to comfort him, because how could those words with an exclamation point, which was so rare on soulmarks, possibly have a good connotation. 

Jimin didn’t think he had a mean bone in his body, but … maybe deep down he was just lying to himself. Maybe all the years of being told he was so handsome and princely and charming got to his head.

All he knew was that he didn’t want to be that person, and he couldn’t stand the thought of hurting or scaring his future soulmate. He would rather deal with the loneliness. 

And while taking a quiet stroll through the early light of a crisp, Autumn morning in the park … he thought that maybe the loneliness wasn’t so bad after all. 

The frosted grass crunched underneath Jimin’s boots as he stepped off of the path he was walking on to approach the edge of the pond. Mist was rising over the water, seeming ethereal as the sun’s rays pierced through it. 

He hopped up onto a nearby rock gracefully, pulling his beanie down further over his ears before shoving his hands into his pockets. A small smile overtook his face as he gazed out over the water. 

It was the definition of a peaceful moment. Even if he did wish with every fiber of his being that he had someone special to share it with. Maybe someone he could give his beanie to, or hold their hand tight in both of his own and raise it to his lips to keep warm. 

Right then though, a small little yip broke the silence. Jimin jumped, looking over the edge of the rock he was standing upon only to see a small little white dog staring up at him.

“Well hello,” he said with a grin as the dog started to wiggle in excitement. “Wanna come up here?” The dog yipped again. “Well come on then, you can do it.”

The dog’s body continued to wiggle as it prepared to jump up. It tried once, only to just fall short. Jimin laughed, crouching down and clapping his hands together. 

“Come on buddy, you can do it. Up, up!”

The dog tried once more and Jimin darted his hands out, catching him just in time to pull him up to the top of the rock with him. 

“Good boy,” he cooed, rubbing the dog’s cold ears, to which the dog was very pleased. “You’re pretty cold, aren’t you? What are you doing out here?” 

Jimin tucked the dog to his chest and stood to his full heigh smoothly, partially holding him inside his coat. He looked to see if the dog had a collar, which he didn’t. 

“Well lucky for you little guy, my friend’s soulmate works at an animal shelter. We’ll get you warm and taken care of, does that sound good?”

The dog’s entire body jumped as he yipped in excitement, making Jimin laugh. 

“Alright come on then, let’s go.” He started to take a step to hop back down on the ground, only to hear—

“Stop right there!”

***

You hated the mornings. Especially when it was cold outside. Why would you want to be out and about doing the things when you could be warm in your bed, snuggled up in your favorite blankets on your lovely memory foam mattress? It made no sense to you. 

But your photography assignment for the online courses you were taking were very clear in needing sunrise photos. Not sunset, your preferred time of day, but sunrise. Ugh. 

So there you were, taking a not-so-lovely-but-very-cold stroll through the park at six in the morning. AKA the devil’s time of day. 

“Stupid morning, stupid cold,” you grumbled to yourself half-heartedly, hiking your camera bag further up your shoulder.

The park was practically empty, you only saw one other car in the parking lot and someone could have left that overnight for all you knew. 

It was a nice morning for shooting though, you had to admit. You had already gotten a few shots of the frosty grass and the early light through the trees. You just hoped you got an A on your assignment for this nonsense. 

You figured you were likely going to get your best shots over by the pond. It was cold enough that there was mist rising off of the water and when the early light rays broke through that, it was going to be beautiful, you just knew it. 

Let’s make the best of this, you thought to yourself.

You began making your way towards the pond, cursing yourself for not bringing a beanie or a thicker coat. You couldn’t help but smile a little bit as the brief thought of your future soulmate holding you close for warmth crossed your mind. 

You thought about them often — your soulmate. It had been over a year since you had received your soulmark — “Wait!” — and you had yet to meet them. Which was normal you supposed. It took your friend who also volunteered at the animal shelter a year and a half to meet her soulmate Taehyung. There were some stories of people waiting five, ten, fifteen years even to meet their other half. 

You could live with that. Not meeting your soulmate for a long time. It would suck, but the payoff would be worth it, you just knew. So you were okay with coming up with little daydream scenarios about them for now until they showed up. 

With the quiet of the morning, it was easy to hear the crunching of the grass as you approached the pond. You froze, halfway hidden behind a lamppost as you looked over to see someone jumping up onto a rock half your height right beside the water. 

“Holy crap,” you breathed out almost inaudibly. 

The young man that had jumped up on the rock was … beautiful in every sense of the word. He was under six feet tall, but his legs seemed to go on for days. His clothes, though thick for warmth, hugged him in all the right places, and even wearing a beanie pulled down over his forehead you could tell he was stunning to look at. One of those people that just knocks you on your ass with how unfairly pretty they are. 

You couldn’t pull out your camera fast enough. 

Is this stalking? You thought to yourself, pausing as you lifted the camera to your face. No, no way. It’s academic, totally fine … yeah, totally fine. 

The boy was positioned perfectly. Hands in his jacket pockets, hip cocked to the side as he looked out over the water right as the sun started breaking through. You could have cried at the perfection of it all as you began snapping away. 

His shoulders rose and fell just slightly as he took in a deep breath. You pulled the viewfinder away from your face for a moment just to take him in. 

Damn. 

You jumped as a dog suddenly barked. You had been so absorbed in the boy that you didn’t notice the dog running up to the side of the rock to investigate the stranger too. 

Popular guy, you thought. 

“Well hello,” he said to the dog. Even his voice was beautiful, what the actual hell? “Wanna come up here? Well come on then, you can do it.”

Every bone in your body wanted to “awwww” as the dog tried to jump up only to fall backwards and scramble back to his feet with enthusiasm. The boy laughed too and damn if this wasn’t a Hallmark movie.

Cute boy? Dog? Sunrise? Come on. 

You were taking pictures like a crazy person and holy crap you are totally getting an A on this assignment and a new portfolio cover.

“Come on buddy, you can do it. Up, up!”

The dog tried once more and this time the boy caught him, pulling him close to his chest as he stood up. 

Since the boy was talking to the dog directly now, you couldn’t hear what he was saying from so far away. 

The mantra, don’t be creepy, don’t be creepy, don’t be creepy, in your head was fighting with the other mantra, get the shot, get the shot, get the shot. 

The second mantra clearly won out as you took slow, quiet steps forward with your camera raised. The shots were stunning, they looked practically photoshopped already, and you knew these would be great for the shelter too. 

You were close enough then to hear the boy murmur, “Alright come on then, let’s go,” and start to make his way to step off the rock when the words practically erupted out of you.

“Stop right there!”

To his credit, the boy froze. And you mean he froze. He could have been a statue for how still he became and you could have kissed him for it. 

You took a few large steps forward, continuing to snap shots away as quickly as you could. The dog even turned to look at you over the boy’s arm, giving a perfect shot of his silhouette with the sunrise backdrop and the dog looking at your with a little puppy grin that was going to be the cutest picture ever. 

“Just a few more,” you murmured, coming even closer to the base of the rock, getting a torso shot. The dog was getting impatient now, wiggling around against the boy who was still frozen. 

“Aaaaand … done!” You let the camera drop to your chest, held by the strap around your neck and looked up at the boy with a grin. “Thank you so much,” you said excitedly as he finally turned to look down at you, shock written all over his handsome face. “That was probably super creepy, sorry if I startled you.”

He was towering over you from where he still stood on the rock, which made his silent staring a little bit more intense. 

Oh gosh, is he a crazy person? 

You cleared your throat, scratching the back of your neck as you looked around. “Sorry,” you managed to say, albeit meekly. “I-I’ll delete them if you want me to. It’s just that the light was so perfect and your silhouette is um … nice.”

You could feel your face turn red as you realized you had looked him up and down without even hesitating you freak. Still he gave you no response. “And I volunteer at an animal shelter over on the other side of town for their adoption photos,” that seemed to get at least a small reaction from him, “a-and with you holding that little guy,” you couldn’t help but grin at the dog, “I couldn’t help but … you know what, I’m so sorry, there’s no excuse for being a total creep, I-I’ll delete them, I’m so sorry.”

You picked up your camera again, turning to speed walk away from the most awkward situation of your life and delete the pictures when behind you —

“Wait!”

This time it was your turn to freeze. You heard him jump down from the rock, clearly setting the dog down as well since it was now running around your ankles and sniffing your leg. 

“Wait, please, I’m sorry,” he said from behind you.

With a gulp, you turned around slowly. He was only a few feet away, and up close and on level ground you were struck again with how handsome he was. Full lips, rosy cheeks from the cold, piercing eyes and a jawline that could cut glass … and he had just said the word on your wrist. 

Cute boy said the word on your wrist red alert red alert red alert.

“You know I-I’m really hoping I just said the word on your wrist because — w-well because you just said the words on mine,” he stuttered out with a nervous smile that made your heart melt into a puddle of lovestruck goo. 

You blinked, opening and closing your mouth like a deranged fish. “You did,” you finally managed to spit out. “You sure did, yes indeed.”

‘Yes indeed?’ What is wrong with you? 

“I’m Y/N,” you managed to say after a few seconds of the two of you staring at each other smiling like idiots. The dog was sitting between you as if watching a tennis match. 

“I’m Jimin,” he responded. 

“Jimin,” you repeated without even thinking, and his entire face practically lit up at the sound of your voice saying his name.

“Y-You said you work at an animal shelter?” he asked, suddenly looking very shy and it made you want to hug him forever and oh my goodness you could because he was your soulmate. 

“Yepp,” you squeaked out. “Over on North Main. B-But I don’t really work work there, I just volunteer. It’s small, but good people run it.”

“North Main?” he repeated, shocked. “My friend’s soulmate works there. My friend is kind of hard to miss him, he’s—”

“Kim Taehyung?” you asked, too shocked to feel bad for interrupting. “The singer, V? Yeah! His soulmate is practically my best friend.”

“He’s my best friend! And my roommate!”

“How have we never met?” the two of you said at the exact same time, causing the both of you to burst out into giggles. 

“Hey are you cold?” he asked suddenly, whipping off his beanie before you could even answer. His hair was silver and made him look like a prince which made you give him the biggest heart eyes of your life. 

Before you could protest, he stepped forward right into your space, making you catch your breath as he ever so gently put his beanie on your head. He smoothed the edges down over your ears, pushing stray hairs away from your face with the utmost tenderness. 

His hands froze, hovering over your cheeks as you stared up at him in awe. 

“It’s really nice to meet you,” you whispered. “Sorry for making you wait.”

Jimin only smiled, tracing his thumbs over your cheekbones. “It’s okay. We have each other now.”

[chaoswillfallrpg]

SEBASTIEN FONTAINE is TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS OLD and an ESCORT at FAIR FARIBAULT’S in KNOCKTURN ALLEY. He looks remarkably like CHARLES MELTON and considers himself  NEUTRAL. He is currently TAKEN. 

→ OVERVIEW:

tw: death

True love can be shown in many different ways, through lavish gifts or quietly whispered words of affection, but to HUGO and ANTOINETTE FONTAINE their love was shown through the small looks they gave one another across the rooms at high-class parties and functions. A single look between the pair could convey a thousand feelings of love, comfort and need for the other and all of their friends could see it, those that were unmatched themselves would prey upon Merlin himself to have a love that shined even as half as brightly as that of the Fontaines. Blessed with a silver spoon since birth, Hugo created a potions empire for the couple to never want for anything financially. However, all the silver spoons in the world could not offer them their deepest desire. A child. Years of trying and failing, even with the beautiful looks and grace her veela blood offered her, the one thing she truly desired was still out of reach. Finally pregnant Antoinette was well into her third trimester when she wanted to ease her fears for the child so she took it upon herself to get some reassurance about the birth. Waiting for Hugo to leave for work she went to visit a well-known seer in the area VANA RAYNE to see if the woman could see her child’s future. The seer spoke of a fork in the road, there was a choice to be made in regards to the life within Antionette, only one would survive the day of his birth and Antoinette was adamant it would be the child, happy to give her life so that Hugo could raise their child with the love of both parents. 

The day her waters broke Antoinette was rushed to the nearest wizarding hospital and slyly passed a note to the head midwife there, requesting that if it came to a choice between her and her son, they would choose to save his life, knowing that Hugo may not be in the right state of mind to make that decision himself. Complications came and Hugo showed his true colours, he loved Antoinette with all his heart and demanded she be saved, not caring for the babe within her. Keeping to her wishes the midwife saved the baby and his mother died with him in her arms, Hugo, distraught, pushed the baby away when the midwife tried to hand him over and that day set the tone for the rest of Sebastiens upbringing. Raised by the house elves and his tutors Sebastien saw little of his father, and what he did see he wished he hadn’t. The only interaction between father and son was cold looks and harsh words for Hugo didn’t see the light of Antoinette that shined within the boy, he only saw her cold unmoving body whenever his eyes were set upon his son. His childhood was a lonely one, after his wife’s death Hugo closed himself off from all of their friends thus closing Sebastien off too, all the other children would play together at parties and Sebastiens only friends were his house elves and the characters in the story books his tutors read to him on an evening. Alone and unhappy Sebastien longed for the day that this nightmare would end. That day came in the form of a sunny Tuesday in May when he received his letter to study at Beauxbatons allowing him the opportunity to be far away from his fathers indifference and cultivate a life for himself outside of the Fontaine family walls. 

Leaving for Beauxbatons his father gave him little in the way of comfort nor did he offer the boy a single hug or pat on the back, the only words of wisdom he offered before apparating on the spot was this; ‘make good connections amongst the Pure-Blood elite, you’re going to need them later in life.’ Stepping in that carriage and setting off was like stepping into a new life, a new opportunity to prove his worth to his father and also make some friends that weren’t small with big ears and there to serve him. Becoming close with a boy in his house Sebastien made his very first friend in ALEXANDER TREMBLAY, a Pure-Blood boy with an appetite for the finer things in life he brought Sebastien out of his shell. Finding his personality with this boy, Sebastien went from a scared little boy to embracing his new life and although he would always be quiet and reserved it was no longer out of fear of rejection, it was instead to revel in his new reality. Through Alexander Sebastien was introduced to other rich socialites MIRA IYER and ALEXANDRA ROSIER creating an exclusive group of students that ruled the school. Alexandra was the queen of the group and Sebastien was happy to follow, pleased that he had both fulfilled his fathers wish and also made a group of friends he loved and adored. Coming out of his shell at Beauxbatons had also led him to notice the looks he would receive on a daily basis, many looked at him with lust-filled eyes that he had to put down to the veela blood running through his veins. Although Sebastien clearly had many admirers there was only one girl for him as Alexandra made it clear to all the others that he was hers.

Happy in his relationship and his group of friends Sebastien thrived in school, he became known for his strong and silent nature but those close to him knew him to be soft and kind when needed. The person who knew that most was Mira, Alexandra’s right hand woman and the girl she usually took the brunt of her annoyance out on Mira was someone Sebastien related to well. Wanting the approval of Alexandra the same way he needed the approval of his father led to the pair creating a bond, whenever Alexandra was too harsh or cutting towards Mira he would always be there to squeeze her hand in comfort of whisper reassuring words her way. It was well-known around school that Andra was a piece of work, and although her inner circle often saw a different side to her it was the face she showed to the rest of the school that lead to Sebastien and his other friends having to follow her lead and be cruel towards her biggest rival CLAUDETTE DELACOUR. A pretty girl that Sebastien didn’t know well enough to discuss; he acted cold towards her to comfort Andra’s insecurities. Her coldness only became much more apparent when tragedy hit the Rosier family and her father died, Andra came back to school after the death even more cruel and cutting than before, and although Sebastien could see through her coldness to the kind, witty and insecure girl beneath her sharp words and her savage demeanor began to take its toll on their relationship. Evident that Andra had the weight of her family’s name pressing down on her shoulders she began to close Sebastien out, her aspirations of furthering her families name in Pure-Blood society held no space for a Half-Veela boyfriend and so she cast him aside. 

Desperate to get out of France and away from his heartache and the pressures surrounding the Fontaine name Sebastien moved to London and started working at Fair Faribaults, an escort agency who dealt with rich Pure-Blood clientele. Having a business venture in need of financial backing Sebastiens plan was to use his veela allure to lure in rich backers since his father wouldn’t give him the funds he needed. Working at the agency he became friends with the owner GEORGINE FARIBAULT and renowned vampire DAHLIA BLACKWOOD who was beautiful and rich but whose story scared Sebastien too much for him to ask for backing from her. He also met fellow escort CONSTANCE SONG, a veela like himself the girl had many of his own qualities, quiet and reserved he saw a lot of himself in her, yet when she spoke her words were cutting and cruel. The pair became obsessed with beating one another at their own game, both using their good-looks and strong silent personalities to lure in customers they began to compete for the title of top-dog, constantly trying to one up the other for who brought in the most money and who caught the richer clients. Amongst this competitiveness the pair have begun to find the other attractive, although they haven’t quite admitted it to themselves and even if they had, they wouldn’t dare admit it to each other. 

Now established in London Sebastien was happy to find that Mira and Alexander had also made the trip over the sea to begin their lives in London, meeting up regularly with them and new found friend STAR DAVENPORT the group was once again as close as they were in school, minus Alexandra of course.To his surprise his school friend Alexander had not come to London on his own but in fact had brought his fiance, Claudette, the beautiful blonde that Andra had so despised at school. Hoping to start over Sebastien was now trying to get close to Claudette and apologise for his past behaviour. Once again close to Mira Sebastien moved in with her and was proud of the girl’s accomplishments once she had escaped the grasps of his ex-girlfriend. However, finding out that Alexandra was in fact in town made Mira question whether to allow the girl back into her life. Despite Sebastiens advice she did and now Sebastien is waiting for the day he has to be in Alexandra’s company once again, hoping upon hope that old feelings won’t surface and he is once again under her charismatic trance. Awaiting the day he sees Alexandra again Sebastien is trying to focus on other things, such as potential backers for his business venture, his new found school friends and the irritating yet kind of attractive Constance who takes up his every waking moment with ways to beat the know-it-all witch. 

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Half-Blood (½ Veela)

Sexuality  → Up to Roleplayer

Relationship Status → Single

Previous Education → Beauxbatons Academy of Magic

Family → Antoinette Fontaine (deceased mother), Hugo Fontaine (father)

Connections  → Mira Iyer (best friend/roommate), Alexander Tremblay (best friend), Alexandra Rosier (ex-girlfriend/potential love interest), Claudette Delacour (former adversary/friend), Georgine Faribault (boss/friend), Dahlia Blackwood (colleague/friend), Constance Song (colleague/potential love interest), Star Davenport (friend)

Future Information → N/A

SEBASTIEN FONTAINE IS A LEVEL 5 WIZARD/VEELA.

[merrysithmas]

i would give my left foot to just hear SOME of the hcs you have about the member's of boris' gang's relations/interactions to & with theo PLEASE

-Myriam and Theo became BFFS bc of Art and Class and Taste, this makes Boris so mad bc all they do is text and WHAT ARE THEY TALKING ABOUT but also happy at the same time

-Myriam is part Mongolian by way of Russia, part Polish. She's bi. Boris helped her drag away the body of a man that she blunt punched with brass knuckles in an alleyway for harrassing her and another woman at a club in Warsaw. Boris saw it happen and ran over to help but was startled to a stop when she defended herself so viciously. The man died. Myriam was an up and coming wedding planner in Berlin before that -- now she works for Boris, stony mien and organizational skills on steroids handling mass illegal imports/exports and fielding his contacts under the guise of wedding organization.

-Dima is always having some kind of emotional issue with his girlfriend Milena who isn't super domineering or anything, but Dima is just like this sensitive puppydog of a man (he does yoga and likes working the ceramics) (he's also an expert in martial arts and can snap a man's spine -ex Ukrainian military - in one move) so he's always coming to Theo's apartment in NY or to the house in Antwerp unannounced while Theo is still in his pajamas, and he's crying and asking for advice about Milena who says he's "never there for her" and THEO totally out of his ballpark with women is like holyshit i dont KNOW dude, but is so used to it at this point he just wordlessly pulls out the kitchen chair and starts to put on the coffee, listening to Dima's 2.5 hour story about their latest argument like the group therapist and occasionally offers him tissues

-Shirley T (hacker wunderkind) still lives with his (single) mom who gets VERY UPSET if he is out all night long and Boris often has to go over to the house and charm his mother into not having a meltdown (which always works because he always brings money like a latter day Slavic Robin Hood) and is then is also always invited to say for dinner. Shirley T's mom actually likes Theo even better than Boris and asks Boris about Theo every dinner. But she exclusively speaks Polish and whenever she sees Theo he is totally lost but nods along politely anyways, she loves his shiny American clothes and is shocked at how tall he is, insists on asking him things and Theo has no idea what to say except a few broken Polish words which delights her. And somehow Theo always ends up being dragged to Orthodox Polish Church mass with her and Shirley T (which he doesn't totally mind if its very few and far between as he gets to observe the art and architecture). And he and Shirley exchange bored glances at key moments of irony.

-Cherry, a Bulgarian, is like the Wolverine of the group. Stoic, smart, gets shit done. Boris cheerily teaches him Americanisms and English turns of phrase. He not-so-secretly loves trash American television reality shows and like the Bachelor and takes them DEAD seriously and often references them in every day life in the vein of wise proverbs. He frequently asks Theo for his input on these cultural milestones and Theo is like at a loss because to him its so low-brow but honestly Cherry's seriousness and blunt culturally-removed nonjudgement helps Theo lighten up and he's collapsed exhaustedly beside Cherry on the couch at the gang's HQ to watch Ice Road Truckers and Say Yes To The Dress several times. Cherry is also best friends with Anatoly since they were kids. Cherry is their information guy. He rarely talks so people say anything to him.

-Anatoly is the slinkiest and seemingly outwardly most untrustworthy of them all. He and Cherry got in big trouble as kids when they stole what they thought was some weed they could resell from a local dealer (who happened to be an associate of Bobo Silver). What they stole was actually a kilo of coke. Boris, hearing the two of them were fellow Slavic kids, took it upon himself to find them, reason with them, wrangle the coke back, offer them protection if they worked for him and learned the business, and returned the coke to Bobo's guys, putting his own neck on the line in a bid to get them off the hook so he could start his own side hustle. They were the first members of his gang. Anatoly is Lithuanian and spoke little English at first, he quickly took to Boris for essentially saving their lives (and eventually making them fucking rich) and considers himself to have a life-debt to Boris. Boris can always trust Anatoly to run an errand without question or use harsh immoral tactics. He's a bit of a livewire. Anatoly feels a kinship with Boris because he once had a favorite cousin when he was a kid who was brutally injured (and died from those injuries) because he was gay, a hatecrime -- an event which sickened Anatoly but he could do little about as a child and feels immense guilt over. Seeing Boris dominate the eastern crime scene makes him feel proud and cools some of that aching spite. Anatoly is Anarchist ally of the year and throws tear gas cannisters at Anti-Gay protestors while wearing a balaklava on on the weekends. He keeps telling Theo to marry Boris.

-GYURI! loveable cook, Boris' stalwart driver, tea-maker, ex-con, likes to knit (good for his neuropathy from a prison nerve injury), sometimes mans the bar at the HQ, always there to pick up dry cleaning if Theo is running late ("it is no problem i said"), drives Theo around at night if he's having panic episodes or can't sleep or is depressed, and talks to him quietly from the front seat -- just enough. A big loveable uncle. Always brings nicely cooked dinners at Christmas -- gets along well with Hobie the one time Hobie comes to visit Belgium and exchanges recipes for poached pears. Could break a man in half with one hand. Babysits everyone else's kids.

-Nina (aka pseudonym Katya) a childhood friend of Boris', his only childhood friend from "home". She was a Russian living in the Ukraine under a somewhat official capacity, who at a young age was accused of a crime she committed (but only bc she had to at the threat of her own life) and was given a harsh sentence -- essentially made an example of and torn from Boris as a child. She is about ten years older than Boris and had a sisterly dynamic with him. Years later, released from custody on condition, she hears of his crime syndicate and tries to find him, she feels guilty for associating her tarnished name with him -- but Boris will have none of it, happy to see her, a tearful reunion. He sees to it that she obtains a new name, new birth certificate, and can be free of her past. He considers Katya his family, the only person who understands the harshness of that time in his home country. She loves Theo and dotes on Boris like a little brother. Katya is the first person Boris ever comes out to in an accouncement type-way (not like with his gang - all of their open secrets, unjudged, a party of misfits). She accepts and loves him like he accepted and loved her - and gave her a home when the world abandoned her. She works as a barmaid at the HQ.

just some!

[vaniri]

Name: Dawn Dewitt Aliases: Dawn Bowers, Margaret Bowers Age: 27 Nationality: American

Height: 5'8" Hair color: Golden brown Eye color: Green

Favorite weapon: Litchfield repeater Favorite colors: Black, Red, Blue, Pink Horses:

Selise (Silver Dapple Pinto Missouri Fox Trotter)

Epona (Black Arabian)

Morgana (Dark Bay Turkoman)

Neema (Perlino Andalusian)

 another Epona (Red Chestnut Arabian)

Rinrin (Bay Frame Overo Criollo)

Cheyenna (Silver Kladruber)

Amber (Mealy Dapple Breton)

Arthur (Dun Criollo)

Past: She was born somewhere in the US, as a daughter of an animal wrangler, Matthew Dewitt, and his assistant, Hope Murphy. She spent her entire childhood in the circus owned by her grandfather, John Dewitt, travelling around the country. Dawn remembers these times fondly, as full of fun and love she received from her family and the circus crew, who always pampered her and taught her some funny tricks. She always loved horses and she learned how to ride them at a pretty young age, hoping to become a part of the show one day (she really wanted to become a vaulter, and her grandfather seconded that idea). She never had a chance though. Dawn was orphaned at the age of 11, when a gang of bandits raided the circus, burned it to the ground, and killed almost everyone of the crew (and most animals). Thanks to her mother, Dawn managed to escape and got to the nearest town, where she begged the sheriff for help. Not much could have been done for her family though and Dawn was left completely alone. Not having any other family or anywhere to go, she was sent to an orphanage, from where she escaped weeks later, ending up on the street in one of the big American cities. A couple of months later she was found by a local outlaw on the run, Jake Bowers, and his son, Brad. Seeing his dead daughter in her, despite the life he was leading, Jake took Dawn in and soon he became her second father. He was a honorable and kind-hearted man who taught her how to shoot a gun, use a knife, hunt (and provide food in general), and most importantly, he showed her that some people, even those who seem completely rotten, may still have some good left in them. Jake and Brad forged Dawn into a woman she is today; she was riding with them for years, helping good people and dealing with the bad ones - even when it was against the law. These years gave her certain kind of wisdom and understanding, made her discover her determination, but also taught her compassion, and helped her acquire a couple of useful skills that now help her survive in the harsh world she lives in. When Jake made sure Dawn was ready to survive on her own, he encouraged her to part ways - he was already wanted in many states, his time was running out, and Dawn wasn't save with him. But before he let her go, he helped her get her revenge on the people who killed her family. Some time later Dawn started her career as a bounty hunter, which not only provided her good money and associates, but also helped her protect Jake and Brad  - she never gave up on them, and having an insight into the bounty hunters "community", she could always warn them when they were in real ranger. When the noose around their necks tightened too much (metaphorically - and Dawn preferred it that way), she helped them escape to Mexico, where they hide till present day. Dawn still keeps in touch with them, but not too often, for safety reasons.

Present times: Dawn never gave up bounty hunting, so she's always up to turn a criminal in. She's also not afraid to get her hands dirty, even if it's not necessarily legal, and does what is needed to be done, if it only pays well. When she's not helping the law (or breaking it), her friends, or anyone who's ready to pay for her services, she's running a trading company with Cripps, her adoptive father's best friend and most trusted associate (who stayed with Dawn since the man left to Mexico, to "take care of her"). She's pretty content with her life. She is capable of surviving on her own and making money. She has many great friends, family (her horses and her dog, Dexter. She loves animals more than anything) and a place to call home, as her home was always a big tent moving from one place to another - just like her camp today.

Personality: She is a strong woman who knows what she wants and what she's capable of. She can use pistols and rifles and shotguns and even fight with her bare hands, but she knows that her brain is the most powerful weapon she has. She's open-minded, but never abandons thinking on her own. Dawn is also pretty self-confident and never lets the others get into her. She knows she doesn't need everyone's approval. Earning Dawn's trust is hard, but when one does succeed, they get a steadfast ally who will fight by their side to the very end. She is extremely loyal to her friends - she loves them dearly, to the point she would give her own life for them if needed. But she is not naive and can sense when someone tries to simply use her to their own advantage. Easy to talk with, resourceful, and sometimes even funny, Dawn is a pleasure to be had around. But she also has a darker side. Due to the events of her past, she became a vindictive person, unable to let certain things go. When someone gets under her skin, they may as well consider themselves dead. Or worse. Dawn believes that death is not always enough for a punishment and she'd rather see certain people suffer. Forgiveness is not something that comes easily to her. She's also pretty stubborn and always "knows best". She feels loved by her friends and respected by her associates, but she was never in love, and no man ever showed real interest in her (only her skills or body), so she feels rather unlovable. And at some point of her life she gave up on the thought of finding love completely. But then she met a certain cowboy ;)

Random facts:

She can play the violin, but she doesn't own any at the moment

She probably has a middle name, but she doesn't remember it

Dawn loves all animals, but horses have a special place in her heart

She can read, write, do basic math and speak Spanish a little

Dawn is not a fan of cigarettes and alcohol. She avoids smoking at all costs and drinks only occasionally

[writing-with-chaos]

[Your OCs Backstory] First Love

HELLO! =D

I didn’t get to post this last weekend, but I wrote it anyway and it’s MY FAVORITE. If nobody reads it, I don’t care. I gotta have it on here. 

This got so much longer than I intended, but I was having a lot of fun with it ;p Honestly, I just love any excuse to write scenes with Sabin, since I get to a lot of that in within the actual WIP. I love my soft boy so much T_T

I hope y’all like him (and the story) just as much!

Ariana Salem

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

//watch things on VCRs

with me and talk about big love

i think we're superstars

you say you think we are the best thing...//

"What the hell do you mean you've never baked chocolate chip cookies?"

"You can't bake very easily without an oven, Ria. Or a house to put it in."

"Okay, but you're telling me nobody's ever made them for you? None of the people you've stayed with?"

"No?"

Sabin tilted his head at her curiously. He always looked so cute when he was confused, like one of the bright-eyed stray dogs he always had with him. The latest one, a German Shephard he named Dimitri, slept in the corner by the fireplace. They both kept huddled in the living room themselves, wrapped in a nest of blankets. The fire was the only source of heat in the cabin. Despite its lack of basic utilities, it was Sabin's favorite place. The one luxury he allowed himself. When it was off-season and the owners were gone, he could pretend he finally had a place of his own, tucked away in the middle of nowhere where no one could find him. When he was here, he was just like everyone else. A boy and his dog, watching movies with the girl he adored. Sabin was always paranoid, but this was the only time Ariana ever saw him somewhat at ease. Because of that, the cabin was her favorite too.

The cookie bomb dropped while they were in the middle of said movie.

"I've had chocolate chip cookies before. Does that not count?" he asked.

"No! Baking them is like a whole new experience. It's like a childhood right of passage," said Ariana.

Sabin scratched at his neck and smiled bashfully. "I guess that would be why I didn't then."

She paused at his declaration, determination slowly filling her eyes. "When you pick me up tomorrow, I'm bringing ingredients."

It was sort of an unspoken rule of their relationship. Ariana used to wonder why he bothered to hang out with someone like her, especially before she awakened her powers, until she realized. They each gave each other what the other was lacking. She gave him a glimpse into the teenage normality he could never have through her talks of going to high school, shopping for the right clothes, hating her mom, and in exchange he offered her adventure, freedom, an escape.  In the end, that's all either of them wanted. Since then, she leaned into her role hard. Anytime Sabin so much as mumbled about an experience he missed out on, she'd do her best to give it to him. And she'd go all out. It'd be easier if he ever let her ask 'Drea for help, but she stopped trying to push the issue. He was being swayed by a stubborn ego, but it must've been rough to consider asking for help from the very creatures he was created to destroy. God knew she struggled with it enough.

The next night, she carefully snuck what she needed throughout the day. One at a time. A couple eggs in a tupperware, milk in a thermos, everything else in sandwich baggies, and her mom's recipe. Plus the stuff she usually nabbed, like snacks and whatever they'd need for dinner that night. She had to rearrange her overnight bag quite a bit, but eventually everything fit. Even a goofy, frilly apron and burned a CD, perfect to set that Baking-on-a-Sunday-Morning vibe. Sabin came to her window at midnight when the house was asleep, like he had since they were little kids, and warped her away. It was still daylight at the cabin. Her sleep schedule was always a mess when he was around. She didn't mind--it was a good excuse to take naps together.

"Okay. You read this to me--" Ariana plopped the recipe card in his hands while tying the apron. After she struggled with it a couple times, Sabin slipped behind her and tied it himself. His fingers at her lower back made her breath catch in her throat, and she forgot what she was saying for a minute. "Um. And then I'll do...that stuff."

"The baking?" He said with a laugh, completely oblivious of his effect.

"Yeah. That."

For the rest of the time, Sabin kept to his own corner near the table, so she could clearly focus. The atmosphere was exactly what she wanted. A bubble enveloped the room in a kind of bliss you only found in memories. A kitchen filled with laughter and life's latest tales. The dog at her hip, eagerly waiting for a morsel of cookie dough to fall to his level. A muffled radio filling the rare empty moments. It was like getting a glimpse of what could be in another world. Or maybe some kind of future. Her and Sabin coming home and cooking dinner together, or washing the dishes after. Him slipping behind her like before and wrapping his arms around her middle. His lips at her temple, then her jaw, and stopping delicately at her neck. And they would just stand there, silently drinking in their simple paradise. Safe enough to breathe. Stable enough to be careless, knowing there was nothing outside waiting for them to stumble. Free enough to be.

"I see why this is nice," Sabin said softly, while they rolled the dough into balls.

His face softened into a velvet smile that brightened the deep blue of his one eye, and made the firey red of the other glow like the embers in the wood-burning oven. Crystal clear of any fear or uncertainty. A rare moment, where he was completely present with her instead of two steps removed, the aura carrying him away to the same far away dream where nothing else existed outside of this moment. She'd kill to keep him happy like this.

Once the dough was in the oven, the only thing left was the clean up. Ariana lifted herself onto the counter and grabbed the wooden mixing spoon out of the bowl. She scooped some of the batter off with her fingers and ate it.

"This is the best part," she said slyly. "My mom never lets me do this at home."

"You can hang out with genocidal monsters and freak hybrids all day, but you can't eat cookie batter?" Sabin teased.

"Well, she's a lawyer. Monsters and freaks are expected, but she can't argue with salmonella."

He laughed. The full one that sounded like filtered sunbeams, lighting up the room. It was impossible not to mimic. She moved the spoon toward him.

"Want some?" He stared at the spoon for a moment. "Come on, it's not like we haven't swapped spit already."

Now the short, flustered laugh, always followed by a deep blush in the face. Pink, like normal, mixed with the silver shimmer of his Chaos Power energy. It was a satisfying bonus to teasing him. He was always so embarrassed whenever she brought up their kiss. It only happened the one time so far. She didn't press it, since admittedly she was a little shy about it herself, but she did her best to drop small hints and acknowledgments that yes, it did happen, and yes, she absolutely wouldn't mind if it happened again.

"You're never gonna let me forget that are you?" He said. He tried to start scrubbing at a bowl to distract himself.

"You didn't like it?"

It was enough for him to break his avoidance and look at her, if only for a second.  She could see the tinge of color on his cheeks through the shade of his dark, thick curls. His voice quieted to a near whisper.

"I-I didn't say that..."

"Then why would we wanna forget it?"

"You're killing me, Ria," he said with a shy smile. His hand moved to the back of his neck to scratch it, but he forgot it was soaked in soapy water. Ariana laughed loudly. "See? Look what you do to me, I'm a mess. This--This was your idea! I'm trying to focus."

"I didn't know you were so passionate about dishwashing," she teased.

Sabin took a large chunk off the spoon and hastily stuffed it in his mouth, like he didn't trust what he'd say or do with it otherwise. Ariana smiled to herself. She took it as a win. Thinking she tortured him enough, she hopped off the counter and pulled her sleeve down over her hand.

"C'mere." She used it to wipe the soap from his face.

Chaos Powers ran much hotter than humans. Being a hybrid, Sabin was only a little warmer than normal. It was unnoticeable without being this close. Sometimes she thought his mahogany skin had the tiniest glow to it, drawing her closer like the moon's pull on the waves. It finally settled in how close this was making them. Ariana's thumb gently stroked along his cheek. He stopped, and finally turned to look at her. A twitch of his mouth formed into a small, soft smile. One that was at ease. Enamored. His fingers carefully reached up to graze along her hand. Whatever bubble they were put under had them oblivious to why they snuck around at all. For a moment, this was a good idea. For a moment, it was impossible that it could be anything else.

And then the oven's timer went off. Its harsh sound broke something in the air. The bubble popped. They both remembered where they were, what reality waited for them. Most importantly, Sabin remembered. His eyes fluttered, like waking from a spell, and just as quickly as it left the far away panic she was so used to seeing in his eyes pooled back into its rightful place.

"That--That means it's done right?" He said quickly. He didn't wait for her to answer and was already at the oven.

There was a pang of disappointment in her chest, but Ariana didn't bother trying to bring it up again. It was only a few minutes, and already she grew so attached to a fearless Sabin. But this was their reality. The only reason she had Sabin in her life at all was because his fear helped him survive. Kept him one step ahead of the ever-watching Panacea, and their Seraphim soldiers waiting to bring him back into their clutches. Always their prized weapon, never her heart's true home.

They wouldn't have made it this far if she wasn't willing to wait. To fight. One day, that peaceful world would be theirs to keep. One day, they would never have to pick between safety and love again.

She would make sure of it.

[niftynifflerfics]

It Was All Worth It

Could the reader have a household like Sirius ( really bad ) and Teddy and her are dating she has a really bad nightmare and she wakes up and teddy comforts her and kisses her and could it be a bit angsty but justly fluffy and loads of kisses?

Warnings: Mentions of abuse (including parts where the reader and brother of the reader are abused) and language

Word count: 4,167

 Dinner was by far the worst meal of the day. The chatter from the dining room of poised voices and fake drawn out laughter was enough to make everything you'd managed to keep down with how tightly your dress was fitted stir in your stomach. The way you were expected to behave as if before this dinner you had been the same perfect pureblood girl - perhaps up in her room reading about something useless or spending quality time with mother dearest. The truth of the matter was that before this dinner you had been running outside barefoot in the rain with your younger brother. The two of you did this at least once a week to scope out the garden and to dig holes that would be big enough to escape this place. There was no way you could get out otherwise - you weren't permitted a broom, you hadn't learned how to apparate - you'd just have to tough it out like muggles.

 You'd found the perfect place - just outside the back of the house. The windows there would fog while Trixy (the family house elf) was cooking. You'd sneak out using a particularly tricky charm that left a perfect clone of you behind. She never grew suspicious.  She was too daft to ever think that you'd only been following her every order to find a way to sneak your brother out of here. If it wasn't going to be you, it had better be him.  He'd learned the hard way that in pureblood families, the act starts young. He's only ten and already expected to act like a proper man in front of the families greatest friend's daughter who he'd be expected to marry at sixteen with permission from both parents. He's been whipped raw and cursed until death sounds better than suffering. He's too young to be subjected to that kind of abuse, he didn't deserve a night in the cellar because he was caught making paper air planes, you were going to get out of here together and you were going to give him a proper childhood if it was the last thing you did.  A foot kicked your shin underneath the dinner table and you found yourself struggling not to jump. This had became a regular occurrence, if you weren't hanging off every single word that the family friends spoke, you'd be sent to the cellar. You put on a fake smile and sat up, straightening your back and allowing your hands to fall in to your lap. The corset underneath your dress was so tight that it hurt to do so, yet the look of disgust from your mother that was replaced just as quickly reminded you to try your best to understand she had been conditioned to act this way, just as you were.  Your brother at the end of the table seemed to be failing at concentrating too because he received a swift kick by your mother's heel and he failed to conceal his jump. She glared and then glanced around the table to see if anyone had noticed, luckily for his case no one had, but there was no doubt she'd at least have a good go at him before locking him in his room (that was as good as the punishments got). You exchanged a look when she had taken her attention off the guests to hail the house elf - the same shivering house elf who quivered with every harsh drawl that escaped your mother's mouth. She had a poisonous way of talking that almost made her sound as if she had a great big python for a voice box and Trixy was the only one strong enough to ignore her when she demanded she stopped shivering. Of course, Trixy turned to shut her ears in the still warm oven on her way to fetch desert, but at least she wasn't all dressed up to listen an old, rich man talk about the great Lord Voldemort who had in his day been at large for the one millionth time.  If you were honest, you weren't sure he was gone. The resemblance between him and your mother was striking.  Desert was brought and more talk of the good old days ensued. You were asked a few questions about Hogwarts but other than that neither you nor your brother spoke, instead staring down at expensive china and poking at food with pure silver silverware. You weren't supposed to eat too much, every time you went to eat your mother would shoot you another glare. Your brother however was encouraged to beef up and the very toxicity of life here reminded you of the tunnel you'd dug underneath the hedges. Tonight was the night - the tunnel was finally big enough. Not to mention the two of you had had enough.  You of course would need a diversion, which was provided by the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes fireworks that had been smuggled to you within school and hidden underneath a loose floorboard under your bed. It was lucky that you'd been starved and shamed enough to fit underneath it and your mother wasn't. You had great plans to follow in the footsteps of the shop's owner, setting off hundreds of fireworks at once that should be enough of a diversion to guarantee enough time to at least get your brother out.  Dinner ended at last when the sky turned from it's cheery blue to a pitch black where unaided by wand light, you wouldn't be able to see your hand in front of your face. It was the perfect condition to escape. As your mother stood, escorting the guests and the two of you followed you exchanged a look with your brother behind her back and shot him a wink. You could've sworn you'd seen him smile though it was a tiny curl of the ends of his lips. He feigned being tired after several pairs of arms wrapped around him and excused himself to his bedroom, but mother dearest wasn't allowing it. She sent you away once everyone had left and you felt every part of you ignite with anger. He'd had one slip up and she was going to punish him, you could hear her yelling all the way down the hall.  Little did she know she'd be screaming until her throat was raw after you escaped.  You found yourself speeding up as you reached the staircase leading to your room and ditching your heels at the bottom, you lifted the train of your black dress and sped up two steps at a time, the material swishing behind you. Doors flew past you until you reached your room and flung the door open. There wasn't time to waste as you slid underneath your bed until your waist hit the side of it and got stuck. Your fingers moved to reach the board and you swiped it aside, pulling a paper bag out from inside of it and drawing back just as fast. The bag was about the size of your torso, filled to the brim and bulging with fireworks. It was a miracle you'd managed to not only smuggle the thing into the house but keep it hidden for so long, but there was no time to appreciate it and rather, you sped down the spiral staircase two steps at a time, running to the entrance where the family friends had just left. You could still hear the cold laughter of their father as they walked down the end of the drive, but it was nothing over the cries of agony echoing through the cellar's wooden door. You winced, it was now or never. 'Oh mistress, oh... Oh young mistress,' Trixy had appeared out of the kitchen.  She looked as if she was about to faint and was tugging on the black satin train that swirled around your waist and ended a few inches behind you. 'Oh young mistress you must stop! You must go! Young mistress should be asleep. Oh Trixy has been a bad elf, very bad elf.'  You turned to Trixy who was still muttering under her breath about betrayal and her plans to use the meat tenderiser to smash up her hand. You winced and then suddenly an idea came to you. There wasn't much time to waste at all now, you had mere seconds before your brother would surely be driven to insanity, yet if you were going to free yourself and your brother, you should go all the way. You pulled the ribbon from your hair and the neat little braided crown began to fall apart. It wasn't clothes so to say, but it was close enough. You dropped the ribbon into Trixy's hand and she stared at it as if it was the worst thing she'd ever seen. She let out a guttural screech, dropping it to the ground. 'Dammit Trixy!' You cursed under your breath, leaning down to cover her mouth. 'Listen, you don't have any choice now but to go. You'll thank me later.'  The elf glared, muttering about traitors and ran off out the front door still mumbling under her breath. Thankfully, it seemed that your brother's screams were enough to drown out the sound of Trixy's scream. Now there was even less time than before. Another round of the cruciatus curse was unleashed on your brother as load groans and screams filled the hall again. You shut your eyes as tight as you could, tears pushing their ways through the gaps.  You emptied the bag and threw it aside, lighting every single firework at the same time and revelling in the way that great big bright red, blue, gold and green dragons rose from them, swirling around your head and lighting your face and the corridor in front of you as you rushed down it, hiding behind an old statue of your great-great grandfather. There was quickened footsteps and screeches of anger as your mother arose from the cellar a few feet away. She tried to make one of the fireworks disappear - which only made it multiply. You snickered, muffling it with your hand and rushed past her back, sticking to the wall as she moved into the dining room where six large dragons were circling the area like some kind of dance. There were sparks around her face, leaving a perfect shroud as you opened the door and started off in a run towards the cell hidden in the back of the cellar.  Your brother was looking more than just a little battered and bruised when you freed him. He tried to walk on his own but he couldn't and understanding the struggle, you lifted him off of the ground and encouraged him to get onto your back, then without any warning you set off at a run again, this time across the hall without throwing so much as a glance back to the dining room where the struggle was clearly still going on. You threw open the doors to the sound of a distressed Trixy's curses and insults, running towards the back of the house. You heard the doors slam behind you and cursed, she'd surely hear that.  When you'd reached the hedges, you set your brother down on the ground and placed your hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look at you. You were sure it wasn't a pretty sight to see, feet covered in mud and grime, mascara which was bewitched to stay on your face a mess where you'd been rubbing at it, hair falling back into it's usual messy state, dress torn where Trixy had been pulling on it and puffing in his face. You tried to catch your breath, noting how he didn't even seemed terrified but rather excited. 'Listen, I don't think I'll be able to come with you,' your brother's face fell and with a sob he shook his head. You stopped him before he could speak. 'I don't have time - you have to go. You have to promise me you'll go find our aunt. You remember where to find her right?'  He shook his head and you cursed, head falling for a moment with a heavy sigh. The booming, fizzling and crackling of fireworks and loud curse words coming from inside the manor made you feel as if you were in one of those muggle action movies. 'I expected that. I sent an owl earlier to ask a couple of people I really trust to come and get you. If someone comes up to you and claimed I sent them, ask them three questions. Ask them what your name is, ask them what house I'm in and ask them what happened tonight. If they're really who I sent they'll be able to answer it all without hesitation. If they can't then they're someone trying to get you back here - you can't let that happen.' You threw a glance over your shoulder and noticed that your mother had thrown the doors open and was searching manically around the garden. 'Now go, GO!' You whispered.  Your brother wrapped his arms around you and yet you didn't have time. You shook him off and he began to cry again. You couldn't help it, tears were welling up in your eyes too as you watched his feet disappear through the other side of the tunnel. You did your best to follow after him, mud staining the very scarce spots in the dress that weren't already ruined, but just as you were about to get out, just as your brother smiled at you and your friends stood there waving, capturing your brother in their arms, you were pulled back by a furious looking woman who didn't even wait to get you inside of the cellar to land a particularly painful cruciatus curse on you. You could hear sniffling over the other side of the hedge as you howled into the night. Every bone was breaking, every part of you was in pain until it was all gone and everything turned black.  Dread, dread sat in the pit of your stomach. The ground was freezing cold like you'd put your head on a block of ice. Your legs hurt, your knees ached and yet you'd be expected to fall to them again and again when you opened your eyes. Your wrists hurt and clanked as you moved them. Your ankles were heavy and heavier when you tried to stand. It was better to stay here, better to stay on the ground where it's cold and keep your eyes closed. It'd be better to be dead than to be here. You'd wished you were dead last night too, if you were dead she couldn't bring you back here again, she couldn't do this again. Better yet, you wished you'd spent less time talking and more time moving, maybe then you'd be wrapped in the arms of all of your friends and never have to see this dark and gloomy room again.  She appeared, glaring through the bars as if you were something disgusting stuck on the bottom of her shoe. 'Get up,' she snarled as if the words hurt her, though you were sure they gave her great pleasure to say.  You do your best to stand, shivering as you rise to your feet. She wouldn't like that. You straightened your back, knees aching as if they were being pulled out through your skin. Parts of your body were still bleeding though you couldn't even tell which parts were, it had all merged like creeks into a river. There was a loud clank as the ball on your ankle moved with each sway. 'Well? Do you want to stay in here?'  You'd done this enough times to know the drill and dropped to your knees, shuffling closer to the bars. She loved it, she always loved it. Even if she did move away like you were trying to grab at her. She glared at you as fresh tears left your eyes again. You didn't think it was even possible to keep crying after last night but the pain in your knees was back and weeping wasn't hard. She seemed satisfied for now, though she was pulling her wand from inside of her dress. You screwed your eyes closed, another broken sob escaping. She wasn't going to stop now. 'Crucio!' The words flung off her tongue like they were natural to her and you wouldn't doubt for a minute that they were.  There was no time to think about anything as a sudden splitting pain travelled from your toes to the top of your head. It felt as if each and every bone had been smashed bit by bit, your insides had been cut open and someone was digging around, you'd been hit over the head with a rock the size of a giant's tooth, arrows shot into several parts of your body, you'd fallen down the stairs at Hogwarts - there were thousands of ways to explain the pain but none came close to the scream that rippled out through your throat. It sounded as if you were being burnt at the stake - you'd much rather that than have to deal with this -, as if you'd transformed into a banshee and were just as hideous as one. By the way that awful woman was looking at you, you wouldn't be surprised if you were.  You tried to keep yourself calm. He was safe. He was okay. He was going to live a long happy life staying with your aunt and he was going to have a real childhood. He'd be at Hogwarts next year, he'd be sorted into Gryffindor no doubt - he was always the bravest boy you'd ever known. Or maybe Hufflepuff for his honesty and loyalty? He was going to make paper air planes, he was going to run around outside in the snow in winter, he was going to get an owl or maybe a cat? You knew he'd loved animals since he was little. Maybe he'd grow up to study care for magical creatures and he'd be the next professor there?  He was going to get his own wand from Ollivander's, he was going to go to the robe shop and get fitted - maybe he'd even score an ice cream on his way back. He was going to get to see the great hall with it's shining bewitched sky of stars, he was going to get to learn which steps to step over and which steps to trust, he'd get permission from your aunt to go to Hogsmede in third year and lose his mind over the sweets in Honeyduke's, he'd make friends and go for butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, he'd sit exams in fifth year, he'd work on his N.E.W.Ts and if he didn't you would scold him when you eventually end up escaping yourself. He'd get career advice, he'd get a job he would love and he would never think about you again, he wouldn't be sad that you were stuck here, he'd move on and he'd have a bright and happy life and when you escaped, you'd find him again with his wife and two children and he wouldn't have married that pureblood girl. He would find himself a girl from Hufflepuff no doubt with a bright smile and shining eyes who let him have fun and live the childhood he missed. He'd raise his kids to know never to treat anyone like they're less than you, he wouldn't lay a single hand on his wife or his children - he was good at heart and he was bound to live a bright and happy life, even if you didn't.  She spat the curse again, and again, and again until everything swam inside of your head. Piercing, hot, pain travelled through every last tiny inch of your body until suddenly you blacked out - or rather you woke up. The screaming didn't end, even after you opened your eyes. You moved your hands to grab at your aching head but before they could reach it, two hands took a hold of yours and moved them. 'Hey, hey baby it's okay, hey shh,' Teddy waited, unsure of if he should touch you and comfort you or stay away. He opted for holding your hands so you wouldn't start scratching your skin off like you'd tried to last time. 'You're alright, you're here. Look at me. Please baby, look at me.'  The voice was familiar, warm and comforting but you could still feel the pain in your knees, you could still feel the sting. Hands moved to the side of your face and lifted it. Your eyes met Teddy's, pooling with concern and fear as he searched your face and pained filled eyes. He didn't want you to see it, he was supposed to be strong and help pull you out of this, but tears welled in the corners of his eyes. You were too good to go through something like you had to. You are too amazing of a person to go through that.  You let your brother escape rather than save yourself and endured years of torture for it.  Your screams were dying down and you did your best to catch your breath, holding on to Teddy as if he were your lifeline and trying to copy his breathing as he urged you to slow it down with him. You were still crying, imagery of your awful bitch of a mother kept haunting you every time you closed your eyes. The pain of her curses and the heaviness of the chains never left you, no matter how hard you tried to forget about it, no matter how many shots of fire whiskey you downed to drown them. If you hadn't have let your brother escape, maybe it wouldn't have ever happened to you, but you weren't the perfect prissy pureblood, you weren't bigoted and you refused to allow the disgusting supremacist to control you or your brother and she hated that.  Teddy's arms around you helped pull you back to earth, back to your shared bedroom and the moonlight flitting through your curtains. It was a hot summer's night and the window had been left open to allow a stream of cool air in from outside. The sheets were half wrapped around your torso and half off of the bed. Half of the thick top blanket was thrown over your legs from where Teddy had rushed to sit up with you and it's this that warms your heart. 'Y-you don't h-have to get up for me.' 'Don't be stupid,' Teddy pressed a kiss to the top of your head, burying his nose into your hair. 'Of course I do. Do you want to talk about it?’ 'There's nothing to talk about, it's the same one as last time.'  Teddy heaved a heavy sigh. You'd been waking up in the middle of the night without failure for a week now. He wanted to do something to help you but nothing was working, all he could really do for you was hold you, so that's what he did. He let you snuggle further and further into his chest, wrapping your arms back around him as he fell into the crook of your neck. He would stay with you like that for as long as you needed, even if that meant he'd miss work in a few hours. He hated this, he was going to kill that woman. 'He - He's alright, right?'  Teddy nodded. 'He's probably asleep right now.' 'Are you sure?'  You were still shivering and Teddy breathed in a shaky breath. He nodded again. 'If you're really worried I can send him an owl or floo to his place to check?' 'No, no it's okay let him sleep I just...' 'I know, it's okay.'  Teddy placed a kiss on your temple, nuzzling your nose with his. He watched as your lips curled upward and continued peppering kisses to your cheeks and forehead until you were giggling and trying to push his face away. He wasn't having it, still planting kisses which were now very sloppy. He blew a raspberry at one point on your cheek that left you snickering so loud that he couldn't continue, a smile brighter than the sun crossing his face. He sighed, finally settling for burying his nose in the crook of your neck for the thousandth time.  You listened to his heartbeat and found yourself at peace. Teddy always had a way of making you feel as if everything was okay. If it wasn't for him, your brother would've been lost and alone on the street. If it wasn't for him, you'd still be there. You smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek and pushing your hands through the hairs at the nape of his neck.  It was all worth it.

[omnitf]

Feast of Fools

This is a commission I wrote for a person on Furaffinity.net by the name of Vaughnblondetail. It’s the tale of a homeless person who’s given a chance at living a normal life again, at least for a day. But as many people already know, these sorts of things always come with a price.

Timothy sighed as he soaked in the warmth of one of the fanciest showers he’d ever seen in his life. The jets shot from every angle, ensuring total coverage as the water flowed down his body from either side, and from above. The shampoo smelled of a mixture of lavender and melon, giving sweet, flowery scent to replace the stink weeks of grease had given his unwashed hair. The body wash felt even better with its mixture of herb and essential oils to soften his skin as he used the loofa provided to scrub off the dirt, grime, and dead skin he’d accumulated over his time on the streets. The rack even came with a back scrubber to reach the parts of his body he couldn’t reach normally. When his body was clean, he was loathe to leave the comforting stream. It had been so long since he’d been afforded this sort of luxury. But, sadly, all good things must come to an end, and he knew that his benefactor was waiting.

In an effort that seemed almost to cause him physical pain, Timothy reached over to the control pad, and tapped the buttons that would shut off the water pressure. The steam lingered with the refreshing scents of the wash he’d just had, combined with the scents of an automatic air freshening device and scented candles that seemed to shift the scents every five minutes. What kind of technology must this man have purchased to be able to manage such a feat? Tim sighed again as the scent shifted to that familiar blend of sugar, cinnamon, and spice one only smelled when fresh snickerdoodles were coming out of the oven. His mouth began to water, and his stomach growled as he reached for the body towel.

After the cold, rough nights spent in his little hovel in the back alley (or a park bench, if he was lucky), the towel felt like a down comforter. It smelled of wildflowers and honey, calling back memories of his childhood when his mother used to towel him off after a warm bath. He smiled, even as he felt a tear streaming down his cheek. If she could only see him now. She’d hardly recognize him. He hardly recognized himself as he wiped the fog off the bathroom mirror.

Long, shoulder-length blond hair clung to him like sea-kelp. His beard had grown thick, and bushy, obscuring the man beneath in a mat of dripping hair. His vivid green eyes had been subdued by the bloodshot red that came from lack of sleep and proper nourishment. Even to his own eyes, he looked like a tramp.

“Not anymore,” he whispered to himself as he reached for the scissors and electric razor the staff had provided while he’d been in the shower. His hands trembled as he slid his fingers through the loops of the scissors and brought them to the edge of his wet beard. For the first time in months, he would have a proper shave.

When he’d finished, at last, he looked on his handiwork from the mirror. His hair had begun to dry, so he quickly took the thick silver brush, and rushed to get his hair properly taken care of, before it had the chance to harden into painful snarls. When the work was complete, his hair shone in the fluorescent lights, and seemed almost to dance, as though it were happy. Tim chuckled. After all this fine treatment, how could he be anything else?

He looked down at the brush and couldn’t help but admire its craftsmanship. The handle had been crafted out of the finest silver and brass that flowed upwards around the bristles of the brush. He casually fingered the rough bristles and smiled at the familiar sound of hairs snapping like playing cards in a bridge shuffle. A boar’s head had been painstakingly etched into the metal. Tim ran a gentle finger over the carving, marveling at the time and money it must have taken to achieve something like this. It was a real piece of art.

Almost reluctantly, he put the brush down, and gazed at himself in the mirror. His once-trim figure had now turned gaunt. The bones of his ribcage had begun to show, and his arms, once strong and determined, had grown thin and frail. He leaned heavily on the rose-colored marble as he stared at himself and shook his head. This was a mockery. One night, he’d been promised. One night to have a home, a place to stay, to clean up, to eat real food again, to rest. Just one night. Then he’d have to return to the streets and the harshness of a reality that didn’t care how hard he tried to provide for himself.

“Sir.”

Timothy was jarred from his self-pity as the smooth voice of his benefactor’s butler carried through the intercom.

“If you are ready, Sir, the hair stylist is waiting. I’ve placed a set of clothing for you on the bed. After that, will come your fitting, and then the dinner.”

Timothy sighed and made his way to the bathroom’s door. He pulled it open and stared up at the butler’s protruding brow and thick jaw. His silver-fringed black hair had been carefully parted to the side. His gloves looked closer to baseball mitts, and his back and shoulders remained hunched, whether in an effort to look less imposing or simply out of habit, Timothy couldn’t tell.

“Thank you,” Timothy said as he inched his way towards the bed.

“Any time, Master Timothy,” the butler rumbled. “Master Collin was most insistent that you receive every courtesy. And considering your–” he cleared his throat “–unique background, I can understand why.” In a move that was very un-butlerlike, he rested one of his heavy gloved hands on Timothy’s shoulder and gave a kindly smile. “I was there once, myself. You’ll find your way. Most of the master’s guests do, one way or the other.”

“Um . . . thanks, I guess.” Timothy blushed as he broke contact and made his way towards the bed. The gesture had been nice, but rather awkward.

“You needn’t worry about the bathroom. The staff can take care of that.”

“Um, okay, Mister. . ..”

“Simian, Sir. Just Simian.”

“Well, thanks again, Simian.” Timothy smiled weakly. “It’s nice to hear things aren’t completely hopeless. And hey, who knows, with this new haircut, maybe I’ll actually stand a chance of getting a job again.”

Simian smiled. “That’s the spirit. Now off with you, Master Timothy. Your appointment is waiting.”

Timothy smiled more sincerely this time as he made his way towards the door. “Thanks again, Simian.” He waved at the butler, then shut the door behind him.

Simian frowned as he furrowed his brow, and the creases became more pronounced on his forehead. “Odd. He doesn’t act much like a pig. Could something have gone wrong with Master Collin’s scrying?” He shook his massive head. “Preposterous,” he rumbled as he shuffled towards the bathroom, and picked up the brush Timothy had used. It glowed a light blue, and sparked against his gloves, causing them to singe. Simian frowned and bore his teeth in a snarl.

“Now, now, none of that,” he growled as he waved his hand over one of the side drawers. The handle glowed briefly, then returned to normal. He pulled it open to reveal a plethora of brushes, all neatly laid with bristles down and handles up. Horses, dogs, wolves, cats, lions, the collection seemed nearly endless, and even as Simian returned the brush, and strapped it in place, he looked into the space within, and smiled as the drawer continued to stretch far beyond the confines of the counterspace, revealing brush upon brush, each with its own animal carvings. He chuckled to himself. “That never gets old, no matter how many times I see it. I really do have to see about brushing up on spacial distortion some time. It could prove quite useful,” he muttered to himself as he slowly shut the drawer again and waved his hand over the handle. When he pulled the drawer out again, a series of ordinary bathroom supplies cluttered a finite space. He nodded in satisfaction as he shut the drawer, then brought his hand up to view the burns properly. He tutted in frustration at the damage as he saw through the white material to the thick black hide beneath.

“I really do need to speak with Master Collin about those artifacts. Honestly, it’s almost as if he’s testing my resistance.” Simian snorted in disgust as he checked himself in the mirror. He shoved his jaw outwards to get a better view of his sharper canines and flared his nostrils in frustration, then sighed in relief as the scents in the bathroom shifted to the familiar smell of a wet forest just after a storm and tropical fruits just waiting to be picked. His stomach growled as he looked up at his rapidly thickening five o’clock shadow and bushier sideburns.

“The audacity of it all,” he said as his brow ridge extended to form a permanent scowl. He walked over to a large double-door slatted closet and pulled it open as he squatted down on his thick legs. Instead of the usual monogrammed towels that he had been expecting, a bright golden light shone in his eyes. When the light faded, he beheld a cornucopia of bright yellow banana clusters. His mouth watered, and he smiled as he reached in to pluck one of the delicious fruits, while he leaned forward on his fist for support. “Then again, Master does reward rather well, when I succeed.” He expertly peeled the banana, and immediately began to chew contentedly as he felt his collar expand with his neck. He sighed in pleasure as the suit merged into his swelling frame to become shining black fur with a single patch of silver on his back. “I must remember to thank him later,” he said as he pulled out the bushels, took his seat on the heated tiles, and began his meal in earnest, peeling with his large gorilla feet as he feasted on the fruit with his hands.

              The soft lull of the string quartet music filtering through the doors did little to alleviate the sudden discomfort in Timothy’s stomach as he stood before the dining hall’s entrance. His bow tie had been carefully selected, along with every other article of clothing, including the cuff links and button hole. Mister Collin had spared no expense. His hair had been carefully cut to a respectable length, then parted down the middle in homage to the older styles of the Victorian era, before solidifying into place with the assistance of gel, pomade, and more than a little hair spray. He doubted even a steam roller could shift so much as a hair out of place. He gulped again. His throat felt dry. How could he stand here, in this place, to dine with all these men? Surely, Mister Collin’s friends were all just as rich and influential. If he’d known this was going to be a party, he might not have come at all. He nearly bolted when he felt a light hand resting on his shoulder.

           “Feeling a little skittish, are we?” Mister Collin smiled kindly as he squeezed Timothy on the shoulder. He leaned casually on a gold-tipped cane, and chuckled as he ran a hand through his silver hair. His ice-blue eyes were filled with warmth, and just a hint of mischief as he chuckled, then clapped Timothy on the arm. For a man so far in his years, he was surprisingly vivacious, and the implacable hand of age had yet to pluck the fit build his muscles had offered him in his youth. His olive-green suit matched his skin tone quite well as it emphasized his frame without being too tight. “Relax, my boy. Nobody is here to judge you. Far from it, in fact. It’s just a little dinner, and some entertainment afterwards. Who knows. Perhaps you could make some connections here that will help you find the employment you seek?”

           “I don’t know,” Timothy said nervously.

“Trust me, my boy. By the end of this night, I guarantee you’ll be happy as a pig in the mud.”

“You’re sure?” Timothy said as he fiddled with the crystal boar links he’d been given. “And, if you don’t mind my asking, what’s with the whole boar theme? I keep seeing it all over the place.”

Mister Collin chuckled. “Let’s just say it has to do with a bet I made.”

“A bet, huh? This isn’t going to be some kind of joke at my expense, is it?”

“No, no, nothing of the kind,” Mister Collin promised. “My friends and I do this at least once a year. We just like to keep it hush hush.”

“And what happens after?”

“That’s up to you and the others to decide. I’ll leave you with enough to get up on your feet again, if that’s what you wish. Perhaps a recommendation to assist you. My friends and I have a great deal of pull in certain circles.”

“You’re not talking illegal stuff, I hope.”

Mister Collin laughed. “Certainly not, my boy. No need to be so underhanded to get what you want, when you have the American dream. I just happened to achieve the dream a little differently than most.”

“Why does that make me feel less assured?”

“Because I’m a mysterious man who plucked you up off the streets, and nobody acts that way anymore without an angle?”

“Yeah, I’d say that about sums it up,” Timothy said as the two maintained eye contact for several seconds. Then they both burst into a fit of laughter.

“Come along, now. Your dinner awaits.”

The doors swung open slowly to reveal a long oak table that had been expertly varnished and polished to a shine. The carvings depicted various scenes and creatures from nature, including lush forests and vines, thick claws clutching at the legs, lions roaring, and many more. A series of etched grooves came together in the center of the table’s surface to create what looked to be some sort of a star reaching outwards with its flares to touch the edges of the table with vines that blossomed from them.

The table had been occupied by twelve other men of varying ages and builds. Some were completely bald, and covered in tattoos. Others had been carefully preened to give a lofty appearance, including the dirty looks they often gave towards their neighbors. One couple appeared to be college students, though the way they gazed so hatefully towards Mister Collin and the other men standing in the room, one would think they wanted to bite their benefactors’ heads off, rather than thank them.

“Ah, Collin. It’s about time you showed up.” A taller man with black-and-white streaks in his hair smiled, drawing his tight skin up his egg-shaped face. “We were worried we’d have to start without you, you know.”

“Cedric, you know that’s not very fair. As I recall, last year, you made us wait a good two or three hours.”

Cedric blushed, then raised a gloved hand to clear his throat. “Be that as it may, we’re all here now, so I suppose we should begin, shouldn’t we?”

“Do, lets,” Collin said with just a hint of a smirk. “Gentlemen, let’s take our seats. Timothy, you’ll find your chair waiting for you over there, next to . . . my goodness. Is that one of the Jameson boys?”

Cedric shrugged. “He embezzled from his family and got caught. He’s dead to them now. You know how it goes.”

Collin shook his head. “Such a shame. Such a shame.” He sighed as he led Timothy over to the chair. The dark-haired Jameson remained staunchly silent as he stared ahead, not even deigning to acknowledge Timothy’s presence. His hand clenched tightly around the fabric of his pant leg, and his jaw showed clear evidence of gritting teeth as the muscles near his cheek bones strained.

“Pay him no mind, Timothy. You’re my guest. If he has objections he will have to take it up with me, and with his host.”

Jameson’s arm began to tremble as he struggled to control some clearly evident rage. Timothy took his seat hesitantly and did his best to avoid eye contact.

The remainder of the men took their seats, and Mister Collin took the gilded chair at the head of the table. “Gentlemen, welcome to our little gathering. Each of you was chosen for a particular reason to join us this evening. The events that led to your circumstances vary, but the result is the same. It is our hope that, as our guests, you will enjoy this meal we’ve had prepared in your honor, and that you will find yourselves significantly heartened by the end of this evening’s activities. We’re not ones to stand on ceremony, so, please, feel free to begin. If you have need of anything, you need but ask the servants. They’ll gladly assist you in any way they can. Bon appétit, gentlemen.”

In a flurry of motion, decanters were poured, bottles emptied, trays and platters left open on the table, and so much more. The alluring scent of rich food caused all thirteen guests’ stomachs to growl in anticipation. Steak, pork, beans, chicken, fried foods, gravy, sausage, bacon, salad, Asian, Italian, Mediterranean, and so much more. How the table managed to hold it all, Timothy couldn’t understand, but it did, and he couldn’t wait to try it.

Some of the men managed to show proper restraint, exercising manners as they reached to serve themselves, before offering to pass to the others. Unfortunately, some of the men weren’t so kind. Grease and juices clung to their hands as they reached, and grabbed what they could, and stared suspiciously at their fellows as they hovered protectively over their plates. A veritable mountain had begun to form on more than one as the men tore into their meals, and let their appetites do the talking.

Jameson shook his head, and took a casual sip from his wine glass. “Shameful,” he muttered to himself as he lowered the glass, and picked up the corresponding fork and knife, before cutting into his filet mignon.

Timothy blushed as he took his own first bite, and did his best to avoid eye contact. The fried chicken was surprisingly good, and the barbeque even more so. He winced as he watched further down the table, where several grease and sauce stains had already begun to spatter the men’s shirts and suits. How could they do that when their hosts had gone through such trouble just to tailor the suits for them in the first place? He continued to use his fork and knife, being careful to avoid dripping.

“Well, at least you have some class,” Jameson grumbled as he reached for a dinner roll. The bread was warm, and flaky, almost falling apart in the man’s hands as steam rose from its interior. He slathered them artfully with soft butter and took a small bite. A heavy sigh left him as he closed his eyes in pleasure.

“My family taught me how to eat.” Timothy shrugged. “I may not be upper class, but good manners are universal,” he said as he polished off his fifth drum stick and started into the mashed potatoes and gravy.

“So you would think,” Jameson said with a smirk as he chewed further on his steak. “But I think they are inclined to disagree.”

Timothy gaped. “Did that man just take–?”

“A whole hock of ham? Yes, yes he did.”

“Hey, you, rich boy!” the bald one with the tattoos barked over the table, even as he continued to chew. “Toss me some rolls!”

“Honestly,” Jameson growled as he picked up the basket and passed it across the way. It was snatched faster than Jameson had time to react. In a matter of moments, half the rolls were gone, and the men were biting into them like apples, chewing and laughing as they guzzled their drinks to wash the food down.

“Barbarians,” Jameson scoffed as he finished his glass. He raised it and motioned for one of the servants to refill it. “And leave the bottle here. I think it’s going to be a long night, and I’m not sure I have the constitution to face it without a little assistance.”

The servant nodded and relinquished the wine.

Timothy did his best to keep on Jameson’s good side, though it wasn’t that hard as the dinner progressed. Soon one bottle turned to two, then three, then five. Jameson’s cheeks were thoroughly flushed as he drained his glass. “Aw, to hell with it,” he snarled at last, “give me those ribs.” A half rack was promptly dropped onto his plate, and he dug in with gusto, gnawing at the bones as he got every piece of meat he could, while the sauce slathered his face and hands. A collective cheer rose up from farther down the table, followed by a rally of belches and laughter.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, rich boy.” The bald man from earlier chuckled as he downed another glass. “How’s it feel to eat like the rest of us, hmm?”

Jameson didn’t seem to hear him. He continued to scarf at his food, reaching for whatever he could serve, and consuming more, downing another few gulps of wine or sherry as the mood took him. A rather loud series of pops ripped through the air, followed immediately by crude laughter. It would seem some of the men had gas, and they didn’t care who knew it.

Timothy shifted his legs uncomfortably. His suit felt strangely constrictive as he took another bite, this time from an egg roll dipped in orange sauce and stuffed with a piece of orange chicken he’d taken from his plate. Everything tasted so delicious, yet he still felt like he could eat more. His stomach growled, even as he fed it. How was this possible? He stared down the table. The others had been stained and smeared almost beyond recognition. Buttons had been undone, ties torn away or hanging loosely on their chests as their mouths bulged with food. All the grease and sauces had left a dark, sticky stain on their fingers and nails, even as servants removed the old plates and replaced them, so the men could keep eating. He winced as he rubbed his sore jaw. He’d been eating so fast, he hadn’t given it time to rest. Everything felt so swollen. He took a moment to sit back and get his second wind.

Another titanic belch sounded, this time from right next to him. Timothy gaped as he turned to Jameson. In the few moments he’d turned away, the man had undone his tie and the first couple of buttons on his dress shirt. A loud tear sounded as he spread his legs as wide as he could manage and leaned closer to his plate, using his elbows and upper arms for support. “When in Rome,” he grunted in response to Timothy’s stare, and then returned to his plate. His bare legs were exposed beneath the torn material of the suit, and he didn’t even seem to care as a bassoon sounded from beneath his chair.

Timothy blushed and did his best to avoid eye contact, even as he felt his own gut rumbling for release.

“Thanks, sweet cakes. Why don’t you stay a little longer? We could have some fun,” the bald man said as he leered at the waitress refilling his glass. Rather than act offended, she giggled.

“Maybe later,” she said as she caressed his beard stubble. “I like my men thick and meaty.” The man’s nostrils flared as he took a deep breath of what Timothy could only assume was perfume. His eyes rolled in the back of his head, and he panted as the buttons on his suit coat burst, spraying the table with plastic. His throat bobbed, like he was trying to swallow something, but all Timothy could make out was some sort of grunting. Was he trying to clear his throat?

“Muriel,” Cedric said warningly, “this is neither the time nor the place.”

The girl sighed. “Yes, Sir,” she said sadly as she made her way back towards the kitchen.

Timothy coughed. Come to think of it, his throat was feeling rather dry. Maybe it was all the alcohol. He waved one of the serving folk over. “Could I maybe get some water, please?” he rasped. Things really must have been getting bad for him to have that much difficulty. He could swear his voice nearly cracked.

“Of course, Sir,” the servant said obligingly. He soon returned with a crystal pitcher and poured the liquid into a new glass. “Will that be all, Sir?”

“Y-yes. For now. Thank you,” Timothy said. Then he started to cough, and quickly downed several gulps of the life-giving substance. Cool relief flooded his throat, and he sighed contentedly as he did his best to clear it of any obstruction.

“I say, Timothy, are you doing all right?” Mister Collin asked. It was the first time that evening anyone from the head of the table had spoken to him.

“Fine,” Timothy managed to say. Just . . . a little dry,” he grunted as he took a few more gulps. Was he coming down with a cold?

“I recommend you try the chow mein next. The pork is excellently cooked, and the sauce is positively addicting.”

Timothy’s stomach rumbled, even as the suit seemed to cut into his waist. But how could that be? It fit just fine when the tailor had taken his measurements before. He struggled to keep his focus on Mister Collin, rather than the food, even as he tried to keep his rumbling gut from expelling the gas that doubtless waited for release. “Um . . . Mister Collin.”

“Yes?”

“Something feels . . . off. I . . . I think I must’ve eaten at least five or six plates by now, but I still feel hungry. It’s like I haven’t eaten anything. And . . . and the suit you gave me. It’s–.”

“Perfectly understandable for you to eat so much. You’ve been malnourished for far too long. Your body is simply replenishing lost nutrition. As for the suit itself, of course you can keep it. That is what you were going to ask, wasn’t it, my boy?”

Timothy felt so hot. It was hard to think, especially as the churning increased. Was that what he wanted to ask? Everything felt so dizzy.

“Eat, boy. Eat. Put some meat on those bones,” Mister Collins insisted.

Timothy couldn’t breathe. He clawed at his collar and the black silk bow tie came free, followed by the first button. Cool air washed over his neck and chest as he breathed deeply, filling his nose with the delectable scent of the feast. A heaping helping of pork chow mein now sat on his plate. He couldn’t quite recall serving it, though. Had one of the servants done it while he was adjusting?

Eat.

His stomach growled.

Eat.

His mouth watered.

Eat.

His throat bobbed as he gulped. He was so hungry.

“You gonna eat that?” Jameson’s cheeks bulged with food to the point they seemed almost to hang like jowls. His dark eyes stared greedily at the mixture of vegetables, shredded pork, and fried noodles on top. His lips smacked together as he chewed and swallowed whatever swill of wine and food he’d been nursing in his mouth. His ruby-studded cuff links remained surprisingly untouched by the filth he’d brought onto himself, their boar eyes reflecting the candlelight and flashing into their eyes.

“I . . . I, uh . . ..”

That strange sound came again, this time from Jameson as he cleared his own throat. “Damn itching,” he growled as he reached towards Timothy’s plate. Makin’ me–” a mixture of a snort and a grunt eeked out from his throat as he closed in on his prize “–sound all funny.”

Everything seemed to spin for a moment as Timothy lost track of the room. The next thing he knew, he tasted pork and salt, and felt the familiar crunch of fried noodles in his mouth. He shuddered as he felt a warm, moist sensation surrounding his mouth and dripping down his chin. He swallowed and stuck out his tongue to taste it. As he suspected, his face was now covered in chow mein sauce. But when had he gone for it like that?

Jameson scowled. “Fine,” he grunted as he took a handful of wings and ribs and began to lay into them. His lower canines flashed as he continued to eat, and he soon grinned as he was lost in the euphoria of stuffing his face again.

The bald man pointed to some corn on the cob and grunted, not even deigning to ask as one of the other men reached over and smacked the platter down in front. The man immediately grabbed the cobs and stood up, pushing his chair back, before he dove in face-first and started chomping the corn cob like a typewriter does paper, one row at a time. Flecks of the corn clung to his bristles as he continued to grunt and eat. His shirt sleeves now flowed down onto the table, and his chest was bare to the world as he continued to feast. The others soon followed his example, leaning on the table as their rears strained against the seats of their pants with the occasional fart mixed with their snorts as they scarfed their food.

Jameson laughed as he licked his lips. His stubble had grown significantly, spreading down his neck and over his face as he relished in his slovenly behavior. He let out another belch, and as he did, his pants burst against his thickening thighs, revealing the silk underwear he’d been given and a significantly heavy bulge that lay beneath.

Timothy blinked owlishly at the other diners. They all seemed to be stripping, their clothing tearing like so much tissue paper on Christmas day. A pleasant tingle ran through his ears, hands, feet, and crotch as he watched.

Eat.

He didn’t even know what he was chewing on. He just had to eat. Every time he finished, more food was shoveled on top.

Grow.

He was hardly aware as the button on his pants burst off, and his belt buckle slammed against the underside of the table. He had to eat. The more he shoveled down, the hungrier he became. It was like all the food was being taken, even as it dropped down his throat. He snorted, then coughed as he drank too much and felt it rush up his nostrils. That didn’t stop him, though. He just exhaled violently through his nose and kept right on eating.

Swell.

Timothy grunted as he felt the tingling intensify below. He groaned in pleasure, and couldn’t help but stand as his glutes twitched. Something heavy and warm expanded between his legs, amplifying the sensation as he bowed the limbs to accommodate it.

Release.

Without a second thought, Timothy relaxed his bowels. The sudden expulsion of gas was nigh-on explosive, detonating like a firecracker. He blushed at the others’ reactions as laughter filled the room, and the men continued to point, eat, and spray their food and drink over the table.

Eat.

Expand.

Feed.

Feast.

In a matter of seconds, Timothy found himself buried in his food again as his stomach roared, and his senses cried out for more. The seat of his pants had constricted, causing greater discomfort, but he was too lost in the need to eat to care. The euphoria was too intoxicating.

Eventually, the big fellow with the tattoos interrupted again, and pointed with darkened fingers, even as he lifted a leg to release another spurt of gas, then scratch his crotch with his other hand. “Hey, everybody, look at Richie over there!”

Jameson’s eyes had become unfocused, his face painted in a cocktail of barbeque sauce, hot sauce, gravy, and all manner of substances both liquid and semi-solid. One of the servants had replaced his wineglass with a bowl that he sloshed his face in from time to time to drink, before returning to his meal. He continually grunted, clearing his throat as his Adam’s apple bobbed between swallows. His beard had consumed his face, and his hair had grown disheveled as he slopped through who knew which serving. His nose was so heavily caked with mashed potatoes and other starchy products, it looked more like a snout, even twitching as he flared his nostrils from within. His lower lip bulged, and two tiny points were visible from time to time as he smacked and chewed his food as noisily as possible. He didn’t seem to care about what he looked like anymore, or even if anyone was staring, for that matter.

“Food,” he grunted between. “Feed me.” The server obliged, shoveling a thick helping of beef stroganoff onto the man’s plate.

Timothy furrowed his brows in confusion as he looked more closely at Jameson. His body looked . . . thicker somehow. Tiny bristles glinted in the light from his legs and torso. As he squinted his eyes to take a closer look, he noticed the cuff links on Jameson’s wrists. With each movement, something caught in the light, almost like a sort of spider web.

Must eat.

The instinct was so strong. Timothy wanted to return to his own feasting, but he had to figure out what that was. Something didn’t seem right. He pulled his thoughts from the mire of his tenth helping of mashed potatoes and fried chicken to watch Jameson. A few moments later, he managed to hone in on the glint. It looked . . . yes, it was, a golden thread. It stretched from the cuff links, joining the two together, and then stretching up to his nose. Occasional spurts of the stuff would glint from Jameson’s food and drink, almost like they were discharging it. Just what was he seeing, some sort of gluttony-induced hallucination? He turned to look at the others. Each of them had their own threads, some reaching to their mouths, some stretching over the edge of the table, and down beneath. One man’s hands were completely encased in them. Just what was going on here?

“Sir, might I interest you in some mud pie?”

Must consume.

Timothy turned, and the room seemed to spin as he did so. His throat bobbed naturally now, scratching itself as he let out a confused grunt.

“Pie, Sir. Would you care for some?”

The scent of chocolate, cream, and bananas assaulted Timothy’s nose as the server brought it closer. The golden threads writhed from its perfect, glinting surface, as if to entice him. His mouth watered.

“I . . . I–.”

EAT!

The threads snapped, latching to his cufflinks, his nostrils, his mouth. His tongue felt so thick, so heavy. It wanted more. He could practically taste the graham cracker crust, the caramelized bananas, the rich, creamy chocolate. There wasn’t room in his mouth anymore. He had to let it out. And then, he did taste it as the pie was pushed against his tongue, his mouth, his face covered in cool chocolate filling. Everything was chocolate. Everything sugar, and filling, and food. So much food. So good.

He snorted through the chocolate filling, till he reached the bottom, and inhaled the smell as he scraped against the crust, licking, chewing, crushing, until he could gain proper purchase to lever it up with his thicker, longer tongue, and into his mouth. He felt a slight tug on his jaw and grunted in appreciation as the leverage grew easier. He adjusted his mouth to dig his canines under the crust, breaking it up, so he could shovel it in.

More.

“More. More. MOR–” the demand was broken off by a sort of a hiccupping sound that carried for the next few seconds. Timothy looked up, resting his cheeks in the crater he’d formed in the pie tin to see Jameson scrabbling at the table with his hands. His fingers had been stuck together by the combined sugary substances he’d been consuming practically non-stop, and he fumbled ineptly with the trays and saucers as he struggled to get more of the delicacies. The threads had wrapped over his arms and hands now, and were starting to thicken along his torso and legs as they inched their way along. Jameson reiterated the sound over and over again as he ate, sustaining it longer and longer each time between snorts and grunts. His swollen nose twitched as he guzzled his plates for all they were worth, even going so far as to lick them, before the servants came with new additions.

Grunt.

Squeal.

The noise was soon reiterated across the table as the other men joined in. The threads throbbed around their throats, thrusting up and down, forcing the grunts out, until they left, and the bobbing continued on its own. The threads reached up to the eyes and dipped through the tear layers. Then they pulsed like pumps as the color slowly drained away, darkening, shifting to the point where one could hardly tell the difference between the rich dark brown of the iris and the black of the pupil. As the tendrils withdrew, the grunting intensified, and the hiccups turned into squeals.

Next came the ears as the threads reached up, latching onto the cartilage, and pulling it, stretching it to flop down over their ear canals. Timothy watched as they rose and surged into the men’s newly-shaped ears, pulsing and throbbing as the men ate. Their fingers slowly shifted into lumps as their eyes glowed and the grunting increased.

Let go.

Forget.

Timothy watched all of this, and his heart began to race. Something was wrong. He pushed himself away from the table, but as he tried to stand, he felt off balance, top heavy. He felt a set of hands brace him, and turned to look at his server.

“Easy, Sir. You’ll fall, if you aren’t careful,” he said. His nostrils flared, and his uniform strained against his muscles. Two nubs pressed out from his forehead and slowly expanded as he shifted along the floor. The clip-clopping cadence of heavy hooves met Timothy’s ears, and his eyes widened in fear as he watched the servant grow all the taller. Cool, hard hoof-tips pressed into Timothy’s soft flesh as the man’s vascular arms lifted him towards the table again. A powerful animal scent cut through the aroma of the food, dispelling the fog.

Timothy tried to scream, only for a loud squeal to leave his throat. He thrashed and struggled, but to no avail as the glamour faded from his server to reveal a giant black-furred minotaur. He looked down to see, not the stains of food, but three massive fingers with black tips slowly drawing together. He crossed his eyes to see the much longer bridge of his nose as he snuffled and snorted. The tips of a pair of tusks were slowly growing more prominent, and that filled him with adrenaline as he squirmed in his captor’s grip.

The minotaur turned to the head of the table. “My apologies, Masters. I’m afraid this one became aware, before the binding could complete itself.”

The twelve laughed as they pointed to Mister Collin.

“Looks like you were a little sloppy there, Collin,” Cedric gloated. “Mine’s already nearly finished.” He patted his stomach contentedly as he looked down the table to where Jameson, or rather, the hog that had once been Jameson, blinked sleepily. The tendrils pulsed around his form, squeezing, teasing, shaping as the pig expanded to prize-winning proportions. “Ah. There it is.” Cedric chuckled darkly as the tendrils constricted, then pulled violently. A glowing apparition of Jameson floated limply as it drew closer and closer towards Cedric and a large silver ring he wore. Meanwhile, the two cuff links that had been around the pig’s hooves snapped onto its neck, and energy arced outwards from them to surround the swine’s neck, creating a thick leather collar that soon became etched with runes and other patterns. The pig grunted and snuffled at the table for a little longer, before dropping down to the floor and settling to sleep. The apparition dissolved into a golden mist that slipped into the grooves of the ring as the runic engravings pulsed.

“Much better,” Cedric said with a smile. “Not the best magic I’ve had, but it will suffice. And besides, the boy will make much more money now than he would have in his former state.

“I’m sure it helps that his family paid you,” another of the twelve said with a chuckle.

“Well, every contribution is most gratefully received. It seems only right to pay back one’s friends, wouldn’t you say?” Cedric asked with a sneer.

Timothy continued to struggle as he watched the others fall one after the other, leaving nothing more than hogs and boars snuffling at food, before taking their places on the ground to sleep. Mister Collin watched with a hint of curiosity as he folded his hands and stared at Timothy. His cane’s head glowed as the golden threads attached to Timothy fed whatever it was these men were taking into the alloy.

“Bring him here, Minos. Gently,” Mister Collin instructed as he continued to stare.

Timothy tried to shout something, anything, but his vocal chords wouldn’t let him. All he could manage were guttural grunts and squeals. His nose twitched against his will as he snuffled, sampling new scents and smells he never could register before. He could smell the other hogs, the expensive cologne the men wore, the scents of the various servants as they shifted to become centaurs, satyrs, and a variety of other forms both animal and mythical. He knew each one, and could even identify what some were feeling, because of the smell. He shuddered back from that. Though the ability would doubtless be useful, it also meant thinking more like a boar, and he didn’t want that.

At last, Timothy flailed helplessly in front of his former benefactor. His malformed limbs continued to twitch as the threads did their work. He felt his hips shifting into proper hindquarters as a long tail began to twitch and expand. His spine tingled as it extended, and he looked fearfully at the man who had been so kind before.

“You intrigue me, young man,” Mister Collin finally said. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve encountered someone so resilient, so in-tune with the world around him. Most of the people I’ve changed hardly put up a fight. You saw through our spellcraft. That’s a feat few, if any beginners can manage, let alone a person who’s never so much as touched their gift before.” He reached out, and stroked Timothy under his chin. Despite himself, Timothy couldn’t hold back the grunts of pleasure that rose from the sensation of the fingers on his bristles.

“Get on with it already, Collin. We have work to do.”

Mister Collin turned with blazing eyes on the man at the edge of the table. “I’d watch my tongue, if I were you, Wryma,” he snarled. “Or have you so easily forgotten just how close you were to joining the ranks of the animal kingdom yourself?”

Wryma gulped.

“I raised every one of you from your miserable condition to be what you are today, and I am grateful to call many of you colleagues, even friends, but don’t you dare to assume that I’ll broke impertinence in this circle.” Satisfied with the tongue lashing he’d given, Mister Collin turned his attention back to Timothy. “Now then, young man, I see potential in you. And it seems quite clear to me that you’d rather retain your intelligence and sapience. Is that not so?”

Timothy nodded vigorously, even as he felt the tears starting to run into his . . . his fur. Even as he listened, it was getting harder and harder to put the words together into proper sentences in his mind.

Mister Collin noticed this, and quickly snapped his fingers. The tingling stopped, and the pulsing from the threads ceased. “Your mana is too valuable a resource for me to simply let go, especially since there are those who still hunt our kind, even if they’re ignorant of our true desires.” He sighed and slumped in his chair as the weight of years past pressed on his shoulders. “So, the question is, what to do with you? The way I see it, you have two options. I can either finish what I started with you and take all of your mana and potential for myself, which, as you can see, effectively leaves you little more than a beast of the field. You wouldn’t even be aware of your loss, and you would be well taken care of for the rest of your days, however long or short they may be.”

Timothy let loose a series of grunts and snorts with a single drawn-out squeal.

“The other option?”

Timothy nodded.

“Well, the other option is to agree to a contract with me. You get to keep your mind and your mana, but you lend me that power when I stand in need of it. You won’t be human, of course. Not at first, anyways. That form is earned over time, through hard work and dedication, but you might find you prefer this form to that, by the time you reach that point.” He chuckled. “Most of my servants do. So, what do you say? Grunt once for the first option, twice for the second.”

Timothy grunted twice, then nodded vigorously.

Mister Collin grinned viciously. “Excellent. Put him down, Minos.”

“Yes, Master,” Minos said as he gently placed Timothy on the floor.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to spend the next few weeks in a more porcine state of mind, friend. You have to learn how to use your body properly, and to accept the animal side of you. But don’t worry, it’s not permanent. You may even come to enjoy it.”

Timothy felt a strange yanking sensation somewhere in his gut and his head as the collar began to form along his neck. One of his hocks tingled, and as he turned his head to view it, he noticed a brand taking shape in the form of an archaic C with a nail piercing through it. He tried to protest, but suddenly things felt fuzzy. He couldn’t quite piece together why he was upset. His tusks felt in place, he had just been well fed by the man-things, his . . . owners? Yes, that felt right. He grunted in pleasure as he felt a strong surge of energy flowing through his body and walked forward. He felt strangely unsteady at first, but things soon righted themselves again as he drew closer to his master. Yes, that’s what he was. If he could smile, he would have as he approached the extended object. He snuffled the cool metal head of the cane, and it glowed brightly, blinding him for a time, but he didn’t feel alarmed. When the light was gone, and he could see again, he felt the gentle hand of his master stroking his mane. It felt good to be next to his master. The other man-things gaped at him, but he didn’t care. He was there to be with his master. He rested his massive head on the arm of the chair as the gentle strokes continued.

“Gods, man, that thing is massive!” one of them exclaimed.

“It has to be at least four feet high!”

“Four feet, nine inches, I believe, Mister Edwards, and a good three hundred pounds, I should think, possibly a little more. He makes quite a stunning wild boar, wouldn’t you say?” Mister Collin chuckled as he ran his hands through the boar’s thick gold mane. Its green eyes had remained, and deep mahogany bristles coated the rest of his hide with just a hint of lighter brown speckles near the mane.

“If that’s his size when he’s feral, how large will he be when he regains his humanity?”

“If you’re referring to his partial form, I would assume a good seven or eight feet at least.” Mister Collin laughed. “It seems I win, after all, gentlemen. And I get a new servant out of the deal to boot. I’d say our little feast of fools was quite the success.” He handed a truffle to the new wild boar. “Wouldn’t you say so, Vaughn?”

The newly-named Vaughn grunted happily as he snapped up the truffle. Master was so good to him.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #156

“you’re such a perfect little human wreck, but i like you.”

Have you given anything up for Lent?  When I was Catholic, I mighta tried but never succeeded. Who was the last person you went shopping with?  Mom. Are you planning on dyeing your hair any time soon?  Yes.  I have a few ideas in mind. Who was the last person you saw that you haven’t seen in a while?  Hm, not sure. Do you sing in front of people or only when you’re alone?  Usually when I'm alone. When was the last time you left your cell phone somewhere?  No idea.  I rarely lose it. Do you prefer fake tanning or real tanning?  Neither.  I actually like being pale, and I also don't fancy skin cancer. Have you ever dated someone that was a different race than you?  Hispanic for less than a day (race had nothing to do with it). How old is your best friend?  23. What does your favorite necklace look like?  It's a black, spiked choker with some silver chains and crosses. Would you take a million dollars if it meant you had to die a month later?  No way. Are you a visual, audio, or kinesthetic learner?  Kinesthetic.  I have to do it with most subjects. Cover songs or the original song?  Depends. Have you ever been evacuated from a public building because of an emergency/fire?  I think for a bomb threat once? What is one responsibility you have that you hate?  Cleaning Roman's litterbox. Is there a TV show you used to love, but then lost interest in?  Not really. Do you ever worry about any potential damage you may be doing (knowingly or unknowingly) to your body?  Yeah. Have you ever been to a rave?  No. Have you ever been on public transportation that broke down or got stranded?  No. When’s the last time you did something you were really scared to do?  Recently when I had to call vocational rehab back. What’s an old video game you used to play that you really miss?  Shadow of the Colossus.  I lost the disc. :<  Haven't bothered buying it again 'cuz I wanna get a PS4 and the remaster anyway. If you have a case for your phone, what does it look like?  I don't have one. What are your feelings towards glitter?  Good shit. Are the blankets that are on your bed now made by someone you know in real life?  No. Would you ever have a child just to get someone to fall in love with you?  Oh my god, fuck off. Ever have a drug overdose? What did you OD on exactly?  Yes, and all I'm saying is it was a cold medicine. The most painful medical procedure you’ve ever had?  Getting an infected cyst drained and having not nearly enough numbing.  I felt it, all right. Have you ever met someone in person that you met online?  Yes, Sara. Ever have an ultra-sound performed on you? What was it for?  Yes, on my liver. What color is your digital camera, if you have one?  Black. When was the last time you were sick and what illness did you have?  Idk.  I rarely get sick. What is the strangest food combination that you enjoyed as a young child?  Sandwiches with potato chips in it. Have you ever had to call the cops on someone else before?  No. Are you supposed to be doing something else?  Nah. If you were with your favorite person right now, what would you be doing?  I've been having horny spikes lately, and I've also just felt extremely attached to her recently (more than normal), so probably making out tbh if she was ready. Do you own a gun?  I legally can't due to mental illnesses and a suicidal past.  I wouldn't want one anyway. Do you know how to play chess?  No. What is something the world needs less and more of in your opinion?  Less violence, more love. How hard is it for you to open up to others?  Hard as fuck. Do you think before you act in serious situations?  I sure try, but I can easily slip up if I'm mad. Ever done something you knew was wrong and kept doing it anyway?  Yes. Are you religious?  I believe in a higher power, but I don't really *act* religious. Are you superstitious?  No. Have you ever experienced insomnia?  Yes.  I went through a juncture where it was pretty serious and I couldn't sleep without Melatonin. Are there any words that you just absolutely hate?  The derogatory words for gays and blacks. Do you have an accent?  Not really. Do you say “soda” or “pop”, or something else?  "Soda." Do you believe in reincarnation?  No. Do you have auto correct on your phone?  Yep. Do you know anyone who suffers from depression?  Too many people, myself included.  But mine's well-managed. When you lost your virginity, do you honestly feel like you were ready?  I didn't realize I'd lost it until the beginning of this year lmao.  Don't ask. How much older/younger than you was the person you lost your virginity to?  Two years older. When you were younger, did you plan on saving yourself for marriage?  Yeah, oops. Have you ever had sex with more than one person?  Like, have I had a threesome?  No. What country do you think produces the best musical artists?  Tied between the US and UK, probs. Which year was your favorite year of middle school?  7th. What amusement parks have you been to?  Disney World. What is a song that always makes you happy?  Something from my childhood, probably. Are your parents still married or divorced? For how many years?  They'd been officially divorced since like... 2014. What meal do you usually miss the most?  Breakfast or lunch. Do you have the same political views as your parents?  Some. Are you closer to your mom or dad’s family?  I don't really remember my dad's family, so I can't answer this.  Though I'd honestly probably like his more. Who in your phone has a heart after their name?  Sara. Have you ever hated someone, but ended up being friends with them? More like she ended up my girlfriend lmao. Do you have a favorite soft drink? Mountain Dew Voltage is my weakness. Do you have someone who you can be your complete self around?  Just Sara. Have you ever broken a couple up? Unintentionally.  We were talking too and he ended up wanting me instead.  Probably the thing I'm most ashamed of.  She was my best friend at the time. Are you one of those people who are always cold?  No, I'm usually hot. What are you listening to?  "Get Away With Murder" by Jeffree Star on repeat ahhhhh. Have you ever gotten a speeding ticket?  No. If you could make your lips bigger, would you?  I don't think so, I'd have to see a preview of something. What season is your favorite and what season do you feel represents you?  Autumn is my favorite, but I think spring would represent me. Would you rather learn more about space or more about the ocean?  Space. Do you have a mental illness? If yes, how have you learned to cope with it? If no, do you ever suspect you may have one?  I have a lot, but the only two I can't really cope with is anxiety and AvPD.  I've learned with all the others in various ways.  I'm also pretty convinced I have ADD. Do you have a favorite character from the Avengers?  Thor, probably.  Or Loki. Are you alive or just existing?  Alive, finally. What is your favorite type of cookie?  Chocolate chip. What is your favorite type of candy?  Probs strawberry sour punch straws, but if you count chocolate, the Reese's square bars. What do you think is creepy that society accepts as normal?  Stealing the last person's answer: Sexualization of young girls. What do you think is a good date other than dinner and a movie?  I'm up for anything, dude. What time do you wake up most mornings?  Like, 8-ish, typically. What is something you have given a lot of thought to lately?  My future. What do you get complimented on the most?  That I've lost weight. Do you believe in soul mates?  No. Would you move out your house if you could right now?  If it was to move out with Sara, yes. Are you biracial?  No. What kind of booze did you last take shots of?  Never done shots. What color of hair do you find the sexiest on the opposite gender?  Black. If the last person you had sex with asked you to date them, would you?  HAHAHAHA NOOOOOOPE. How long until your next birthday?  A bit less than five months. When you lost your virginity, were you sober?  Yeah. Do you think your best friend’s significant other is attractive?  He's all right.  He's not ugly. Do you own any books written by musicians?  Yeah, Ozzy's autobiography. What’s the chorus to the song that’s been stuck in your head? "I'm gonna break your heart and get away with murder.  You shoulda known from the start that it wouldn't last forever.   I can't control myself; I feel like someone else.  I'm gonna break your heart and get away with murder." Who was the last member of the opposite sex to give you a hug?  Dad. Are you going to make a New Year’s resolution?  No. What does the outfit you’re currently wearing look like?  Red plaid pj pants, black shirt that says, "We would save ourselves if we could. - The Animals." Are you accepting of criticism?  Depends on how harsh it is but also the subject.  I can eaaasily get hurt over it, admittedly.  It's an AvPD thing; I get embarrassed. Have you ever felt like you couldn’t fully trust a significant other? Yes, Tyler and Girt both.  Only because I'm very scared of men now. How many relationships have you been in?  I'll just count everyone who's had the title.  Six. How long did each of those relationships last?  Idk about the first.  Second, less than a day.  Third, three and a half years.  Fourth, like two weeks.  Fifth, I think four months.  My current one is eleven months in. Has anyone lost their virginity to you?  No. Would you raise your children the way your parents raised you?  No. How long was your longest friendship?  I don't know about years, but with Colleen since girl scout days.  Legitimate, talk all the time and hang out type of friendship, middle school. Do you like facial hair on guys or do you prefer the clean shaven look?  It depends on the guy. Who was your first celebrity crush?  Jesse McCartney. How long do you usually spend on the internet in a day?  All day. .-. Would you ever commit a crime if you know you wouldn’t get caught?  Well, I already have.  Downloading music is a crime. Are you good with kids?  No. Which was the worst phase in your life?  Late 2015 - very beginning of 2017. Is it easy to make you cry?  YEAH. Are you good at applying makeup?  Noooo. Do you like pastel colored hair?  I FUCKING.  WANT IT. Do you take your medications in the morning or at night?  Most in the morning, but my second dose of my OCD med and my birth control are at night. Do you think oatmeal tastes better when made with water or milk?  I'll only eat it if made with milk. Do you like thrift stores? Yeah. Have you ever used a fake name at Starbucks?  I don't go to Starbucks. What are you passionate about?  A LOT!!!! Have you ever tried vlogging, and if yes, did you stick with it? No, I never could. What country do you most want to visit? South Africa to see wild meerkats.  For aesthetic/vacation reasons though, probably Scotland. Do you have a birthmark? If yes, what color is it?  Yeah, tan. Who is your favorite Lisa Frank character? ANGEL KITTY. What were you voted in the senior class polls?  Nothing. Do you want to give your kids common names or unique names? I'm not having kids, but if I did, there's no way I'd give them a common one. Favorite Spice Girl? I don't remember the members. Favorite Cheetah Girl? ^ Backstreet Boys or *N Sync?  The boiz. What is your favorite tattoo that you’ve seen?  Those by Brando Chiesa.  Fuckin' aesthetic.  I'd die to have a tat by him. Do you knit or crochet?  No. What season do you want to get married in?  Autumn. Is your Pinterest cluttered? No. What is your favorite insect?  Butterflies. What bugs scare you?  Most, really. Who picked your name, your mom or your dad? Probably Mom.  I can't imagine Dad having much of an opinion unless it was awful. When was the last time you got a new phone?  Like... three years ago. Have you ever made your parents cry?  Mom, yes. Have you ever been cheated on or had a guy move on extremely fast after a long, seemingly sincere relationship?  I'm aware Jason was talking to a girl preeeetty soon after our breakup.  I'm sometimes suspicious if he was cheating or liking someone more than me and thus he lied about the reason for the breakup, but I'll give him enough credit to say I doubt that. Have you ever had someone tell you they wanted to be with you forever only to have them break up with you?  ^ :) Does your ex’s new romantic interest know about the things you two did together?  I don't know if Jason's taken now, but I don't see why he would share anything. Do you ever tell your current significant other about the things that you did with an ex-partner?  I'd only tell her in she asked.  It's not something I'm gonna just randomly talk about. Have you ever felt like your heart actually stopped?  The moment I realized Jason was leaving, it legitimately felt like everything stopped.  Can we stop with questions that bring him up? What’s something you’ve vowed to never eat?  Wild animal/venison. Are you good at holding back your laughter if needed?  NO. Have you ever had a “thumb war” with someone?  Yeah, has any kid not? What was the last movie that made you teary-eyed?  Johnny Got His Gun. Have you had two friends that absolutely hated each other?  Not absolutely hated, I think. Has a laptop ever burned your legs?  Yes.  I actually had marks for quite a while. Do you know anyone who has a scar through their eyebrow?  Juan. Have you ever just screamed really loud in an attempt to feel better?  Once that I recall.