#i love moving my fingers and stuff in ways to make my tendons or bones or whatever show through

[comas-are-for-sleeping]

hellraiser didnt make me horny but it did make me fascinated by my insides and maybe that's the same thing

[alice-escapes]

So I kinda doxed myself with that FCPD thing but I honestly don’t care. I only gave Frankie (moms) the url today. Besides, like I said at the beginning, if you know either of us even slightly, you’re going to realize immediately.

So DV Awareness Month. Never celebrated this awareness before and I don’t know the way it goes. I’m angry and I wouldn’t be sad to wander into a fight but I think that’s because people don’t act right and I might be ovulating or something. Maybe Mercury is back in retrograde for the zillionth time. I also got a nasty reminder about all the reasons women have cloven hooves and we should have blah blah blah. I wonder if this one piece of trim understands how politely I spoke to her, dizzy bitch.

I wanted to talk about art. I started drawing in February of 2023. I had just started staying at this place and I had no art supplies because I left everything but important documents behind. I had never thought of myself as able to draw but maybe that was just the right time. I have always loved the way art can allow the subject to defy gravity and linger in a captured movement.

I also have an odd appreciation for the ways death changes a person instantly. Zombies remind me of the corps of a ballot company, the stiffness in their bodies, but the decay allowing the viewer to see straight through them. Peonies are my favorite flower. In full bloom, the petals remind me of decomposing flesh. And the tragic realization that no matter how much you love someone, how intimate you are together, there is so much of them, the internal organs and bones, muscles and tendons, that you will never know. You will never hold the heart of the person you love beyond measure in your hands. It makes me sad to know that there is no way to love all of someone.

I started with anatomical drawings and I couldn’t stop. Through the nights I couldn’t even try to sleep, I was learning and I had natural talent as well. I would draw for 8, 10, 12 hours, only stopping because of the cramps in my hands and fingers. I called it rigor mortis. That’s where it begins, the small muscles.

JP had this pattern where he would gush about how good I was at something, but then he got sick of it detracting from my focus being on him and he would begin fucking with it. He would roll in and throw two completely packed bags on the bed, right on top of my art supplies. He would say something ridiculous like “I didn’t throw my stuff on that.” Yes, I just watched you do it.

He truly hated my drawing. I understand now, it was something that took me out of his reach. I would be focused entirely on the piece I was working on. Nothing else existed. And it was another thing that drew people’s attention to me. But he couldn’t try to use it against me. I drew things for him. For Father’s Day I made a card for C to color for him, and I drew the two of them, years ago, walking in front of me on the property he used to hunt. I had taken a picture of them, when C was still little, her hand tucked safely in her daddy’s. He was pointing out trees and birds to her and I remember how quiet it was there. I remember feeling content. I have other pictures from that day, C wearing one of my hats, our goofy faces. Long before she made me her mama but we were enthralled with each other from the start. Even earlier than that day, he took C and B walking behind the first house we lived in. C was wearing one of my shirts. She probably has pieces of my clothing even now.

But after December, I couldn’t draw. I would start but then lose interest and I stopped trying. I brought my stuff, a sketchbook, pencils and erasers and everything to court in June. I needed a distraction. I began panicking as we walked towards the entrance and I could only take so many Valium before I’d sound doped out of my skull. I sat in the hallway, on the ground and my hands began to move. Attorneys and my trusted cop were impressed, but I just wanted to stop hearing the world. By the time we were called to the courtroom, I had drawn a face, a woman with eyes that had a thousand yard stare. That was the first time I saw the tangles in my brain, the fear that was my constant companion, the bloodlust that wouldn’t stop growing, all of that on paper. It was something tangible that I could show someone.

This is what happened to me.

I have a few other sketches that I see the horror story of us in. I may not know the proper way to survive the harsh condemnations from onlookers in this painful month of awareness but I can show you how it felt. How it sometimes still feels. Because I got free, but part of me will never be free. I have to carry him, a stain inside of me, for the rest of my life.

[the-illiterate-pirate]

Call it a fixit fic, I believe Aisho deserves so much better. It's short, it's a little fluffy, what more could you ask for. Spoilers for Jojolion but if you're looking for Aisho content then you already know what's up

Keep on Loving You

Notes: SFW, gender neutral reader finally :)... I think. So much kissing and relationship stoof. I'm so tired

This wasn't the first time Aisho had invited you to his home, but today it had an air of trouble to it. Your boyfriend wasn't exactly the most stoic man, infact it was his nervous nature that introduced you two, you found his timid personality admirable. Strangley enough though tonight he looked worse than ever. It seemed like at the front door you could already hear the terrified pitter patter of his heart trapped in his chest.

Once he let you in Aisho guided you to his bedroom. You'd already have spent so many wonderful nights with him in there... Like always it smelt nice with a twist of something so uniquely him and...hazelnut coffee maybe? Some days he acted like he was addicted to the stuff. It set you at ease some, but not enough as you watched him nervously pick at his cuticles as he sat down next to you.

"There's something I need to tell you." He finally spoke, as gentle as ever.

"Yes Aisho?" You took his hands in yours, softly batting them away from each other so he couldn't harm his fingers any more.

He gulped audibly and didn't meet your eye. "It's a secret I've held on to for so long now. But I can't bare to keep it from you any longer."

Your confusion shown with the tilt of your head, but he continued quickly. "W-Well, when I disappear for a month at a time, I tell you it's because of work... Or that I'm going to stay with my parents for a while. That's, that's all been a lie."

A sense of dread settled in your stomach. This was going to be his confession to cheating isn't it. Aisho was going to dump you. In his house– his bedroom. He saw that look of terror in your eye. His own blew up wide with shock, as if he already knew what you were thinking. "It's not like that at all! Y'see, I have this...condition, I need to keep focus, but when I lose it my skin turns hard like a rock, and I sleep for a very long time... I can't move or see. It's hard to live normally because of it. It even keeps me from having a job or going to school, so I've been lying to you about that, too... I'm sorry. I feel terrible."

The guilt inside him knawed at his bones and left a ball in his throat. You'd always promised him no secrets between you two, but his true identity was something he couldn't tell you until Aisho knew the time was right. Like now.

Aisho loved you, more then anything. You stayed by his side throughout the worst days of his life and gave him an anchor to hold on to. He, really really truly loved you! So he let you think about it, despite how crushing your silence was. Your hands never left his, thankfully. It gave him the smallest glimmer of hope that you'd forgive him.

"Aisho. Hey, Aisho, look at me." He did so reluctantly, showing off his wet eyes and the lip bitten between his teeth. There was a new tremor in his arms, you brushed your thumb against the tendons in his hands to try to settle him a little. "That must've took guts to confess."

More than he wanted to admit.

"Thank you for telling me. You must be nervous, but there's no reason to be. This isn't going to make me care about you any less, because I love Aisho! More than I could ever tell you! And this, condition, whatever it is can't stop me from drowning you in affection!"

He suddenly found your arms wrapping around him in a tight hug. His body melted into your warmth and the smell of your shampoo and the way your body pressed into his so perfectly like two pieces of a beautiful puzzle. It was all so wonderfully perfect and he was frozen stiff in your hug. Your hand was brought up to his cheek to pull Aisho closer for your array of kisses on his jaw, each dotted with a soft "love" from your lips. His own chest swelled in uncomfortably warm heat as his love for you filled his heart. He twisted his head just in time to capture your lips with his own in a soft lock. And he held you close just like you did to him. And you both stayed connected there in his bed until the sun set on another perfect day spent together.

[shorkbrian]

THIS ISNT A REQUEST its just me. LOOSING my mind over the Levi Ackerman stuff you write. like?????Levi injuring/hurting his s/o to make sure they dont go anywhere is so fbsjsja and accurate. I can physically SEE the way his hands would move to their knee and theyd be nervous but not sure just yet. Then he'd mention the expidition next week and just like that they'd know excatly what hes about to do.

Commander Erwin knowing but not doing anything about it because hell if humanities strongest solidier is gonna do that shit hes not gonna stop it. They're just gonna have to shh and be quiet. agsshsjsna I love that youd exposed me to this lmao

kashfaskak big Brian time omg

(What To Expect - no NSFW, bone breaking)

You’d get called to his office, hands sweaty and maybe shaking a bit as you open the door.

Levi’s standing at the window, looking out as he thought about who-knows-what, but he turns when you enter, indicating for you to sit.

He starts talking to you, menial conversation that is flavorless and dry, not filled with his common veiled threats or dark confessions of all the things he wants to subject you to.

Levi steps around behind you, hands falling heavy on your shoulders, and you both pretend not to see the violent flinch that the movement draws from you. Levi knows you’re afraid of him, but that works in his favor. 

You aren’t sure what he wants from you yet, maybe a blowjob? But he’s still talking, small hands beginning to knead at the muscles of your shoulders, finding the knots, the sore muscles and digging into them painfully. 

Long moments pass of Levi’s low voice filling your ear, his fingers pushing down hard into your muscles, making you wince and struggle to not move away from his touch.

But it hurts.

When he finally lets up on the painful massage you breathe a sigh of relief. The relief is short lived as he moves to your side, trailing his fingers down your arm to your hand, tracing over the tendons there with a foreboding sense of finality.

“Levi sir?” You question as he falls silent, the man intently studying your hand. He rubs his thumb over the callouses lining your fingers, the callouses that all cadets gain from operating the omni-directional mobility gear. Levi himself has similar callouses, although his are deeper and far rougher, his experience and expertise evident in the scars and weathered skin on his hands.

He lifts one of your hands as he studies it, bringing it closer to his face. You let him, just as you always do. Levi is not to be disobeyed. Maybe he’s in the mood for a hand job today?

“The upcoming expedition is going to be.... difficult.”

Your blood runs ice cold, filling your body with frost and snow. You feel like you can’t move. This can't be going anywhere good.

“I’m expecting there to be heavy losses.” The man continues, moving your fingers, bending them. “It’s a shitty fool’s errand, trying to drive back the titans that far from the wall.”

You want to snatch your hand away, but his grip is becoming increasingly tighter, one of his hands circling around your wrist to hold you fast. There’s an inkling in the back of your brain that whatever is going to happen will hurt. Levi’s going to hurt you.

“I’m ready to serve the regiment in whatever way necessary Sir.” You whisper, watching Levi play with your hand as if it were a toy that he didn’t understand.

The man nodded his head slowly, before his eyes flicked to yours. “That’s what makes you such a fine cadet. The best, actually. Always willing to do whatever your leaders command...”

What was he getting at?

“Sir? Is something wrong?” The silence is stifling, you have to ask. Maybe he just wanted to talk, maybe he just wanted to caution you about getting rest or tell you to train more. Maybe he’d act like a normal captain, and treat you like a normal cadet.

Levi sighed heavily, before the hand caressing your own stilled. “If I ordered you to stay behind, I know you’d feel guilty. Your comrades would wonder why you’re getting special treatment, the other officers would bitch and moan like whiny little piss babies about how I’m showing weakness. There’s no way for me to ensure your safety.”

The words he spoke were true.

“It’s alright Sir, I can take care of myself. I don’t need protection.”

Your hand was crushed in a painfully tight grip, Levi leaning over your chair. 

“You’re so naive. You’d get killed before you could step outside the wall.” He spoke quietly, grey eyes boring into your own, insistent.

He was scaring you.

Not knowing how to respond, you stayed silent, trying to shrink back in your chair, away from the heavy presence of your captain. The man clicked his tongue, before straightening again.

His eyes moved from your face to your hand, where he paused, before taking a closer look.

“Ah, but my finest cadet can’t go over the wall with such an injury. Stupid brat, should’ve gone to the med unit.”

What was he talking about? What injury?

You voiced your confused thoughts, and Levi grimaced, lips drawn in a thin line, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Your fucking hand, it’s broken. You broke it trying to get in some extra training with your ODM gear, didn’t you?”

“Sir, I don’t understa-”

Blinding pain lanced up your arm, and you doubled over in your chair, trying to pull your crushed hand out of Levi’s grip as you cried out.

The man kept a straight face, although a part of him felt sorrow for your pain. But it was necessary.

Another deft move with his fingers, and one of your fingers snapped like a twig, the sharp crack resounding in the room above your pained whimpers.

“Sir!?!” You cried, Levi finally allowing you to wrench your hand out of his grip, clutch the mangled extremity to your chest.

He’d broken your hand.

Levi had shattered the fine bones across the back in a terrifying display of strength, before cleanly breaking on of your fingers.

“A pity, I could’ve used you on the expedition. Too bad your shitty hand is broken.” His voice was flat as he stepped away from you, rounding his desk to sit in his chair with finality. “You should get it looked at, otherwise it’ll heal weird and you’ll be an ugly cripple.” 

You felt like screaming, anger welling up inside.

A knock on the door startled you, Levi uttering a soft “come in” before you could say or do anything.

Commander Erwin stepped inside, blue eyes flitting between you, Captain Levi, and your broken hand. There was a moment of stillness in the room.

You couldn’t let Captain Levi get away with such flagrant abuse.

“Commander Erwin! Captain Levi broke my hand.” You explained, rising to your feet.

Bushy blonde eyebrows raised slightly, but Erwin didn’t seem surprised. No, he seemed... disappointed?

“It appears so. Go get it set and bandaged Cadet, you’re relieved of duty at this time.”

You couldn’t believe your ears.

Commander Erwin believed you, he just didn’t care.

It seem that Captain Levi was allowed free reign

[isis-astarte-diana]

On Your Toes

Summary: “You told me you were bored, so I gave you something to do.” Missy can always find a way to keep her companion busy.

Warnings: NSFW. MIHOW. Dark!Missy. Serious predicament bondage, featuring stress positions and the threat of bodily harm. (It’s foot trauma). Anal, but, like, not particularly explicit. Absolutely terrible BDSM etiquette - realistically, this is just straight-up torture. Missy is... really unpleasant. The way we love her best.

Word Count: 2067

NB: Sat down to write this thinking “aha, yes, the ornamental bondage concept. Nice, wholesome stuff. We all love that,” and then... well... this happened instead. I think it fits quite nicely into the New Toy universe.

It’s cold in this part of the TARDIS.

The engines are drowned out by the low hiss of an air conditioning system, and this, in turn, is swallowed in the whir of the servers that surround you. Row upon row of shelves stretch to the high ceiling, glowing with blue light, the impossible dimensions of the room containing only a fraction of a fraction of the ship’s central computing hardware. The vast monitor in front of you indicates that the temperature is in its ideal range; somewhere above refrigeration, but certainly lower than would ever be comfortable for a human in your state of undress.

Still, you’re sweating.

Your hair is plastered to your forehead with it, rapidly cooling trails of perspiration trickling down your neck, your sides, the backs of your trembling legs. Another full-body shiver makes your knees quake and you falter, losing your balance, dropping silently from your tiptoes to stand flat footed on the smooth tiles.

“Heels up.”

Missy doesn’t look up from her work at the control panel. She has her back to you, her dark head bowed, quick fingers flitting between a set of keys and dials and a touchscreen display. She had explained what she was doing, and you had made a valiant effort to listen, but that was hours ago, or so it seems. The technical jargon you’d tried so hard to keep track of has been pushed from your mind by far more urgent physical sensations.

The plug isn’t overly large - perhaps, at its broadest, just thicker than two of her slender fingers - but it’s certainly too much to ignore. Though inaudible over the other machinery of the server room its vibrations are powerful and, more than this, variable. If there is any pattern to the change in pitch, you have yet to determine it; and you have been thinking of little else for quite some time.

“Missy,” you attempt weakly, making no effort to conceal the chatter of your teeth. “Please, I-“ The words turn into an unsteady whine to match the abrupt increase in speed of the pulsing toy inside you. Your thighs try to press closer together, if not for stability then at least to soothe the impossible sensitivity of the slick flesh between them. The bar that keeps your ankles spread wide offers no such relief.

“Lift your heels,” she repeats, sharper this time. “And hush.”

Gritting your teeth against the cramping in your calves, you obey.

Behind your back, you hold tighter to yourself, each forearm clasped in the opposite hand and bound that way so that your shoulders are drawn backwards. Your chest is forced up and out by the position, leaving your naked breasts vulnerable in the cold air, nipples painfully stiff and throbbing from the chill. As the vibrations slow once more, your breaths come easier again.

The effect, unfortunately, is two-fold; with fewer distractions, your attention is once more concentrated on the strain of your position. Tension is beginning to set in at the base of your spine, the arches of your feet, even the core muscles in your abdomen, everything below the waist protesting at being made to hold you up like this. Tremors pluck once more at the tendons in your calves. You withstand them for as long as you can, teeth sinking sharply into your chapped bottom lip, until another wave of sensation from the plug as it kicks up to full speed for an instant has you landing hard on your heels, yelping so loudly that Missy actually startles at the noise.

The server room is not quiet, but it is very suddenly as still as a tomb.

You watch as she slowly lifts her head, rolling her neck, stretching languidly as if to emphasise your inability to do the same. When she rises to her feet you almost whimper. Being ignored is a torture in and of itself, but having captured her attention is no comfort. She does not face you, moving instead to one of the shelves nearest the control panel, one that houses gutted hardware and its components. Her fingers plunge into the innards of a half-disassembled server. Impossibly, the sight makes you shudder. From here she withdraws something in a closed fist.

“It’s a fairly simple instruction, isn’t it?”

Her voice is cooler than the spinning fans above you and hums with far more power.

“I mean - stand on your tiptoes. It’s four words. Not even particularly long words, either.” At this, she finally turns on her heels, her smile bright and broad and utterly mirthless. “You can manage to keep track of four words, can’t you?”

You nod emphatically, the movement made jerky by the shivering you cannot stop. She raises an expectant brow.

“And yet, there you are. Not standing on your tiptoes.”

The haste with which you rock up onto the balls of your feet when she begins to approach almost costs you your balance. You waver there for a moment, close to falling back on your heels again, even closer to sprawling face down on the hard ground. With your arms bound behind you, you would have no hope of shielding your face from the impact; your nose, already sore from the cold, throbs at the thought. A strangled whimper works its way through your trembling lips.

Missy narrows her eyes. In the low blue light her features are sharpened, shadows darkening under every curve and arch of bone with the angle at which she tilts her head. “You told me you were bored.”

You shrink, not only from her tone, but also from the memory of your own impertinence. At the time - curled up on the tiled floor at her feet, left with nothing to occupy your restless mind or hands and scolded every time you dared to fidget - you had hoped that she would let you assist her, even if only with a trivial task, or at least set you some busywork to spare you from having to sit still and silent in the cold.

“You told me you were bored, so I gave you something to do.” She takes hold of your jaw with icy fingers just as the thrumming of the toy kicks up a degree. Your hoarse gasp is due, in part, to both. “I went to all this trouble and you keep disobeying me.”

“Missy, I- I can’t...” Spasms shoot up the backs of your legs, settling in your abdomen, shortening your breaths as you speak through a grimace. “I didn’t mean- I wasn’t-” It’s impossible to straighten out the words behind your quivering jaw. “I’m really trying.”

“You certainly are, dear.” Her thumb curls under your chin, her palm slowly moving to cup your cheek now. She bares her teeth. “Consider my patience tried.”

The slap catches you off guard. Its sting is only aggravated by the chill of her skin, and of yours, so that the pain is sharp as frostbite. Your heels meet the ground again as you struggle to steady yourself. The shifting of your weight brings relief, but this is smothered by the knowledge that you have, once more, failed to follow her instructions.

“I’m sorry!” With your face turned down towards your shoulder and your eyes clamped shut against the welling tears, you try fruitlessly to rise back onto your toes. Though the balls of your feet burn with the effort, your legs are too shaky, your knees too weak. You cannot seem to settle into a balanced position. All the while, the shifting of the plug inside of you is torturous, its constant vibrations irritating your nerves and flooding you with scalding arousal that cools on your parted thighs. “I’m sorry, Mistress, I- please-”

Her knuckles brush against the blazing skin of your cheek and you flinch from the touch. “Oh, it’s alright, poor love.” With a sympathetic click of her tongue, she coaxes your eyes back to hers and gives you a pitying look. “Now, I know how you humans can struggle with these things, so I don’t mind giving you some help, just this once.”

She shows you her other hand and finally loosens her fist to reveal the spoils of her earlier search. Your cry of alarm hones her lips into a knife-edged grin.

“I’ll do better!” The words are too loud in the close quarters, ragged with unsteady breaths as your wide eyes flit between her face and the pair of inch-long screws resting in her open palm. “I will, I promise, I-” Again, your voice is robbed by a sudden and brief change in the pitch of the maddening vibrations.

“Well, if you’re going to do better, then you won’t mind this at all, will you?” Missy presses the sole of her boot down lightly on the toes of your right foot, cool and smooth and with no weight behind it. “Stand on your tiptoes.”

You shake your head, teeth clenching to stop the chatter there, tears turning cold as they begin to escape at last. She pushes harder, the touch growing uncomfortable, still wavering just this side of pain.

“On your toes,” she repeats, her smile flickering with the threat of a snarl, “or I will break them for you.”

For the barest of moments you try to weigh up the impossible choice - obey, and feel the pointed tip of the screw beneath your raised heel; disobey, and test the sincerity of her words - until the bones of your toes grind painfully between boot and tile and the far more present peril wins out. With a choked gasp you lift yourself once more onto the balls of your feet.

Her voice lowers to a stage whisper and she gives you an exaggerated wink. “Good choice.”

You twist your head at an awkward angle to watch her moving behind you, but this threatens your balance and you quickly correct your posture again. As she sinks to the ground, her fingernails carve a stinging path down the back of your left calf, following the curve of cramping muscle from knee to elevated heel. You jerk under the touch, but cannot escape it without falling.

“If I were you,” she begins, with a faint stirring of amusement, “I would think very carefully about which foot I favoured.” To emphasise her meaning, she pricks the arch of your foot with the screw. You squeak pitifully.

“Please, Mistress.” You cast your blurry eyes to the ceiling, trying not to shift your weight when she repeats the motion on your other foot. Your thighs quake beneath you, cold and strain and horror all taking their toll. “I’m sorry, I- I was rude-”

“You were bored.” She drags her nails up your right leg when she straightens up and leans in to show you her indulgent smile. “And now you’re not. You’re welcome, dear.”

Missy returns to the control panel without a second glance. Your babbling protests fall on deaf ears as she sits back down, swirling her fingers across the touchscreen. It takes only moments for the futility of your efforts to sink in. Despite her earlier impatience with your complaints, she seems entirely impassive to them now.

Fighting every screaming nerve in your body, you bow your head and try to concentrate.

The most tentative of attempts at shuffling forwards is quickly thwarted; with your ankles bound this far apart and your arms restrained behind you, you have no hope of shifting away from the threat underfoot without your forehead meeting the tiles. Through harsh and wavering breaths you are forced to accept the dawning realisation that your balance is tentative, your muscles are fatigued, and it is only a matter of time until you fall one way or the other.

“Missy!” Her name is a panicked sob. Your feet are beginning to cramp and you shrink in on yourself, clawing at your forearms, seeking stability that you cannot find. In your anguish, your muscles draw tighter around the plug, drawing your attention once more to the unpredictable nature of its constant pulsing. “I can’t stay like this!”

She turns to look at you over her shoulder, her expression one of arch disinterest. “Well, you can put your heels down if you like, poppet.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners with her smile. “But you’ll only do it once.”

Unseen, she slips a hand into her pocket and deposits the two screws inside.

[sebbytrash]

Through His Eyes - Part Seventeen

Summary - Bucky arrives at the compound to start afresh but you and him have a somewhat colorful past, colorful being that you met him once before as The Winter Soldier and it did not go well. New beginnings, yeah? If you can learn to forgive.

Pairing - Eventual Bucky x Reader

Warnings -   Nightmares, angst, self loathing, sad stuff my guys.

A/N - I’m sorry. Trust me. 

Through His Eyes Masterlist

“No, please. No.” Bucky’s agonised moans wake you, sharply, his hands twisting in the sheets. “Not her, not her.”

“Bucky, shhh, Bucky it’s a dream.” You try to soothe him, smooth a hand across his face. He doesn’t notice, or wake, just continues to fight against some unseen force.

“I can’t.” He pleads, sweat making his hair stick to his face, dark little lines streaking across his forehead to emphasise the pain already written there. “No, no.” He repeats it, over and over, a mantra, a prayer. 

You get up on your knees to crouch over him more, use your hands to shake his shoulders a little and try to ignore the way your heart hammers against your chest, the way it’s threatening to break apart in time with the agony in his screams. “Bucky, wake up! Bucky, you’re okay, you're safe.”

His eyes open, wild and terrified, and you see him see you, see the horror claim his face and see him recoil, push himself further into the mattress to be free from your touch. You know then what his dream was, and how you’d carried it to him when he woke like an unending hell, the dream that won't end.

Your chest is hollow renewed. 

“It’s me, Bucky. You’re awake, I’m here.” You sit back on your haunches, try to give him what little space you can afford without mirroring his retreat and causing any more pain. 

He swallows visibly, closes his eyes with a clenched jaw and then, just when you are about to say something, anything, his eyes open again and lock with yours, a hurricane in those sea-laden eyes. You stare right back, cautious, regretful, because this is everything you wanted to prevent, being the very cause of his pain all over again. A cycle that can never be broken, no matter how hard you try, he tries. 

“Sorry,” he tries to say, voice hoarse from the screaming, swallows again and then clears his throat, “I’m sorry. It’s, uh, been a while since I’ve had one that bad.” You can’t help but notice that he makes no moves towards you, stays exactly where he is, now back pressed against the wall. It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself, even as you ache to touch him. 

“You don’t have to apologise.” You say, automatically, roll your bottom lip between your teeth in an attempt not to press him and then the words pour out of you anyway, like the blood in your mouth. “It was me, right? The dream.” 

He looks away, the muscle in his jaw moving in time to his clenching and then unclenching of his teeth, the darkness of the room dragging along his jaw and high-hollowed cheekbones like he wills them into place, wills a physical barrier between you and him. You hate yourself for asking and yet, need him to answer.

“Yes. It was you.” He says it like it cost him something to do so, each word dragging in the air between you. You feel like a thief, stealing the words from him when he so clearly didn’t want to part with them. A thief further for stealing away his progress like a flesh and blood nightmare, a purgatory made personal for him, for you. 

The silence stretches between you, an open mouth that swallows up all sound and even the memory of sound, a hungry, endless pit of a mouth that swallows you whole. The seconds turn to minutes and slip, like sand, through your fingers and into that mouth until finally, you cast what should be a rope, and instead is an anchor into that mouth-pit. “Well, since I’m up, I’m gonna go get some coffee.”

You see the way his face changes when you say it, think that maybe a slap in the face would have hurt you less and force yourself to climb awkwardly out of his bed and slip out the door before you crumble into dust. He makes no sound, makes no moves to stop you, simply lets you disappear like that dust swept away by the wind.

You retreat to your room, locking the door behind you like it can keep away the thoughts or that wave of despair that's threatening to knock you off your newly found feet, Sam’s concrete already cracking under the strain. You spend hours or minutes pretending to watch TV, ignore Sam when he knocks on your door and Wanda when she texts. You make yourself food and then find yourself staring at the smudges on the wall whilst it goes cold on the table in front of you. The dread in your stomach claws it's way up your throat and threatens to choke you.

You think about that edge you and Bucky had danced along for so long, that leap into the fall you'd taken and those few sweet moments in between where nothing really held its weight to drag you down, soft smiles and smiling, salt water eyes. Well, gravity has its claws in you now, again, you think, and the impact of that fall is fast approaching. 

You know it's him before he knocks, the butterflies that dance along your skin and tumble in your gut whenever he’s near give you more warning than his hesitant knocks, the sounds themselves a sad little song that plucks at the strings of your heart. He waits for you to open the door, which says more about where his head is at than he probably realises, you think, a soft smile that doesn't crinkle his eyes in that way you like is offered, and shared. 

"Hi." You say, and step back to let him in, doing your best to smother those frantic wings.

"I'm sorry about earlier." He rushes out, and you can tell it surprises even him, "I was just caught off guard. And the bruises…"

He trails off and you realise then what he means, your bruises from the sparring with Steve had triggered his nightmares and the suddenness of it makes sense. It changes nothing, but at least it makes sense. 

"You know I'm going to get hurt sometimes, right? What we do here, there's no avoiding it." You begin, not really knowing how to end but knowing that you should.

"I know." His eyes flash, lightning strikes against the turbulent sea, "I just… I didn't know how much it would hurt to see you like that." 

A confession, a secret, meant to be a balm but instead feels like the flames. He'll never be free of the Soldier, you think, not while you walk around like a living hallucination of a past he never deserved. 

"I think…," You start, feel your tongue fat and uncooperative in your mouth, "We need a little space." The air in your lungs already feels like lead, like the concrete that held up your legs is now filling your lungs and chest, drowning you in your own progress.

He says nothing for entirely too long and yet, long enough for you to be grateful for a few more seconds before the collision. "Space."

"I think it's best, don't you?" 

"I can give you space, if it's what you need." He says it like maybe you are the one who needs it.

"Bucky, we can't keep doing this, it's not good for either of us." You say, every bit of emotion clawing its way up your throat, some of it desperate to take back the words. You can feel the shape of each letter scrape against your tongue. "It’s ruining you.”

“It’s not. It’s not.” He says, quieter on the repeat like it’s for himself and not you, his jaw clenches so hard you fear he will snap the tendons. “I love you.”

That’s it, that’s what does it. Breaks you down into all those tiny pieces you used to be, those ones you’ve spent minutes and hours painstakingly stitching and taping back together. You feel the words hollow out space in your chest, replacing the now useless heart that’s beat it’s last beat. The last of your arguments die with it. 

“That’s not what this is, Bucky. It’s a crutch, a coping mechanism. A way to ease all that fucking guilt we carry.” Even to your own ears, you sound void of emotion, the last bit of it carved out by the knowledge of what you had done to him. Guilt howling down the corridors of your heart. “It’s not real.” 

“Don’t say that, of course it’s real.” He breaks the invisible barrier around you and takes your hand, presses your fingertips to his chest, “Can’t you feel it?”. 

He looks at you with such hope that you are almost unmade, the full weight of it hangs off your bones and tries to strip you of that steely nerve but you fight for it, know that this is what he needs if he’s to heal. Go to war with yourself for him. Anything for him.

“I feel a lot of things, Bucky. I feel raw. I feel tired, tired of the guilt, of the fear every time I close my eyes I’ll dream of you, or that I won’t.” The last part sneaks out, betraying more than you want and he latches on to it. “I don’t…”

“Are you afraid you don't love me? Or are you afraid you do?” He asks mildly, like how you might ask about the weather. Or probably, more accurately, like he knows the answer and is just leading you down a path where the answer waits for you to want it.

You shake your head, not in answer but in anger, the kind of uncontrollable rage that comes with defeat. Of words poking at a wound you were denying the existence of. “Stop. Just stop.” Your voice breaks half way, a shout turned cry. A beg for mercy.

“What are you so afraid of?” His voice breaks too, a slow sort of break like the last ebb of his strength, the last air bubble before the silence. It cleaves you in two.

“You!” You shout, pieces of you slipping through your fingertips, not realising what your words would sound like to him. It’s not how you mean it anymore, but he doesn’t know that, takes it on face value alone and you can pinpoint the exact moment you break his ever fragile heart, because you break your own with it. Always with those matching scars and matching pain.

“I’m sorry,” you begin, drift your fingertips across his jaw and let yourself have just one more moment of touching him, “I didn’t....” He closes his eyes, closes himself off, you think, and your fingers smear against the wetness on his face. You turn from him then and head for the door, feeling every single second of the battle and war that raged for him and rages still. 

The sound of the door closing quietly behind you somehow seems worse than if it had slammed, a mirror to the way you had quietly broken the man behind it and even quieter, broken yourself. 

You take a step, and then another, and then more and more until you are out the building and gulping down the fresh air to try calm the beating of your unsteady heart. You fight the urge to go back and undo it all, to somehow scoop up all the words and pieces of you and stuff them back in place but your feet carry you automatically. Somehow, you're not sure how long later but long enough that the sky has changed color, you find yourself at a door, knocking a little too hard and too long until he answers.

“Mallow, what are you doing here?” Clint asks, taking quick stock of your current state and pulling you in for a hug before you can answer.

“I just needed to be away.” You say, and hug him tighter, “Is this okay?”

“Of course it is, come in, Laura’s making cocoa,” he ushers you in, still tucked under his arm, “and you look like you could use some.”

[lastluvbug]

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR DOING MY REQUEST since love it so much, I'm asking another one! This time it's gonna be full on angst but there will be happy ending so let's get started! =D can you do a request with a mc who had a terrible back story of abuse? She ended up losing her eye when she was four years old because her father threw a wine bottle at her and age blames herself because he killed her late older sibling and mom when she tried to cheer him up by playing a mini harp? Can be with anyone.

Very angsty, I’ll see what I can do!

Warnings: Mentioned/referenced abuse, mentioned self harm, drinking, and langauge. If sensitive, please do not read!

A Sweet Melody

Once upon a time, music had been so precious to Yuu. It had been her world, her rock, her solace when she couldn’t sleep at night.

She’d pull out her harp, and hum a tune in sync with her elegant plucking. She remembered those nights, dreamt of how free and pure the sound was, how calm she felt as the tension was poured into her song.

She remembered how much her mother and sister loved to listen—after a stressful day, before school, a nighttime lullaby.

All of it seemed so distant, like a fragmented dream that only appeared in flashes, gone so quick the only trace left was the bitterly addictive flavor of nostalgia on her tongue.

Music now was nothing more than a hatred whorled spit in her face. Music had been the thing to lead her younger sister and mother into their coffins six feet below ground. Music had driven her father insane.

It started when she was just barely out of her toddler years, when Yuu was first gifted the stringed instrument. While it overjoyed her to have something so beautiful, her father was nearly steaming with rage.

Yuu’s family was the farthest thing from rich. Her parents worked two, three jobs at a time, hardly creating a stable income as her father squandered his opportunities again and again. Over the course of her short life, Yuu often found herself to be at the receiving end of his fury, whether that mean harsh chastisment scented of alcohol on the smallest of mistakes, or a plain backhand across the cheek.

The day before, Yuu’s father had wasted yet another night at the bar, filling himself the disgustingly thin liquid until he couldn’t walk, nor speak.

“You bitch! How did you afford that? You doin’ something behind my back? Is that it?” He bellowed at her mother, Yuu standing in front of her one year old sister defensively as he stood from the rugged couch, stumbling over to the cluttered counter.

“Dear, please. It was just a gift!”

“Don’t raise your voice at me! How did you afford it?!” He grabbed her mother’s arm roughly, twisting it with his superior strength as she bit back a wince too late.

“Daddy! Don’t hurt her! She just wanted to do something nice!” Yuu interjected, latching onto his free hand.

“Get off me, brat. If it weren’t for little money suckers like you, we would’ve been dining like kings!” He slapped Yuu away, the short girl tripping over her feet and landing on her side.

From across the room, her sister began to wail, clutching her hand-me-down stuffed pet and wiping away fat tears. Yuu noticed how her father whipped his head to the child, eyes ablaze with a plan to shut her up. Acting quickly, Yuu rushed to her baby sister, pulling her out of the kitchen and up to her bed, where she tucked her in.

“Don’t get violent! Not on our daughter’s birthday!” Her mother shrieked as Yuu tramped back into the kitchen, freezing as her father slapped her mother.

“Shut up! You don’t understand what you’ve done, woman!” Just as her father raised his hand to strike her mother yet again, Yuu threw herself into him, temporarily knocking him off balance.

“No, Daddy! Leave Mom alone!” She stood in front of her mother, who fell to the ground on her knees, her arm out beside her as she tried to protect her despite only having just turned four.

A black rage darker than Yuu had ever seen laced every muscle and tendon in her father’s face, fear spiking through her heart and crumbling her resolve as the man recovered from his shock, standing to his full height. “So you think you’re better than me now? You think you can stand up to me? You’re father?” His hand trailed across the counter, searching.

“Dad...?” Yuu began trembling.

“I’ll teach you...” he mumbled, towering above his daughter, “I’ll teach you to stand up to me!”

He raised his hand, and in that split moment, his eyes were clearer than Yuu had ever seen before. He moved with such swiftness, it made her wonder why he’d never invested such concise movements into playing with her or her sister, why he sat drinking his life away on the couch instead of helping her mother work.

That was the last thought she had, before her world was sliced in two.

First, it was the immobilizing pain that made her drop to the floor. Her bones groaned in response to being dropped so unceremoniously on the tile, but was little heeded as her head blew up in flame, her scalp stinging like a thousand wasp penetrations as something warm and sticky dripped down her tear streaked cheeks.

She hardly recognized the scream that pierced the air as she looked around, hand wandering to her eye as she realized... it wasn’t working. She could only see out of her right, and the left was pure, black darkness, not even the silhouette of the room appearing in the emptiness. Yuu stared at the floor, at the blood falling from her face and onto the glass shatterer before her, encircling her like a broken cage.

Her ears rung, and she couldn’t process what happened next. Briefly, she recalled being carried, the sound of her irregular heartbeat, and the flooding of throbbing lights as she faded in and out of consciousness.

Yuu had her father’s words left in her head, imprinted in her brain like a branded cow. “Next time, learn to hold your tongue, bitch.”

All her life she carried the reminder of that day, marred upon her skin and forever labeling her as the “Outcast.” She never saw herself as beautiful from that time forward, and after the death of her mother and sister a mere two years later, never spoke unless spoken to.

<————>

Yuu awoke with a start, being shaken by someone rather roughly.

“Yuu? Wake up, class ended.”

The girl looked to the source of the sound, meeting the wide eyed and worried face of her only friend in all of Night Raven. “...My apologies, Epel...” She mumbled, lifting herself from her crossed arms.

“It’s alright, just... what was your dream about?” Epel asked, standing beside her.

“Nothing i-important, why?”

“You’ve been crying.”

“Hm?” She reach up to her cheeks, her fingers wiping something wet streaked down the plains of her face. “Ah... It really was nothing.” She waved off his inquiry, as well as her tears with her sleeve, seeing that Grim had already long since left her behind.

“If you say so... hey! Since it seems yer—ahem, you’re, not busy, did you want to come with me back to Pomefiore? All this time, and you’ve never been, right?” Epel prompted, making Yuu look up at him from her seat.

“Go with you to Pomefiore? A-Are you sure that would be fine? You guys are known for your beauty, I don’t think I would be very welcome...” Yuu shyly said, ghosting over her scarred eye.

“With the way Vil primps himself daily, I doubt anyone would notice you. Not to mention Rook—the guy’s lost one too many of his screws. He’ll probably be kissing up to our marvelous dorm head, so I’ll be off the hook.”

“What would... what would we even do?”

“We could study? I know I’ve been failing pretty terribly in some of my classes. Or... oh! Come with me!” Epel took Yuu’s hand, dragging her fragile figure down the hallways.

“What? What’re we doing?” Yuu asked, jogging to keep up with the boy.

“We’re going to the kitchens!” Epel laughed, sparking the girl’s confusion.

It was a bumpy run, the two weaving between students rather easily thanks to their short statures, and rounding corner after corner until they approached the gran cafeteria. Following their beelines, they pushed through the rows of starving students, barreling into the back kitchens pleasantly smelling of a mix of foods.

Yuu kept her mouth shut, following timidly behind Epel as she subconsciously covered her eye with a hand, glancing around nervously. Only a handful of people looked her way, that she could tell, and either smiled or laughed, both reactions causing her ears to redden.

“Okay, do me a favor, would you?” Epel broke the tension, turning to Yuu.

“S-Sure.” She answered, biting her tongue for stuttering.

“Grab the peeler and a few of the carving knives. I’ll get the stuff from the fridge!” He gestured towards the row of drawers, Yuu simply nodding.

She watched as Epel bounced to the largely oversized refrigerators, refusing conversation but smiling to himself. She’d never say, her voice hushed from years of humiliation, but she loved the way his soft purple locks fell over his shoulders, or the way his powdery blue eyes sparkled every time he laughed.

It took all of her will power to keep herself from tearing up, that light he shone reminding her too much of her forever dimmed sister’s.

Turning back to her own job, she searched through the drawers, pulling out her materials, nicking her finger on the peeler. Staring at the glimmery bead as it snaked its way down her hand, her body briefly remembered the feeling of metal slicing through her skin, long since healed over her wrists, but recorded upon it nevertheless.

Once upon a time, she’d been so broken that the only sort of release she could find was through blades. The one who’d helped her through those seemingly endless hours of struggle was none other than Epel Felmier.

When Yuu first met Epel, she was a stuttering, anxious mess, tripping over her words and avoiding eye contact like it was the plague. Epel was no better himself, holding his tongue and only making the smallest of conversations. If it weren’t for the one day he caught her stained in her own blood and sobbing in a restroom stall, Yuu believed without a doubt that there’d be no one by her side.

“Yuu! Ready to go?” Epel tore the meddling girl from her mind, who wiped the bead on her pants and carefully arranged the blades in her arms.

“Yes, let’s go.” Yuu nodded, supprssing her inner turmoil.

She’d put that behind her, and had long since forgotten her practices of old.

Epel gave her a soft smile, a bag of scarlet apples dangling from his hand as he encouraged her to go forward.

<————>

“Yuu, quick! Hide over there!”

The girl leapt back, disguising herself behind the curtains draped over a window as Epel stood in front of it, feigning ignorance.

“Ah, you runaway fiend! The great trouble you cause dear Vil! He wishes for your presence in the ballroom immediately.” An extravagantly dramatic voice cooed, and from her spot behind the curtain, Yuu could just barely make out the sight of blonde hair covered by a rather stylish hunting hat.

“Rook-san...! Lovely to see you as well. Actually, I can’t join you today, I’ve uh—I’ve come down with a terrible headache. Send Vil my apologies!” Epel not so cleverly lied.

“Is that so? Would those be get-well fruits then?”

“H-huh? Oh these? These are... well, Crowley gave them to me, said they were a gift from my hometown! I figured I’da bring ‘em to my room, y’know, n’ keep ‘em safe!” Yuu cringed to herself, knowing all too well that Epel was not selling his act.

“Oh my, Epel-kun, please. You may return to your quarters, but do something about that distasteful chatter of yours.” Rook croned, tipping his hat and heading off.

“Tch, “distasteful chatter”? Stupid beauty, what do they know anyway?” Epel grumbled, stepping away from the curtain as Rook’s figure faded away. He pried it open, the sudden flush of light causing Yuu to wince. “We’re alone, you can come out now.”

“Why don’t they like your accent, Epel? Aren’t they beauty enthusiasts?” Yuu asked, stepping into the open hall.

“Hell if I know. They only care about your face, not whatever you are on the inside. It reminds me of the poison apple the legends talk about; gorgeous to the eye, death to the soul.” Epel frowned, slinging his sack over his shoulder.

Yuu deflated, taking the words to heart. If that was true, then she was most surely not welcome in a dorm as proper as Pomefiore. “In any case, let’s just hurry to my room. They usually don’t bother me there.” Epel continued, storming down the corridor.

“Right...” Yuu followed, suddenly feeling unbearably self conscious.

Much to her surprise, the dorm looked empty as Ramshackle, not a single person lounging around or even passing by as they walked. “Where is everyone?” She thought, readjusting the dangerous items as Epel kicked a door open, allowing Yuu inside, almost gasping as she stood at the doorway.

The room was wide and quaint, with a large bay window, an intricately designed table, and a four poster bed that instantly made Yuu jealous. “Impressive, right? I honestly think it’s too much, even tried to convince Vil to give me something smaller.”

“I-I can’t believe this is your room... it’s so pretty...” Yuu marveled, setting her instruments on the table.

“Take a seat, we’re going to be here a while.” Epel instructed, laying his bag down and grinning impishly.

<————>

“I’m done! I’m done—I did it! Look Epel, look!” Yuu burst what seemed like hours later, hands flying to her mouth after she realized how loud she’d been.

“It’s a little lopsided, and it’s not symmetrical, but it looks great! Almost subpar for a rookie!” Epel clapped, looking up from his own work.

Yuu squinted, holding up what she thought was her masterpiece. The apples that Epel had brought were used to teach her how to carve delicate pictures and designs into their flawless flesh, some of which were horribly mutilated in the process, but in the end led to the beautiful fruity art before her. “I don’t see anything wrong with it... you’re such a difficult person to impress, Epel.” Yuu whined, comparing her apple to his.

“Ah relax! I’m just messin’ around!” He joked, waving his hand. He laughed at her dumbfounded face, ruffling her hair in an older-sibling like way, and for once, Yuu found herself smirking, if only in the slightest way.

“Epel Felmier! Do my ears deceive me or are you really—pardon?” Both teens froze in place as Epel’s door flew open, welcoming in a tall boy dressed in Pomefiore’s overly pompous uniform, head adorned with the same hat Yuu saw behind the curtain.

She flinched as his gaze settled on her, and she instinctually pressed a hand over her eye, concealing the horror that further proved the loss of her vision. “Rook, get out! Who do you think you are, barging in like that?” Epel complained, rushing over to the senior and attempting to push him away.

He was abrubtly dropped on the floor as Rook swerved around the boy, stalking closer to Yuu like a predator. “What have we here? Who might you be?” He asked, scrutinizing her face.

“Rook, leave her alone!” Epel demanded, pushing himself from the floor.

Too easily, the blonde pried her hand away, observing the story written in scars over the left side of her complexion. “Oh my...” Rook stared and stared, unexpressive and too close for comfort.

Tears started to brim in Yuu’s eyes, and using what little strength she had compared to the taller boy’s, she ripped herself away, running out of the room and down the hall.

Her heart raced in her veins, in her ears, as she flew down the forever twisting and turning passages, this time crowded with people. She could only dodge and weave between them, with their questioning gazes burning holes into her skull as tears dripped onto the flooring.

Yuu couldn’t seem to escape, the walls wanted to enclose around her, stretching and warping as the path swayed beneath her feet. She could do nothing but dizzily run away, mind lost in her own abyss as she leapt into a dark room, only ignited by the light from outside.

Collapsing in a heap on the hardwood floor, she wearily recognized where she was, or at least the type of place she’d ended up. On one wall, a slenderly long window stretched high above her reach, the opposite completely covered by a mirror. It was a dance room.

Sitting on her knees in front of the mirrored wall, Yuu stared at her pitiful self, tears breaking free of the dam they’d been collecting behind for days. Her hair was messy, falling around her shoulders and sticking to the sides of her face, dampened by the salty liquid. Her cheeks were rosy, nose carrying the same color.

And... her eyes.

One of them, the functional one, was puffy and tear clouded, and the other—the other was gorgeously ruined. A jagged, cracked scar trailed from her forehead to mid cheek, splitting her eyebrow and so thick that it spanned the length of her eye. The iris had lost its color and gone a milky white, the tears almost unrecognizable over the glazed sheen that glimmered over the orb.

Laying a hand on the mirror, Yuu stared into the mutilated gateway, seeing a story that had been left untold for far too long. She saw the death of her family, the heartache they bore through, her failure to preserve the things she loved most.

“Sorry—I’m sorry! I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, I’m sorry I look like this... I can’t breathe without hurting someone!” She curled her hand over the mirror, slamming her fist over it as she rested her head on the cool surface, her tears rolling down and leaving streak marks on the pristine aluminum paint.

Much to her surprise, the lights flicked on, though she did a fine job camouflaging it beneath a mask of melancholy. “So my potatoes were telling the truth. There really is a lost little sprite in my ballroom.” A new voice clucked.

Yuu ignored him, turning around and pulling her knees to her chest, burying herself in her arms. She didn’t want to be ridiculed anymore—didn’t want anyone else to resent her simply because they lacked the patience to break down her defenses.

The click of his shoes against the too cold floor reverberated off the walls, piercing her ears as they came closer, eventually stopping right in front of her.

“Look at me.” He commanded, the girl refusing with a shake, “Why not?”

“Because...I’m ugly, and everyone here is jaw droppingly gorgeous. I don’t belong here, I don’t belong anywhere...” she whispered, almost inaudibly.

“Nonsense. Look at me.” He commanded, this time not giving her an option. Tenderly prying her arms open, the mystery boy lifted her face up with the back of his hand.

Reluctantly, Yuu made eye contact with the person who struck fear into her heart like no other, either for his esteemed position in the school, or his famous physical beauty and harsh words. She stared into the amethyst eyes of Vil Schoenheit, who reflected her terrified and crippled visage in the hues of his irises.

Pushing his arms away, Yuu began weeping again, wiping the forsaken water roughly with her hands. “I’m sorry... I’m sorry for intruding. I-I’ll go.” She sniffled, in the midst of standing when Vil placed his hands over hers, plush and soft.

“Stay. Whatever would you have to be sorry for, dear?” He asked, urging her to sit.

“B-Because—Because I...I...!” Yuu’s voice became strained as she struggled to release the words that so desperately clawed at the knot in her throat. And then—

Vil opened his arms. Inviting, warm, unjudgemental.

“V-Vil...!” She dove into them, wrapping her arms around his middle as she did her best to stiffle her cries. Vil stroked her hair, his eyebrows raising in awe at how silky it was. “I-It’s my f-fault... all of it is my fault! I could’ve s-saved them, b-but I was just so scared!” She lamented, spilling the secrets that should’ve long ago been honored.

For once, Vil didn’t spit out any harsh criticisms, he just sat there silently, awaiting the end of Yuu’s bottled up pain brought to life. When it came, the girl released the boy who embodied beauty, trying to hide her swollen and scarred face. “I’m so sorry for using your time, Vil-san...” Yuu apologized, voice cracking.

“The least you could do is look at me when you speak, darling. Please, look here.” Yuu obeyed, eyes widening in confusion as her chin was rather roughly pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

Vil uncapped the top to his specially created lip gloss, “Hold still.” He said, applying the makeup over her thin lips, “There. See? You’re beautiful, we just... need a little concealer, and some contacts, and you’ll be good as new—partially.” Vil gave her a genuine smile, fooling Yuu into believing that maybe, just maybe he wasn’t going to judge her like everyone else.

“Yuu?!! Yuu?”

The two whipped to the doorway, and were greeted by a familiar lilac-haired first year, who skidded to a halt before Yuu and dropped to his knees, holding onto her shoulders. “I looked everywhere for ya, but this place is just so goddamn huge, it was like weavin’ through a maze! Rook had me runnin’ ‘round the halls like a chicken with its head cut off! Ain’t nothin’ hurt, o-or bleedin’, right?” Epel fast-talked, country accent in full affect as he tripped over his words.

“I’m fine, Epel. All good, see?” Yuu held out her arms, displaying her unharmed frame.

“A-ah, now that’s a breath’a fresh air! I see you been talkin’ with—dorm head Vil!” Epel gasped, face blanching as he sweat dropped.

“Epel. Felmier. What a pleasant surprise.” Vil growled through his teeth, bearing a deceiving smile. “Recovered from your headache, mister?”

“W-well, ya see here, I just—“

“Silence, I’ll not be listening to your excuses. And for the love of the Queen, get rid of that horrid native tongue of yours!” Vil demanded, berating Epel.

“...Yes, Vil. My humblest apologies.”

“Much better. Now! Would you like to explain our little visitor, and why she is here unannounced?”

After a long and tedious process of introducing and expounding her life, Yuu and Epel sat in edgy silence as Vil digested the information, going through a myriad of emotions as the air buzzed with electricity.

Yuu had her fingers crossed that she wouldn’t be sent away, as she’d been so used to.

“It’s decided then. Yuu, dear, follow me, and be hasty.” Vil nodded to himself, standing to his proud height enchanced by his heels as he flipped his hair, clicking off.

“I wish you the best of luck, my friend. You’ll most certainly need it.” Epel sniggered behind his hand, Yuu sending him a withering glare from over her shoulder.

“Oh just you watch. I’m about to sparkle like a million fireflies.”

<————>

Sparkle was a disgusting understatement for the transformation Vil put the poor girl through.

Though it was getting late outside, he still gave her a luxury treatment, which ultimately meant minutes upon minutes of face moisturizers, skin creams, scar healing oinments, and anything in between. Her face was stiff from all the rubbing, almost simulating numbness.

Once that had been finished, Vil wasted absolutely no time before pouncing onto makeup, his specialty. Concealers, eye accentuates, lip plumpers, blush, it made Yuu dizzy with the sheer amount of items the world of cosmetics had to offer.

It felt strange to be touched in such gentle ways, to receive the soft stroke of a brush to her eyelids instead of a slap, or to feel the way the concealer was mixed into the darkly scarred skin of her left side instead of the shattered glass tearing through flesh.

By the end of it all, Yuu didn’t sparkle, she emanated the radiance of a thousand suns, and even though she could only see half of her complexion, she knew beyond a doubt that she was more gorgeous than ever.

“There we are, darling.” Vil clapped, spinning her chair so that she could look at herself in the vanity.

Yuu’s jaw dropped to the ground, her breath hitching as she resisted the urge to cry.

Her scar was no longer visible on her face, the ugly line replaced instead by smooth, seemingly unmarked tan. The bags under her eyes were gone, making her seem at least a year younger, and a pretty blush was blended into her rather squishy cheeks, dusting over her nose. A flawless cut crease was executed over her orbs, the shimmery silver gradient backing to her elongated lashes making her eye pop.

But truly, the most spectacular of all what was lay within. Her irises were both... colored. What was once damaged and ruined was semi-fixed, a contact that matched the color of her functional eye creating the appearance that both were natural.

“V-Vil! Y-You... this...!” Yuu folded her hands in her lap, rendered wordless.

“A simple thank you will suffice, dear.” Vil chuckled, but nearly fell over when he was suffocated in a bear hug.

“Thank you! Thank you, thank you so much, Vil!” She bubbled, letting go after said blonde pushed her away.

“You’re welcome—just be careful! You’ll mess up one of our faces!” Vil snapped, rearranging his hair.

Yuu giggled, still staring at herself in the mirror, when a knock broke the calm partial quiet. “Come in!” Vil articulated, welcoming in two people, Rook Hunt and Epel.

“Yuu?!” Epel stood slack jawed, eyes nearly bursting out of his skull with how wide they were. “You’re so different, it’s amazing. You look amazing!”

“Indeed, madmoiselle! Delicate like the petals of a rose, and crystal clear as the water that rains from the sky! You are truly the sight to behold.” Rook added, earning an elbow to his side.

“Thank you, so much. I just—never thought I would look so whole again, especially after what happened to...” she trailed off, twiddling her thumbs.

“Nonsense, don’t let anyone lie to you. Never take criticism from someone you didn’t ask it from, alright?” Vil instructed, taking her by the hand.

“...Of course, Vil-san.” Yuu answered, for the first time in a long, long while settling into a comfortable laugh.

She’d been broken, far too many times to count. Torn down, crushed beneath the foot of life itself.

But, perhaps with the help of the people she used to shake in her shoes merely thinking about, perhaps she could turn that rubble into a cairn of her success. She’d have to fall to reach her peak, sometimes more than once, and sometimes she’d have to hit the bottom.

Right now, she was inching towards grabbing that first stone, that first layer to her cairn.

Soon, she just might reclaim that sweet melody lost to the tomes of time.

This took a little longer than I expected... I had to rewrite it because my first draft would... probably have gotten me flagged.

I want to say that you. Are. Beautiful. It doesn’t matter if you’re giant or mini, scarred or clean, because you. Are. Beautiful.

On that note, thanks for reading!! I hope you enjoyed!

Stay lovely!

[kookitykook]

Seven Soulmarks: Hoseok (”Can you even breathe in those pants?”)

~genre: soulmate au, fluff, humor, sfw, hoseok being an absolute chaotic mess

~word count: 2.8k (this is short but one of my fav things i’ve written pls give it a chance)

~pairing: dancer!hoseok x yn

~warnings: record store owner!yoongi (and his soulmate) make an appearance if you’re sensitive to that kind of thing 

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

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

Jungkook -- Taehyung -- Jimin -- Namjoon -- Yoongi -- Jin

~~~~~~~~~

Hoseok lived and breathed dance. Movement was in his bones, his blood, every muscle and ligament and tendon in his body. It was his one true love.

And you can’t have dance without music. 

That was the initial reason why he had started setting up his street dance sessions in front of music stores. Surely if people loved music then they loved dance too and would be willing to drop some cash, right? And that had proved to be mostly true, but the only drawback was that the music store owners and managers tended to not like him all that much. 

It made no sense to Hoseok. If people were coming to check out the music and saw him along the way, it’s a win. If people were coming to see him and decided to check out the music too, also a win. 

Unfortunately, the four music store owners and managers that banned him from their sidewalks never did see his point of view. 

Yoongi did, though. 

It had been Hoseok’s junior year of college and he had invited his new buddy Jungkook, who was a freshman at the time, to come and street dance with him in front of a new music shop he had found, Agust D’s Records. 

When Yoongi had come out after seeing the crowd watching the two dancers, Hoseok had been prepared to take another loss. To his surprise though, Yoongi had just offered to let them borrow better speakers since Hoseok’s were, in Yoongi’s words, “complete trash.” 

And thus blossomed the oddest friendship. Hoseok, sunshine incarnate who could never stop dancing, and Yoongi, an old man trapped in a young man’s body who just wanted to sleep. Their biggest similarity though was their drive and work ethic. 

Sure, Hoseok was silly and Yoongi was serious, but both of them worked their asses off for their dreams and that was the foundation of the mutual respect driving their now their years-long friendship. 

And that very respect is what had Yoongi telling his friend:

“Get the fuck out of my store or I will beat your ass.”

“Hyung, it was an accident!”

“How many times have I told you not to take drinks into the aisles?”

“Not many—”

“Seventeen times. Get your ass out, you’re fired.”

“I am not fired.”

“You’re suspended.”

“That’s not even a thing.”

“Why did she have to find her soulmate?” Yoongi lamented dramatically, referring to his other best friend/employee, who had cut back to part time hours since getting together with her soulmate Namjoon, one of Hoseok’s best friends from college (yeah, small world, I know), who was also rich as hell so she didn’t need to work as much anymore. 

“Why did I hire you?” Yoongi continued. “Why, God?”

“Shut up,” Hoseok said, laughing at Yoongi’s dramatics. “I’ll clean up the mess.”

“What mess?” 

Both men snapped their head over to where Yoongi’s very pregnant soulmate was waddling out of the bathroom. Her eyes narrowed in Hoseok’s direction and he winced. 

“Did you spill a drink in the aisles?” she asked. 

Normally, Yoongi’s soulmate was the sweetest, most calm and caring person ever. But pregnancy a week and a half past her due date had … changed her, to say the least. 

“Hoseok!” she shouted at his guilty expression. “And it’s all over your pants!”

Hoseok looked down at himself and sighed. Sure enough, coffee was drying all over the right side of his pants leg — his very tight pants leg. 

“Yeah, Hobi,” Yoongi taunted, going over to gingerly help his soulmate over to a chair behind the counter. “How are you ever going to attract your soulmate with dirty, tight pants?”

“Watch it,” Hoseok said with a point.

Soulmates were … a touchy subject for Hoseok. 

When he was 20 his words had appeared like everyone else, no big deal, right?

Big deal. 

While all of Hoseok’s friends had soulmarks that were interesting and exciting and vague in the coolest ways, his was … embarrassing, to say the least. And he didn’t get embarrassed easily, so that was saying something. 

But for the last six years, the words “Can you even breathe in those pants?” were in bold, black letters right across his wrist. 

Can you even breathe in those pants?

Seriously?

It didn’t even make sense when they appeared! Hoseok rarely wore tight pants at that age, opting for joggers or shorts so his dancing didn’t feel so … restricted. 

But he sure started wearing them after that, even if his friends gave him hell for it on a daily basis. 

“Yeah Hoseok,” Yoongi’s soulmate teased, grimacing briefly as she finally sat down and rested her hands on her swollen abdomen. “That coffee stain is awful distracting.”

“Are you really going to tease me about my soulmark Miss I-Silently-Stalked-My-Soulmate-For-A-Year?”

In a normal situation, Yoongi’s soulmate would have taken the gentle ribbing with grace, probably blushing in embarrassment briefly before looking over at Yoongi and deciding she didn’t care about the teasing. 

But throw pregnancy hormones and lack of comfortable sleep in the mix? Not the same reaction. 

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry!” Hoseok said, rushing over to her and Yoongi as tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m an idiot, don’t listen to anything I say, I’m sorry!”

Yoongi sighed, letting his soulmate turn her head into his shoulder and cry against him. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll fire him.”

“Promise?” she choked out.

“Promise.”

“Wait, what?” Hoseok balked.

“You,” Yoongi said lowly, meeting Hoseok’s eyes over his soulmate’s shoulder. “Go upstairs, change into a different pair of pants, then come back down and prepare to do expense reports until your fingers bleed.”

Hoseok didn’t even bother responding as he took off to the stairs leading up to Yoongi and his soulmate’s apartment above the store. 

***

You were not a dancer. 

Well — correction: you were not a good dancer. You accepted this about yourself and were completely content with it, had been all your life. And this small little detail did not keep you from dancing anytime and anywhere you wanted to. When the music touched your soul, you were going to move. You couldn’t help it! And if anyone had a problem with it they could get over it! 

This is the attitude you tried to have all the time, and mostly succeeded in. 

But your soulmark had to go and make things difficult for you. 

“Nice moves.” 

 You just knew — you knew that the words were said sarcastically. No one in their right mind would look at your flailing about and say “nice moves” in a genuine fashion. 

So your soulmate was a little sarcastic brat then. Fine by you! He would meet his match whenever you heard him say the words. Oh yes, you had practiced many a comeback in preparation of the day you met your soulmate. You couldn’t wait to shock him and make him fall in love with your startling wit. 

So maybe you were a little bitter about your soulmark. But just a little, honestly. It’d been four years since the words had showed up and you had gotten used to them (and were well prepared to hear them of course). 

You still danced so … joke’s on them. 

“Now tell me again what kind of headphones she wants?” you asked your brother, holding your phone to your ear and trying to talk quietly so as not to disturb the other people in the store. 

You were in a music shop you had never been to before called Agust D’s Records, and the owner had briefly introduced himself earlier while holding a very pregnant crying woman. Other than that odd moment, the store was really cool. 

“The rose gold Beats,” your brother responded. You were shopping for a birthday present for his soulmate and because they lived on the other side of the country, you didn’t know her that well and had asked for gift advice. “But if they’re too expensive, it’s really fine.”

“No I can afford it!” you defended yourself. “I sold two paintings just yesterday thank you very much.” 

“Woah, really?” 

“Yeah, it’s actually going really well,” you said with pride. “I’ve got a few well-to-do clients that like my stuff. And the museum wants to promote me to full time next month since their other art curator’s assistant is retiring.”

“Y/N that’s awesome!”

You grinned. “Thanks. I’ve been saving up to fly out and see you guys, too. And I want to get to know my brother’s soulmate better, you know?”

“Hey, maybe when you can finally get out here you��ll have a soulmate of your own I can meet.”

“Ack, shutup,” you muttered. Your brother only laughed. “Anyways, I’m in a store so I should probably get off the phone. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“You got it. Bye, sis.”

“Bye, love you.”

After ending the call you pocketed your phone and wandered back over to the headphones. Sure enough, there were the rose gold Beats. You picked them up with a grin, then saw that the store had placed a blue pair out with a sign that said “Try Me!” 

Might as well, you thought to yourself. You pulled your phone back out and opened Spotify, plugging in the headphones and pressing play. The last song that had been playing was from your “dance jams” playlist and damn you forgot how good this song was. 

Soon enough, you were in your own little world, just you and the music. So much so that you didn’t notice the guy standing behind you. 

***

“Oh wow,” Yoongi said, doing his best to bite back laughter as Hoseok walked down the stars — well, more like waddled. “Babe, babe look up, this is going to make you feel so much better.”

“Nothing can … oh my gosh.” Yoongi’s soulmate switched from crying to laughing in the blink of an eye as she looked up to see Hoseok wearing a pair of Yoongi’s skinny jeans, which were practically high waters on him. 

“I don’t want to hear it,” Hoseok said as he made it back to the store floor, pulling at the crotch of his — no, Yoongi’s pants without shame. Gosh he could hardly breathe in these pants.

… Wait a minute.

“If you don’t meet your soulmate today, nothing makes sense in the world,” Yoongi said with a laugh. His soulmate was still cackling.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Hoseok stuck his tongue out and grabbed a box of records that needed to be shelved from the countertop. “I’ll get to work.”

“Please do,” Yoongi responded, he and his soulmate still cackling like children. If Hoseok weren’t struggling to walk he would have taken a moment to appreciate how cute they were. 

There were only a few customers in the store, and they all looked at him with amused expressions. Fortunately for Hoseok, he was the type to play up an embarrassing situation so he laughed right along with them. 

It was fine. Everything was fine. 

“Yoongi you skinny ass,” Hoseok muttered, dipping into the empty headphones aisle to pull at the pants once more. These jeans did not factor in his dancer thighs. 

Movement to his left suddenly caught Hoseok’s eye and he froze, hoping he hadn’t just severely embarrassed himself even more, but …

Nope. Nope, this time he was not the one to be laughed at in this situation. Instead, the girl dancing like an absolute idiot was the embarrassing factor. 

What was she doing? Hoseok didn’t know what song she was listening to but there’s no way she was dancing on beat because … well, because she wasn’t dancing to any beat. Her arms were flailing around and her hips were … gyrating? Not in the sexy way though, but in a … he didn’t know, but some odd kind of way. 

And even though she looked like a total moron she was also … smiling so big? He couldn’t help but grin even though his dancer brain wanted to grimace. She just looked so happy. Her eyes were closed and she was just listening to the music and dancing. Dancing badly, but … dancing all the same. 

“Nice moves!” he shouted loud enough to cut through the sound of the headphones. 

The girl jumped, opening her eyes and looking over at him, surprise and shock in her eyes … but no shame. Hoseok liked that. 

She blinked, scrunching her eyebrows in a way that said she hadn’t heard him at all. 

While reaching to press pause on her phone and take off the headphones, Hoseok repeated himself.

“I said—”

***

Shit, shit, shit.

You pressed pause on the music, taking the headphones off in a motion that made your hair go everywhere, turning to the cute boy that was clearly amused by you and was trying to say something. 

“—nice moves.”

Your heart dropped. Actually, your phone dropped, but the sentiment still remained. 

It was time. Your moment had come. IT WAS TIME. 

Finally, now was your chance — your one chance to say something snarky to your little asshole soulmate making fun of you. 

But nothing had prepared you for how cute he was. A heart shaped mouth, hair that looked so soft it should be illegal, glowing, dewy skin, eyes twinkling with damn starlight, and —

The tightest highwater pants you had ever seen. 

“You’re a,” he pursed his lips mid-sentence to stifle a chuckle, “a really great dancer. I like the arm flailing the best, very nice technique. Where did you train?”

Your mouth dropped. 

What a brat!

“Can you even breathe in those pants?” you snapped without hesitation.

All of your memorized comebacks and that was way better than anything you had prepared. You wanted to pat yourself on the back. Hell yeah.

“Ha!” 

“The world makes sense after all.”

You and the boy turned at the same time to look at the owner and his very pregnant soulmate (you guessed) laughing hysterically. 

“Can I just say that I know you’re his soulmate,” the pregnant woman said to you, “and I already very much love and adore you. Please put this brat in his place daily for me.”

“What—”

“I think I get all the credit for this match,” the owner said.

Your soulmate pinched his nose in exasperation. “Hyung…”

“What? They’re my pants.”

“Why are you wearing his pants?” you asked incredulously.

“Because he spilt coffee in the aisle.”

“But there’s a no drinks sign.”

“See, Hoseok?” You take mental note of your soulmate’s name as the owner speaks. “Your soulmate is clearly smarter than you, like I always predicted.”

“Please stop talking,” your soulmate muttered, ears turning bright red much to your amusement. 

“Sweetheart,” the pregnant woman said in between bouts of laughter. “We’re sorry, but this is very exciting for us. We’ll give you an item from the store for free, I—”

The woman froze suddenly, her eyes going wide as she…

“Oh and you yell at me for spilling coffee!” Hoseok shouted as her water broke all over the record store floor. 

“Shit, shit,” the owner said, grabbing his wife’s forearms to hold her upright. “We’ve got to get to the hospital. Can you drive?”

You blink as you realize the owner is talking to you.

“Who, wh — me?” 

“Yes, you! My car is almost out of gas and this idiot only has a skateboard, so can you drive?”

“I — y-yes. Yes, I can drive!”

“Well go get your car! Hoseok, go with her and meet us out front. Everybody! Shop’s closed, get out!”

“Come on,” Hoseok says as he grabs your hand and drags you toward the front door. 

“Wh — I — what is going on?”

“I’m Hoseok, you can call me Hobi, I’m your soulmate, and my best friends are having a baby and you’re driving us to the hospital. Where’d you park? Where’s your keys?”

“I — across the street.” The bell jingles and you barely know which way is up. “My keys are—”

In your nervousness and confusion, you drop your keys to the sidewalk. 

“Don’t worry I—”

The rip of Hoseok’s pants as he bends down to pick up your keys is the loudest, most hilarious noise you have ever heard. 

A beat passes before you promptly burst into hysterical laughter. Hoseok takes one look at you as he stands back up to his full height, a slight breeze on his ass, before joining you in hysterics. 

With a grin still plastered on your face, you throw your arms around his neck and plant a kiss on this stranger’s lips, both of you still smiling. 

“I’m never going to let you live this down, I hope you know that, soulmate.”

“Yeah, yeah, when you embarrass yourself during our first dance when we get married the tables will turn.”

“Deal,” you say as you kiss him again. 

“What are you idiots doing? My wife is having a baby, get in the car!”

[get-your-fics]

Suburbia - Part Two

Too Good to be True

Summary: You have the seemingly perfect life, with the perfect house and the perfect husband. But the illusion threatens to be unraveled when you start to have strange but familiar nightmares.

Pairing: Albert Wesker x reader

Series warnings: Smut, dub-con/non-con, breeding kink, sex pollen, blood, violence

A/N: please take a look at the updated warnings before reading. thanks :)

PART ONE

Albert decided to leave work early and work from home for the rest of the day in order to watch over you. That’s what he had told you, anyway. You finished putting away the clothes you had folded in the bedroom and walked out into the hall. One door you knew led to Albert’s office; you weren’t ever allowed in there. But the door across from it, you didn’t recognize. You tilted your head to the side. You couldn’t remember ever seeing what was behind it.

You eyed the top of the stairs and listened intently. You could hear him walking around downstairs, his heavy footsteps causing the floorboards to creak. Part of yourself knew you had probably gotten into enough trouble for the day, but the other part rationalized that this was your house too, not just Albert’s, and you had the right to go peeking around it as much as you liked.

You carefully crept over to where the mysterious door was. You held your breath as you tentatively reached out your hand. You wrapped your fingers around the brass doorknob. You waited a beat for any indication he had caught on to what you were doing, but you didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. As slowly as you possibly could, you turned the doorknob. It didn’t budge. You furrowed your brow and tried again. Still, the result was the same.

Resigning, you called out, “Albert, honey, what’s this door up here?”

“What?” you heard him yell back. You listened to the thud of his feet as he clambered up the stairs, and he appeared on the landing, his hand on the railing. “What are you talking about?”

“This door,” you gestured to it, “what’s it lead to?”

He walked over to you. “Oh, that’s nothing, sweetheart. It’s just the spare room. Don’t worry about it.”

You stared up at him. “Why’s it locked?”

“Well, I’m doing renovations in there. There’s all sorts of power tools and dangerous stuff in there. I wouldn’t want you getting hurt.” He wrapped his arms around you. “Why don’t you start on dinner, little bird? I got you stuff to make your favorite - vegetable stew.”

You nodded and smiled at him. “Okay.”

He smiled back and leaned down to peck your lips. “I’ll be working on some stuff in my office. If you need me, just knock.”

He retreated to his office and slipped inside without a sound. You went downstairs to the kitchen and put on your apron, shaking your head as you tied it behind you. It was almost like you were hoping to unravel some big conspiracy. You were too lucky; sometimes, your life felt just too good to be true.

As you started on dinner, you were chopping up vegetables when your hand slipped and you accidentally cut your finger. A sharp sting spread throughout your hand, and you let out a high-pitched yelp. You clutched your finger in your other hand, feeling your pulse race in the veins by your wrist.

“Honey, is everything okay down there?” Albert shouted from upstairs.

You slowly uncurled your hand to reveal your finger, but it was unscathed. No cut, no incision. Just smooth, soft flesh. The only evidence there had been any damage done at all was a drop of ruby red blood on the cutting board.

“Everything’s fine!” you called back.

You grabbed a paper towel and wiped away the blood, willing yourself to forget about it. You occupied your mind with cooking, and once everything was in the pot on the stove stewing, you moved on to cleaning up. You grabbed the knife to wash it, and your thoughts once again strayed to your finger, how the injury you had caused vanished into thin air without a trace.

Without thinking, you positioned your hand on the edge of the sink with your fingers dangling over the basin and held the knife above in your dominant hand. You stared down at your fingers like you were possessed, almost like you were outside yourself watching all this occur while having no way to prevent it from happening. You adjusted the handle of the knife in your grip, and before you could change your mind, brought your hand down.

Hot, white pain shot throughout your entire arm as you cut clean through the bone. Two of your fingers fell into the sink, blood spilling out of wounds you had created. You bit down on the inside of your cheek to keep from shrieking, so hard that you split your skin open, and the copper taste of blood flooded your mouth. Fuzzy, gray dots formed over your vision, and you squeezed your eyes shut as you doubled over, your grip on the knife in your unharmed hand tightening until your knuckles turned white.

Suddenly, the pain subsided, and you straightened up. You forced your eyes open and stared down at the bloody stubs where your fingers had been moments ago. The blood stopped, and you watched in awe as new bone started to sprout up, followed by tendons, then veins and sinews and tissues and muscles and skin. It was like your cells were regenerating all on their own.

You were healing.

And then your fingers were there again. You raised your hand closer to your face and inspected them closely. You flexed and stretched your fingers. It was as if nothing had happened. The only thing out of the ordinary was that they weren’t painted with the same red polish as your others. ”What the fuck?” you muttered under your breath.

“Is dinner ready?”

The knife slipped from your hand and landed in the sink with a loud, metallic clatter, knocking your discarded fingers into the garbage disposal. You whirled around to see Albert standing behind you. When he noticed your shocked expression, his face fell.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

You plastered a smile on your face and shook your head. “Nothing, honey. Almost dropped my ring in the sink while I was washing up. That’s all.” You fidgeted with the diamond ring on your left hand as you spoke.

He gave you another once over before the tension visibly left his shoulders. “Be careful. That ring cost a lot of money. I wouldn’t want you losing it.”

“Of course not.” You grabbed a hand towel and wiped your hands clean. “Dinner’s almost ready. Why don’t you go wait in the dining room?”

“Okay,” he agreed. He flashed you a quizzical expression before turning and leaving the kitchen.

Once you were sure he was gone, you spun around and washed the blood down the drain. You finished stacking the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and served two bowls of stew. You picked them up and piled them in your arms. Before you left the kitchen, you made sure to flip the switch and turn on the garbage disposal.

Albert was sitting at the head of the table when you entered the dining room. You set the table with silverware and placed one of the bowls in front of him and the other in front of the seat beside him. You pulled out the chair next to him and sat down.

“It smells delicious,” he commented, laying his napkin in his lap.

“Thank you.” You picked up your spoon and fiddled with it in your hand. “How was work?”

“Good for the few hours I was there,” he said as he ate. “How was your day?”

“Fine. As always.” You poked at your food and pressed your lips into a straight line. “Albert... where am I from?”

He looked up at you. “What do you mean?”

“Where did I grow up? Who were my parents?” Every time you tried to recall the lost memories, it was like your head filled with tv static and a loud, persistent buzzing rang in your ears. You blinked and shook away the feeling. “Why can’t I remember?”

He sighed. “Does this have something to do with those two women across the street?”

“They don’t have any memories from before this place, and neither do I,” you pointed out.

“Does it matter? Why is it so important that you have memories of life before me?” He frowned. “Am I not good enough for you?”

“What? No!” You covered his hand that was resting on the table with your own and rubbed circles with your thumb on the back of his hand. “Of course you are. But what if this has to do with the nightmare I keep having? What if my subconscious is trying to show me something I don’t remember?”

His frown turned mean, and he recoiled his hand. “Your nightmare is just that - a nightmare.”

“But it feels so real!” you insisted. “And it keeps happening, over and over, night after night. It never goes away.”

“Do you hear yourself? You sound delusional,” he hissed. “Unless there’s something else you’re not telling me, I don’t know why you have any reason to believe your dreams are real.”

You considered telling him about your hand for a second, but held your tongue. Something was definitely wrong here - you had gotten confirmation of that. What had happened in the kitchen was unnatural, and as much as you loved your husband, you felt like he was keeping something from you. You decided it was better to keep your new knowledge to yourself for now.

“No. Nothing. It’s just the nightmare.” You stared down at your now cold bowl of stew. “You’re right. I’m overthinking it.”

He smiled at you and gently caressed your face. “Hey. It’s okay.” He laughed lightly and pinched your cheek. “You need to stop driving yourself crazy. You’re getting all worked up for no reason.” He retracted his hand and stood up. “Let me go get you your pill.”

“Oh, yes. I nearly forgot.” You chuckled. You had been on the pill for months now. He left and returned with a circular white pill, tiny in the palm of his large hand. He handed it to you, and you leaned your head back as you popped it in your mouth. You swallowed it whole and chased it with a swig of water.

You ate the rest of dinner in relative silence, making small talk now and then between bites about the weather or something else inconsequential. You subtly felt the temperature begin to rise around you. Your forehead broke out in a sweat, and your cheeks flushed a rosy shade of pink. When you both finished eating, you stood up and cleared the table. During your trips between the dining room and the kitchen, you felt a tickle in your nether regions that steadily grew to a full on itch. You tried to ignore it, but it wouldn't go away, desperately calling your attention to its presence. You did your best to conceal the way you rubbed your thighs together as you walked in an attempt to relieve some of the tension, but your efforts were to no avail.

Albert leaned back in his seat and watched you with amusement. The legs of his chair scratched against the floor as he rose to his feet. He walked around the table to stand behind you. You were too focused on the fire in your loins to notice him at first. You leaned forward to reach for your glass of water on the table and squeaked when his hands gripped your waist.

"Albert, wh-what are you doing?" you stammered out.

You froze as he pressed himself against you. You could feel his erection straining against the confines of his pants poke against your ass. "You look like you need something, little bird,” he huskily whispered in your ear. "I'm giving you what you need."

His hands ran up your body to grope your tits, emitting a quick yelp from you. The smell of his cologne and his aftershave and his natural, heady scent mingled together and filled your senses. The warmth radiating off of his body overwhelmed you, and your blood rushed through your veins as your arousal took over you. It took every fibre of your being to keep from ripping your clothes off and pouncing on him like a wild animal.

He smirked and pushed you so you bent over the table. Blush crept up your neck to your cheeks and ears. “Albert, here?” you asked shyly. “Why not?” He hiked up the skirt of your dress above your hips, exposing your lacy panties to him. He gripped your hips and pulled you flush against him, grinding his pelvis against your clothed core. “I can feel how badly you need me.” He slipped his fingers under your panties and ran them through your folds. “You’re soaking wet already.”

You whined with need and bucked your hips against his hand subconsciously. You didn’t know what had come over you. He hooked his thumbs in the elastic band of your underwear. “Don’t worry. I’m going to give it to you, little bird.” He dragged your panties down to your ankles.

He rose to his full height. You heard the metallic clink of his belt buckle as he undid it and dragged his zipper down. There was a whoosh of fabric as he shed his pants and boxers, and then his tip was pressed against your entrance. He held your hips in a bruising grip as he pushed into you.

You clawed at the table as your walls stretched to accommodate him. He sank in to the hilt and pulled his hips back, setting a breakneck pace. He repeatedly rammed into you, the table creaking beneath you as you jolted forward. You were sure the wood grain pattern would be imprinted on your smushed cheek by the time you were done.

“God, you feel so fucking good.” He threaded his fingers through your hair and jerked your head back. “So fucking tight around me.”

He grunted as the head of his cock slammed into your cervix over and over again. He had never been so rough with you before, and yet your body responded to him so intensely. You panted with every thrust and rocked your hips back against him eagerly. You couldn’t get enough of him.

The glass of water on the table tipped over from the velocity of his thrusts. The water splashed onto the floor, and the glass shattered into a million shards. Both of you were too engrossed in each other to care. He reached around to run circles on your clit, drawing you closer to your climax. “Tell me you need me,” he demanded. “I want to hear you say it.”

He dug his fingers into your skin and increased his speed. You were going crazy. Every cell and bone in your body ached for him, craved for the release only he could give you. “I need you!” you mewled pathetically. “Please, Albert, I need you!”

“Yes,” he growled. "Good girl." His low groans and the slap of flesh against flesh filled your ears. Your eyes rolled back in your head as your orgasm washed over you. Your thighs quivered and shook around him, your pussy clenching around his cock. You went limp, his hand on your hip the only thing keeping you up.

He let go of his grasp on your hair, and your upper half collapsed on the table. He didn’t stop his assault on your sensitive pussy as he neared his end. “I’m going to fill you up.” He leaned forward until his chest was pressed against your back and sunk his teeth into the smooth skin of your collarbone. You barely felt the pain through your haze.

His thrusts grew sloppy, and he spilled into you. He pumped in and out a couple more times, making sure you milked him of all he had, before pulling out. You felt his warm cum dribble out of you and smear down your thighs. He collected it with his fingers and pushed it back inside of you before pulling your panties up.

You pressed your palms flat against the table and slowly pushed yourself up. You wavered on your heels and leaned back against the edge of the table. Every muscle in your body felt sore, and you knew you would have a hard time walking tomorrow. Albert pulled up his pants and zipped up his fly in front of you. You brushed your fingers against your collarbone and, sure enough, the bite marks were gone, unmarred skin left in its place.

The air left your lungs as Albert wrapped his digits around your wrist and brought your hand to his face. He examined your two recently formed fingers barren of nail polish. His steely gaze met yours. Your heartbeat echoed in your ears, and for a second, you were convinced he had found you out.

Then, his face broke out into a genuine smile. “Need a new manicure, don’t you, dear?” He leaned forward and gave your lips a searing, lingering kiss. He pulled away and smacked your ass, causing you to yipe. “Wash up, sweetheart. I think it's time we went to bed.” He gestured to the puddle of water and heap of broken glass on the floor. "And don't forget to clean up the mess you made."

PART THREE

[dapperdasha]

statement of tumblr user dapperdasha, regarding her headaches. (this is just vent writing in the style of a statement oops) cw for unhealthy thinking patterns about chronic pain, mild body horror, doubting sanity, minor hallucinations both related to migraines and not  statement begins.

It is in my head. It burns behind my eyes and stuffs too many teeth into my jaw and pinches at my spine. And I cannot do anything for it but to eat, to drink, to sleep. It forces me away from my friends, from my brother, from things I love doing. The pain mocks me with its kindness. So considerate, tending to be worst when I'm at least on my way home, never striking fully during an emergency, but laughing the whole time, its nails just far enough removed from my neck for me to almost forget the endless maze of pain, pain that returns only once I’ve convinced myself I must have been exaggerating its severity. I am trapped in my body with my pain and my pain is screaming at me, no matter how much I listen, screaming. I cannot scream. I try not to cry. It makes it hurt more. I sit with my discomfort, do anything that might help 5%, fall asleep, and do it again.

It has been hurting to stand for more than a few minutes lately, I think. I can never seem to tell if it’s always been like this. The pain isn’t real, has no reason to be real, yet it consumes me in its impossible twisting. I am tired of hurting. I try not to mind the pain too much. I know this isn’t normal. This isn’t right. But maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe I can get a massage tomorrow. Maybe that will hold off the burning knives in my neck, the way it feels like gentle acid kisses down my back, and the maze of all-consuming pain from my muscles being two sizes too small for my skull. It feels like I am pulling my brain out when I move my eyes.

 Sometimes, it feels like I have no eyes, or someone else’s, like my eye sockets were never made to fit them. I will close my eyes and see flashes and colors that don’t exist and patterns and it is too bright, always too bright. I walk on wobbly legs and cannot find words and I hear laughter, each peal sinking into my neck and sending electricity down my spine, sending my more and more off balance as if it was a physical force spinning me around, rather than a migraine aura. I cannot notice much except the pain and the knotted yarn of conciousness when it gets this bad.

But at the moment, it isn’t that bad, which means my mind is free to notice the way my shoulders burn, muscles embedded with shards of ice forming patterns I cannot comprehend. My arms are heavy, joints grinding like there is sand caught between bones. My jaw creaks and pops and locks itself, and beneath the skin of my neck, my tendons feel stretched thin. The pain has a blunt, familiar burn, as if IV medication is pushing its way through each vein in my trapezoids. I try to sit up straight, convincing myself to hold out hope that it will remove the vice-grip my shoulders have on themselves. My spine elongates and my head lifts, muscles shifting against each other, like the rub of sandpaper twice removed. My vertebrae don’t seem to fit, my skull too heavy, shoulderblades misaligned like a drawer off its track. I tremble ever so slightly the longer I hold the pose of normality, my lungs struggling to breathe so far from my ribs, and muscle fibres burn red-hot, pain radiating and catching and spreading until tears spring to my eyes, as much from shame for feeling the pain as the pain itself. I slump again, scapula tugging at my muscles, knee spasming again, empty of energy. Pain radiates out from my shoulderblades to the rhythm of a laugh.

Everyone aches sometimes, don’t they?

It isn’t the flu, the doctor said (I knew it wasn’t. If it is a virus, I have been infected for a long time). Try to avoid stress, exercise, just give it time, she said. I can’t help but think she was listening more to the note on my chart reading strong family history of mental illness than she was to me. The laughter down my back made me too dizzy to bring up the strange auras - times the endless patterns and colors of a migraine resolve into a single, solid yellow door inside my eyelids, the times I’ve lifted a heave hand to brush curls that are not mine out of my eyes. No need to give them even more reason to think it’s just my mental health going to shit.  Some things can’t be fixed with a pill, and I know my symptoms are all so vague that a diagnosis is a matter of catching smoke with no fire. There’s nothing wrong with me that can be seen. Maybe I am making it up. Maybe I’m thinking about it too much. I keep going; what else can I do? Yes, it hurts. But does it really hurt this badly? My back has always hurt, everyone’s backs hurt. I’m just whining. I’m exaggerating, true, when I say that my shoulder blades feel serrated, tearing into my muscles with every move I make, but it is still true. I try not to move them.

 It will be better at home, I used to tell myself during endless days at school. It will be better when I don’t have to press my weight against a metal seat, fire in my back, hold my head at an angle my spine begs me not to as I strain my eyes to type on a chromebook, assignments that mean nothing but for their being assigned. In reality, no arrangement of pillows and heat packs manages to let my muscles relax. I fall asleep with a crick in my neck and wake up to laughter echoing in my skull  and shoulders so tense I mistake muscles for bone. I spend hours massaging my neck, taking fire and neon and rubber bands about to snap and too-slowly lulling it down to numb prickles and background pain. My vertebrae still feel as if they are stacked in the wrong order, but it is infinitely better than muscles that scream with taut static, my spine feel a match against the sandpaper of my muscles whenever I turn my head.  It takes days to get back to normal amounts of tension, the kind of ache that seems normal and doesn’t threaten to send me spiralling into a migraine, but 15 minutes of craning my neck or one brightly-colored image is all my body needs to start tearing at itself. If I wish to write, or lie on my side, or look at something that is not the ceiling, my neck starts a low simmer of hissing warning. I don’t want it to start again, so I surrender. I would rather avoid the things that make me love life than live like this, I sometimes think. I do my best to make things I care about, and keep an ear out for the rumble of thunder and the smell of a storm, ready to drop everything and lie down, hoping I caught it soon enough. Hoping I won’t have to send a third email in a row postpoing, hoping the wrongness will fade and sharp fingers will retract.

For now, I can write this, hoping someone will read it and understand that this isn’t normal, I don’t think. I don’t know. I can throw descriptions down in the hope that you can hear me, hoping my words are more than the screams of my brain as it throbs, hoping I can keep my fingers from going numb and veering off.

I do not wish for a cure, anymore. I just want a day with no pain in my body. One day. I wish it didn't come back so quickly. I wish a lot of things, though. Why would this wish be any different from the others? Maybe I will follow the twirling spikes behind my eyes. Sink into it. The colors are so loud. Everything is laughing. My neck is painted in ultraviolet and magenta and I feel pre-migraine tension screeching down my neck. My body is laughing. I want to know why. I’m sobbing, or laughing, or both, and my shoulder hurts and I close my eyes and wait for the door.  statement ends.

[its-ya-boi-autumn]

#9

(This is my 5th post today I don't know what's going on either)

Hisoka smut because I had a dream last night and it was kinda good. This one should be longer because there's a bit more back story to it. Sorry for them being so short. 😅 warning non-con

You woke up with a start. It had felt like something hit you, in the leg. Your eyes sprung open and your body went taut. Your breathing uneven, you tried to take in the room you were in. It wasn't yours. White walls surrounded you, nothing on them. You were in a bed made with silk sheets and wool blankets. A small desk to your right with bookshelves and office stuff piled on top. A flat screen tv planted on the wall in front of you.

You shifted in the sheets, a sharp pain washed over your leg. You gasped out, going stiff again.

"What the fuck..." you whispered to yourself. You pulled the blanket away from your leg. You noticed a large cast-like bandage over your leg. Blood was seeping through the many layers of fabric. From your hip almost to your ankle, a jagged, red line. Your brows furrowed, completely confused. You hadn't remembered anything besides leaving your house for a few groceries. And then... and then what?

You decided to pull back the bandages to reveal the wound. It hurt, stinging every nerve you took the bandage from. A deep, bleeding line ran down your pale leg. Horrified, you pulled the cast all the way off. The tissue was torn deep, almost all the way to the bone. Had who ever took you in taken you to the hospital? Obviously not, there was no stitching on you. You touched it, and then everything came back.

You were about to leave the store, groceries in hand. You had managed to make it to your car. You popped the trunk, ready to start putting stuff in it so you could go home for the night. That was when a hand tried to wrap around your waist. You panicked, kicking whoever it was in the crotch, praying it was a man and not a woman. You had been correct, the guy groaned painfully before toppling over onto the concrete of the parking lot. You turned to face him so you could give the police and accurate description if needed. He was a short man, wearing a brown coat and a green beanie. His beard covered most of his pale face. He seemed to recover quickly, grabbing a knife and seizing your leg.

"Hey! Help!" you tried to call out to anyone. The man pulled you to the ground, you hit your head on the concrete. It hurt, bad. But not as bad as the knife that managed to shred the side of your thigh down your calf. He almost managed to make it down your ankle before being abruptly stopped. You tried to look up to see what stopped him, but you had already passed out.

And that was when you woke up here. You didn't know if you were alone or not, but you didn't really want to know. But you had to know. Had that man managed to kidnap you? You went to get up, but then the door to the room opened. You froze in place.

A man with pink hair strolled through the doorway, a towel around his waist and hair dripping onto the carpet. He noticed you were awake almost immediately after he entered the room.

"Oh~ you're awake yes?" he smiled at you. You shifted under the sheets uncomfortably again, wincing at the pain in your leg.

"Oh dear I'm sorry about that. I couldn't get my friend to stitch it up for you. He was too busy with another job and just told me to take you in..." the man explained himself.

"Oh... Thank you..." you whispered. You looked down.

"Who are you?" you asked, curious. He glanced back up at you and then to the floor, smiling.

"Excuse me, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Hisoka, pleasure to meet you. And yours?" he sat on the bed next to you, a hand extended in greeting.

"Y/N..." you replied simply, taking his hand and shaking it. He smiled devilishly at you, chuckling. You gulped, looking his body up and down. He was quite attractive. Toned, muscular, pale skin. The way his hair fell in his face was near perfect.

"Do you like what you see?" he asked suddenly. Your cheeks went red. You scooted away from him a bit, giving him more space.

"Sorry..." you started.

"Where do you think you're going love~" Hisoka asked before pulling you back over to him by the waist. Your breath caught at his strength.

You must have been the one to stop that man...

He pulled you into his lap, the only thing between you two was your panties and his towel. You made eye contact with him.

"I- I wasn't going anywhere! I can't-" he cut you off by holding your face still, fingers string against your chin, keeping you in place for him.

"I think I deserve a reward, don't you?" he inquired quietly. You felt a shiver run over your body.

"What...?" you started, but it was too late. He threw you down back onto his bed, climbing over top of you. You panicked again, feeling your blood run cold despite his heated touch against your skin. He pressed his huge hand into your stomach, hard. You felt your insides protest weakly at his touch. Your own hands tried to pry his one off, but to no avail.

"Don't worry princess, I won't hurt you yet." he cooed. A sob wracked across your body. You tried to kick, though your left leg was rendered almost useless, the nerves and tendons shot completly. Hisoka's hand moved down your stomach to your womanhood, a finger trailing across your panties. He smirked at your objective squeak.

"Oh my, you're better than a thought~" he growled in your ear seductively, moving his hand back up your body to your breast underneath the shirt that must have been his. His towel was starting to fall, a tent forming under it. He squeezed hard on your sensitive bud, causing a yelp to leave your mouth. You felt lips attach to your neck, right above your collar bone. It made your breath hitch again, the feeling of his tongue licking lightly over your sensitive skin.

Hisoka's hand moved down to your panties again, moving them aside while he lined himself up. He didn't enter right away, simply ran his dick through your folds, making you feel how hard you'd made him by doing nothing at all. Signing, he found your entrance, pushing the tip lightly against your hole. Teasing it open.

You felt like you should have said something to him. Told him you weren't ready. Something. Anything. But you said nothing. The splitting pain ripping you in half as he entered. And he wasn't gentle. Hisoka groaned at his intrusion, satisfied with himself. He sat up on his elbows so he could look you in the eyes as he worked himself into you. Your eyes we're closed however, trying to push him out as best you could.

"Look at me lovely, your eyes are so pretty..." he begged you, moving himself in you. It hurt, God it hurt. It also didn't help the already burning pain in your leg reminding you of what happened earlier that night. You had to keep your legs wide open in attempt at any reduce in the pain he provided. It was a difficult feat due to your open wound.

Hisoka moaned out loud as he moved in you, pushing himself in and pulling himself out. Your walls tightened in agony as he sped up, though his ministrations got easier and easier on you, your body trying desperately to lubricate itself to avoid the pain, though it still hurt like hell as his body managed to force itself into yours.

"Hisoka! Slow down please!" you begged, genuinely begged for him to at least slow down. Your cries only made him speed up however, obviously turned on by any sound you made. You tried to stay quiet instead, though that too proved difficult once his hand found your swollen clit. You hadn't even noticed your own arousal through all the pain. It felt good.

The tip of Hisoka's dick pushed against the back of your core, earning him a moan from your lips suddenly.

"There you are!" he moaned out to you, tilting your hips and pushing himself deeper so he could thrust into you like that everytime. You grabbed onto his arms from support, since at this point he was practically throwing you against the headboard with his hips alone. Eventually your pain was taken in stride as you got closer and closer to your release.

"Say my name for me, love~" he was speaking to your drunken brain, knowing you'd obey. You tried to ignore it, but he only pushed himself into you harder, forcing your good leg up over his shoulder so he could fuck you at a better angle. You were suddenly dizzy and on the brink of orgasm.

"Hisoka!" you started, "fuck Hisoka please! Ah- ah- yes- oh shit YES! Ohh~" you finished off from him. You continued to moan for him as he used you to finish himself, finding his release deep inside of you. You whined as the hot liquid filled your core up to the brim, leaking out onto the sheets.

Hisoka harshly pulled out of you, letting your leg fall down onto the bed. You tried to close your legs, but your pelvis hurt so bad you started shaking the second you tried. Hisoka was panting in front of you.

"I might need another shower, care to join me? It might help in washing your leg." he suggested. You whimpered in response, not even trying to fight as he picked you up to carry you to his bathroom.

(//I hope you enjoy this, it was decent I think, I could have done better but I think I did alright on it!//)

[sapphic-suchoripterus]

Material Spirit

Posting this here cause why the heck not :P

Summary: Inspiration can come from unexpected places, especially when you're as depressed as Adagio. Fandom: Equestria Girls Genre: Slice of Life, Hurt/Comfort (and maybe a teeny hint at Sundagio but who’s keeping track) Rating: Teen Content Warnings: profanity, slight suicidal thoughts, depressive habits, self-deprecating talk.

Adagio woke to the sound of her stomach rumbling. With a shaky hand she reached for her phone next to her pillow and tapped the screen, smudged by her own fingerprints.

4:09 PM. She sighed, realizing she had slept through the majority of the day again. Her stomach growled a second time.

Pushing the sheets off of her head, Adagio cringed as the cool air hit her sweaty face. Turning toward her night stand, she picked up her glass of lukewarm water and took a few gulps. Water dribbled out onto her shirt. She made no attempt to wipe it.

Her stomach turned with a gurgle, perhaps roused by the water, or recoiling from it not being food.

Eat something, dummy. You won’t be able to get anything else done if you don’t eat.

Adagio then mustered up her strength and reached for the box of oyster crackers standing on the floor by her bed. She popped open and ate a couple handfuls of the contents, which she decided would make up for missing both breakfast and lunch.

After tossing the box back onto the floor, she took another gulp of water and sighed as she felt her eyes begin to droop, and the bones in her neck make a small popping noise. She lay back down on her pillow and tried to forget about the fact that her hair desperately needed to be brushed.

You’re filthy. You’re so pathetic.

Shutting her eyes, she tried to remember if today was Wednesday or Thursday.

Outside of her door, she could hear her sisters chattering and thumping up and down the hallway of their apartment.

Adagio didn't bother to try following the conversation, but from the tone being thrown back and forth, she guessed it was Sonata bugging Aria to do something. Not unusual.

Nearly every day started this way for Adagio. Wake up, eat something stashed in her room, look at the ceiling, hear her sisters outside, and inevitably be reminded that she was...

Stuck.

Sure, she knew she could wake up earlier, go outside and do something, but not one muscle in her body would agree. Her eyes would refuse to open up all the way. The sweat on her face felt like a dirty sheet of plastic that kept her trapped in her bed.

This was all normal now.

This was her life after losing her amulet. The woman she truly was without her siren magic. A hollow, useless weakling long drained of dazzle.

This is the real you. Without the smoke and mirrors.

She envied and respected her younger sisters for moving on, for finding purpose and motivation. For retaining an identity without dark magic to command their every decision.

Adagio let the tears roll down her face and cursed her futility.

Her inability to get up and see the sun. Her naivety for not realizing how much of herself was intertwined with the powers she once had. The pathetic haze of simply existing.

It’s all downhill from here. This is your life as a human.

All Adagio could do was sleep. She didn't even dream anymore. Even if she had something to dream about, her brain would never have the energy.

A knock came at her door, and a tentative Sonata spoke.

"Dagi? You up?"

Adagio took a deep breath. "Yeah," she sighed.

"Uh, do you um, want to come with us to the mall?"

Adagio furrowed her brow. "Why?"

"Cause Aria like, got paid today and she has a lot of extra money this time!" chirped the youngest Dazzling.

Hmm. Maybe being somewhere besides her bed would help her feel a little refreshed. Oh please, you’ll tire out halfway through and come home with nothing.

"Maybe..."

"Oh..." Sonata replied softly. She sounded disheartened.

Great, you made your little sister sad.

"I'd have to shower first." "We're gonna go in an hour, you can do it that fast, right?"

"I doubt it, Sonata."

You’re such an asshole. She looks up to you, wants to spend time with you, and you say no.

"Okay..." Sonata breathed. She left Adagio's door.

Adagio stared at the ceiling, thoughts tumbling. You’re a terrible sister. You failed them. They pity you. You’re not worthy of their love anymore.

Light suddenly filled the room and a pillow was rudely slammed into Adagio's face.

"Okay, get up!" Aria snapped.

Adagio, not taking kindly to the intrusion, threw the pillow to the side and sat up. "What the hell was that for!?"

Aria was standing in the doorway, arms crossed and scowling. "Go shower and get dressed, you're coming to the mall with us!" Aria said with a snarl in her voice.

"Just go with Sonata," Adagio grumbled as she pulled her covers back over her head.

"Nuh-uh. You're coming too." Aria yanked the covers off Adagio.

Adagio winced. "I'm tired."

"You've been in bed the whole day!"

"My hair is too gross."

"Wash it then! You are not skipping out on me."

"I have nothing to wear."

"Then come with us and buy some new shit to wear!" Aria shouted, before reaching over and turning on Adagio's desk light. More light hit Adagio's face and seeped through her eyelids.

"I'm sick of you moping around like this. It's not good for you, it's not good for me, and it's not good for Sonata. You're making her all worried and shit. She doesn't need that."

Adagio opened her eyes.

It’s not like you can fix years of being a shitty sister to her.

"We all gotta be doing stuff, Adagio. We still gotta live, we gotta be humans, our only other option is to die like a goldfish in a toilet. I honestly don't care what you do with your life, but just lying there day after day is sad."

She’s right. You’ll never get better.

"If you won't do it for yourself, do it for Sonata an' me. Give us some impression that you still have a life."

You at least owe them that. They’ve seen the real you.

"Alright, fine. Just get out of my room and I'll be ready in a bit," said Adagio as she sat up again. She felt a tendon in her neck throb.

"Okay," said Aria, turning to leave. She paused at the door and looked over her shoulder. "Thank you, Adagio," Aria said under her breath.

"You're welcome," Adagio mumbled before Aria shut the door.

You don't deserve their patience, you know. Be grateful they haven't given up on you yet. They should, though. Think about how much happier they would be if-

Adagio huffed, and stood up out of bed. “Shower… think about showering… where’s my bath sponge…” She whispered to no one.

***

She stepped out into the living room to find Sonata and Aria dressed as if they were headed to a concert. Sonata wore bright blues and pinks, her arms covered in bracelets and her nails painted. Aria had opted for black and dark purples with contrasting greens and flashy silver chains.

Sonata looked like she was about to speak, but she kept her mouth closed.

Adagio felt a bit modest in her jeans and baseball tee. She hadn't even worn her signature headband, instead putting her hair up in a ponytail to hide the fact that it was still wet. That had been to save time, for simply blow-drying and fluffing it up would have taken half the hour.

Nuh-uh, It’s really because you’re a lazy-

"Alright let's head out," said Aria. She whispered something to Sonata before unlocking the door, and Sonata glanced back at Adagio a second time before following her sister outside.

***

The mall was, as usual, an overload to the senses. The scents of floor polish, cinnamon rolls, perfume, sports equipment, and many others collided and formed what Sonata fondly referred to as "mall smell".

It didn't bother Adagio quite as much as the sounds of the mall. People chatting, children goofing around, music blasting from store to store, and all of it amplified by the enormous hollow building. Hearing herself think wasn’t easy.

Then again, the last thing she needed was to be alone with her thoughts.

Her hand was suddenly grabbed by an excited Sonata. “Hey, hey Aria! Can we get one of those giant cinnamon buns? I’ll share it this time!”

Aria raised an eyebrow. “You promise not to wolf it all down in thirty seconds?”

Sonata pouted and pulled Adagio closer to her side. “Yeeeeeees, I promise!”

“Okay. We’ll get one then.” Aria, being the one with the money, took the lead. Adagio didn’t want to bother with trying to wrestle away the control today.

As usual, Sonata hadn’t reached for any of the napkins Adagio had set on the table for the three of them, instead opting to lick her fingers clean of the sticky sugary glaze and cinnamon filling. It didn’t disgust Adagio as much as when her little sister would unwittingly get it on her face and neglect to wipe it off.

Adagio put the plastic fork that she used to eat her third of the cinnamon bun in her mouth and chewed on one of the prongs. Now that she had something other than oyster crackers in her stomach, she felt herself perk up a bit.

Aria set her phone down and looked across the table at where Adagio was sitting.

"So, where do ya want to go?"

"Hmm?" Adagio pulled the fork out of her mouth and looked at Aria.

"I said, 'Where did you want to go?' I know you hate that place that sells overpriced hats, but honestly I don't think a blue snapback would look too bad on y-"

"Aria, what are you talking about?" Adagio asked, setting her fork down.

"You need new clothes, right?"

"I…” Adagio remembered Aria mentioning new clothes earlier, but she hadn’t thought her sister was serious.

Aria groaned and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Ugh… I’m offering to buy you some new clothes, Daj. Do you want them or not?”

“I… yes. Yes I want some new clothes.”

“Alright then,” Aria picked her phone back up.

New clothes, huh? You don’t deserve them. She pities you so much. But you won’t be turning them down, now will you?

“Where did you want to go, then?” said Aria. “That way I’ll get an idea of how much I’m spending.”

Adagio said the first thing that popped into her head.

"Bushel's."

Aria smiled a little bit, and then pocketed her phone. "Bushel's it is then."

***

Bushel's was one of the larger clothing department stores in this mall. Nothing fancy, but it had some solid variety and thankfully for Adagio, it was easy to get lost in.

Aria had taken Sonata with her to browse around the place while Adagio looked around. If she were in a better mood, they would all be looking around together. They would be building each other's ensembles bit by bit, praising certain articles of clothing and mocking the ones that were ugly. They would be having little dare contests to try on tacky jewelry or oversized sunglasses. They would be stumbling around in the most ridiculous boots they could find, laughing at each other and picking each other up off of the floor.

Adagio twiddled a shoelace between her fingers. She felt hollow.

When was the last time you even shared a laugh with your sisters? They’re probably wondering where that version of you disappeared to.

She shook the thought from her head and began to leave the shoe aisle-

Then she saw it.

It was only the backs of their heads, but Adagio knew. She recognized the hair, the voices…

Sunset Shimmer.

With her was another of the other Rainboom pals, the one with the shiny purple hair who played the keytar and wore too much mascara. The other girl with her looked a bit like the Princess from Equestria, but Adagio didn't remember her wearing glasses or having such twiggy arms. She had to have been the Princesses' human double.

Adagio felt her chest tighten, and a familiar feeling of dread creeped up her spine. She backpedaled and ducked behind a shoe shelf, only peeking around the corner at the girls.

Sunset Shimmer. To say Adagio felt conflicted about the girl now would be an understatement. It had been years since they'd seen each other, the day Adagio and her sisters lost their last connection to Equestria in their amulets.

If she hadn't stood up and sang her verse, Adagio would still have her magic. Her sisters would still have theirs. She would have fulfilled her promise to them for power and adoration. She had every reason to dance on the grave of this human brat, for causing all the color and beauty of the world to vanish in an instant.

That’s not the only reason you despise her, you jealous little asshole. You admire her too. She succeeded where you failed. She found magic. She’s living her best life. And she’s not even a siren. If she were, you’d be her bitch.

Adagio watched, as Sunset picked out a purple jacket from a clothes hanger. It had a tall and fancy collar with gold buttons and spikes along the shoulder. Sunset turned around, facing her two companions and slipping the garment on.

It was a good look for her. Sunset’s bright smile and vibrant eyes combined with the warm, dark colors and sharp angles on the jacket were stunning. It was a look that said “I have arrived, and I’ve brought a good time with me. If you want a piece, you’ll keep your attention on me!”

As far as Adagio thought, sharing a good time and a positive energy seemed to be something humans did exceedingly well.

Sunset’s companions said something to her that Adagio hadn’t caught. Sunset responded, and then she removed the garment and put it back on the rack. She was still smiling, and Adagio thought she’d even seen a little giggle.

Look how happy she is. You’ll never be as happy as that again.

Adagio scowled.

Sunset and her friends then left the store.

They didn’t need new clothes to have fun or to forget how shitty a person they are, not like you.

Adagio felt her throat tighten.

It’s so funny, just how angry you get when someone is doing better than you-

Adagio took a quick breath, then stepped out from behind the shoe shelf. “Keep busy, look through some clothes… breathe...” She mumbled.

She busied herself, looking at different jackets. She read tags. She held up sleeves and observed their lengths. She put her hand inside a few of them and felt out their interiors. A lot of them were either too scratchy or too fleece-y. Adagio wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but not those.

Her eyes kept going back to the purple jacket that Sunset had tried on. It was almost like there was a halo on it, pulling her attention back in its direction.

“Maybe…”

She strode up to the rack the jacket hung from, finally looking at it head-on. It truly was a magnificent garment. She wondered just what had compelled Sunset to try it on in the first place. Could have been anything really.

Adagio stroked it with her fingertips. It felt like suede, soft and unmoving at once. She made a little line in the warm fabric with her fingernail. She slid her way down to one of the sharp gold spikes on the shoulder. They weren’t sharp enough to draw blood, but with a little pressure, perhaps it could tear some skin. The spikes stood proud and bright, as if displaying a warning to those who would encroach on the wearer’s personal space.

It felt a little heavy as Adagio held it in her hands.

She lifted it up to her face, and inhaled.

“Hmm...:” It had a teeny tiny trace of Sunset Shimmer’s perfume on it.

It smelled good.

Really good.

Adagio slipped the jacket on.

She fixed the collar so that it stood proud, the golden buttons shimmering brightly. Adagio felt herself smile a little bit.

Adagio looked around the store for a mirror. Spotting one, she walked over to it, feeling her smile getting bigger and bigger as her reflection got closer and closer.

For the first time since losing her amulet, that blank space in front of her neck where the jewel had rested didn’t look so bare. The jacket drew attention to her shoulders and made her look stronger, sturdier. The gold adornments stood beautifully against the dark, brooding purple and made the golden highlights of her hair lustrous once more.

Oh wow, a fancy jacket is really the only thing that can boost your mood? You really are a shallow, little- “Hmph!” Adagio huffed, as she tossed her hair and smirked her sexy smirk into the mirror.

Happiness flickered in her stomach.

It’s probably just endorph-

Adagio spun around, smiling harder and walking toward the sales counter with her new favorite jacket.

***

“So if I touched those spikes, would I start bleeding?” Sonata piped up.

“You could try, but I’d rather not stain it the same day I get it,” said Adagio. “And you would be the one to clean it.”

“Heh, alrighty then,” Sonata said as she sat back in her seat. “Ooh, you wanna see the stuff I got at Clear Sky’s?” She reached into the pink plastic bag on the floor of the van.

“Sonata I swear if you turn on that light while I’m driving…” came Aria’s voice from the front.

“Oh fine…” Sonata pouted. She turned back toward Adagio and held up a little blue dragon plushie. “Touch it! It’s super soft!”

Adagio smiled, then reached out to pat the stuffed animal on the head. She was right, the glittery fabric was silky under her fingertips. “It’s very cute, Sonata.”

“Also when I squeeze her claw, her eyes light up!”

“Sonata, I mean it!” Aria growled.

Sonata stuck out her tongue in Aria’s direction, then turned back to Adagio and said in a whisper, “I’ll show you when we get home!”

“Thank you, Sonata,” Adagio replied.

***

The silence of a house relaxing was much different than the bustling mall. Adagio felt strangely serene, curled up on the couch in the living room rather than her bed. She hoped she’d still feel this way in the morning.

“Hey… Adagio?”

“Hmm?” Adagio looked up from her phone.

Aria had quietly sat down opposite to her on the couch. She looked like she was having a hard time relaxing where she sat. Her eyes darted around.

“You uh… you gonna be okay?” Aria asked, looking Adagio in the eye. “You know, like… okay okay?

Adagio set her phone down on her lap. “What do you mean?”

Aria wrung her hands together. “I mean like, do you need… help? Or something?”

“Help? What are you talking about?” Adagio spoke softly and cocked her head to the side.

Aria crossed her legs and continued. “Cause, I know a few guys. They can get you some good stuff. Not to get high or anything, I mean like legit meds. Antidepressants and stuff that actually works.”

This took Adagio by surprise. She wasn’t sure how to respond. “Well... Aria, I don’t know exactly what kind I would need,” said Adagio. “I don’t even know if I am depressed.”

Aria looked at her sister head-on. “Adagio, I know you. But I also know that healthy humans don’t lie in bed the whole day and eat nothing but crackers.”

Adagio looked off to the side, clutching the sleeves of her jacket. She couldn’t argue with that.

“I just… want you to be happy, ya know? Me and Sonata care about you. And we know you aren’t happy.”

Aria gave her sister a half-smile. For her, that was truly sincere. “We wanna help you live happier, even if we’re all stuck as humans.”

Adagio sighed. “Human....” She was tired of hearing that word, but she knew Aria was right.

“I mean you don’t have to decide right now, but maybe think about it? I know it helps a lot of other humans.”

Adagio nodded. “Yeah. I understand.” She smiled at Aria.

Aria shrugged. “I know losing your magic sucked. But I also know going round and round the same things everyday isn’t gonna help.”

“Every day is the same…” Adagio echoed to herself.

Aria rested her head on her elbow. “Yeah, exactly.”

“Every day’s the same…”

“Uh, yeah…” said Aria as Adagio repeated herself.

Adagio suddenly blinked her eyes wide open. Something in her head was lighting up.

“I’ll get back to you thanks Ari!” Adagio said in a rush before jumping up and rushing toward her room.

“Uh, okay?” Aria furrowed her brow in confusion.

***

Adagio stood on the tips of her toes and swept dust off of her top drawer with her hand in haste. She opened the heavy wooden container and reached inside, feeling around for her long neglected notebook and glitter pen. Grabbing them, she jumped back onto her bed and flipped on her lamp.

Her hands were shaking as she cracked open the old notebook. She scribbled a few lines of the pen on the sides of the next blank page, getting the old writing instrument working after laying dormant for so long.

She began to write, her penmanship messy.

Round and round.

Going Round and round.

No. Scratch out the ‘ing’.

Going Round and round.

Same things every day.

Every day is the same.

Wait, too many syllables.

Every day is the same.

Every day’s the same.

I lost my magic.

I lost my magic.

We lost our magic.

Wait no, keep it in present-tense for now.

Lose our magic.

Come back to that one later…

Which way do I go?

Which way do we go?

Where do we go?

Hmm…

Adagio looked down at her new jacket, smiling as the proud golden spikes twinkled.

There’s beauty in everything.

I see beauty.

I find beauty in everything.

I can find beauty in little things.

Can I find beauty in little things?

Put a star by this one. Come back to it later...

Adagio continued writing long into the night.

***

[wayward-angels-club]

No one will look at my body as I do

No one will see the gentle way my finger prints swirl upon itself

No one will see the odd way my thumbs were made, short and clubbed and how their nails as so so short

No one will see the bolt of my jaw when it clenches so quickly when I stub my toe

No one will find my body as fascinating as I do

No one will take time to map out the veins that run across my things

Or the tendons that stand out against the back of my hand

No one will be fascinated by the way my knee cap moves back and forth when held in the right position

Or think of the small scar on my chest from a cat scratch when I was 11

No one will spend time studying it as I have

They won’t know of the freckles that make a pine tree shape on my upper arm

Or the off kilter line of my spine from years of slouching to not be so tall

They can’t begin to recite the stories behind my smattering of scars from anything and everything

No one will be as harsh about my body as I am

They won’t see the lines across my stomach when I stand

Or the bitten down nails that never get more than a day to grow

They wouldn’t be able to mention the way my acne spreads down my shoulders and back

Or how my brain is so mean to me sometimes

No one else will love my body as I do

The fat on my hips from nights out with friends and drive threw meals

Or the annoying way I get stomach aches after a big meal

They won’t know the pointy end of my elbow as it rests on my leg

Or how my hip bones stick out when I lie down

They can’t see how my eyes light up when I fall in love with art or writing or the sky for the thousandth time

No one will write poems about my body

I’ll never been written into history for my frizzy hair

Or the crooked line of my teeth that my retainer never solved fully

They won’t write about my heart beat as I see my favourite person show up in front of me

And how I rub my thumb pads together as I think of things to type

No one else will ever understand my body as much as I do, so I will do it for them, for me, I will praise the cracking joints, and yellowed teeth, the back pain and the spider veins on my upper thigh, or the way my knuckles go pale in the cold as my nail beds so purple and the way my eyelashes clump together right above my pupils. I will love every part of me head to toe. All the good and all the bad, all the stuff worthy of poems and paintings and all the things people never feel like immortalizing.

I’m so sorry for hating my being for as long as I did, I am a miracle, the chances of my being here are so slim it’s incredible I get to be alive. My body, my brain, my everything is as it should be, not perfect not beautiful not some outside perspective of worth that we strive towards. Everything about me is as it should be and how can i do anything but love that completely.

[blackleatherjacketz]

My Brother’s Keeper: Chapter 12

Negan x Reader

Featuring: Laura, Morgan Jones

Summary: Your brother runs away from the Sanctuary and you pay the price. This Chapter: You start your journey to the Kingdom to keep the rest of your family safe.

Word Count: 2009

Author’s Note: I’m taking some creative license with Morgan in assuming (for this story) that Carol stayed with Rick in Alexandria.

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Zombies, Grief, Mirages, Self-Doubt, A Reference to Glenn, Lying

Read the rest of the story HERE!

The road ahead was long, heat rising off the pavement in waves before disappearing into a lush green border of trees that stood on each side. It went on like that forever, dipping down into rolling hills as the translucent waves turned into mirages of puddles in each valley that disappeared as soon as you reached them. The sudden image of water reminded you of just how thirsty you were, the summer sun sucking all the moisture from your body into tiny droplets of sweat on your forehead.

You wiped your brow with the back of your hand, running it through hair that Laura had cut short for you earlier this morning. She’d told you that you needed to be unrecognizable from before, just in case anyone at the Kingdom remembered who you were.

She took the clothes off your back and replaced them with bigger ones, giving you the look of someone who had been starving on the road for a considerable amount of time. She took the polish off your toes, the earrings from your ears and the metal Rolex off your wrist. Instead she replaced them with a worn-down watch, a knife, a lighter, and a canteen full of water. She did all this before going over your backstory and fake name, making sure you remembered what Negan told you to do.

“The Kingdom’s six miles down that road,” she’d said before slowing the car to a complete stop. “Take a right at Glenn Avenue and you’ll see the ghost town a few yards in.” She paused, squinting as the sunlight blurred her vision through the windshield. “Look, I know this sucks, but I’ll keep an eye on your dad and sis for you, make sure they stay out of trouble.” She kept her eyes forward as you visibly saw her cut ties with you emotionally.

You wondered for a second what she did before all this, regretting not asking her when tensions weren’t so high. You could see her as someone like a prison guard or maybe even a soldier in one of the military branches, but you decided it was better not to know. If she was distancing herself from you, well, then, you could do the same thing back.

“Yeah,” you answered, leaning down in the passenger seat to grab your backpack. “I appreciate that.” You tried not to show how disappointed you were that Negan couldn’t drive you all the way out here himself. If it had to be anyone else, though, you guessed Laura was the next best choice.

You came back to the present and let your hand fall down to your canteen, unlatching it from its container on your belt. You kept walking forward as you slowly unscrewed the top, keeping your eyes peeled for a street sign named Glenn. Even though you were pissed at Negan, it didn’t change the fact that he still had your family at his disposal, or that you secretly still wanted to please him.

When Laura dropped you off, you felt like a wounded animal being brought out to pasture, a useless creature sent away before your master shopped around for a newer better version of you. That dark feeling started to take root in your chest, but you didn’t let it take hold. You kept your head up and refused to be that gimpy dog kicked out on the side of the road. This journey was going to make you stronger, sharpen your fighting skills and survival tactics while your master was away. You had to reach your destination no matter what; if not for him, then you definitely had to do it for your family.

You brought the canteen up to your mouth, taking the first swig in an hour since you’d hit the road. It was still cool as it hit your coffee-stained lips, washing over your teeth and tongue as you swished it around and swallowed it down. You never regretted taking the running water in the Sanctuary for granted until now; all those times you used the toilet, washed your hands, took a shower or even drank several glasses of water without even thinking about it… what a selfish bitch you used to be.

The sticky Virginia heat brushed past you in a long-awaited breeze, moving the leaves on their branches to the left in a calm and soothing wave, almost as if the sky itself were an ocean full of currents and undertows. You took another sip to cool yourself down, closing your eyes as the breeze brought fresh air around you. Ahh, you thought, spreading your arms out wide like a scarecrow, this is the good stuff.

The sound of the leaves rustling up above was interrupted by hoarse wheezes down below, forcing your eyes to open. You saw what you hadn’t seen in years, what Negan had ‘saved’ you from all those years ago when he brought your family to the Sanctuary. Half-dead bodies crept out of the green forest, their limbs dangling by sinews and tendons as they attempted to climb up the small hill onto the road. Their wheezes got louder as they saw you, mouths opening wide in anticipation of a fresh meal that they hadn’t had since God knows when.

“Oh, shit,” you whispered, putting your canteen back in its container. You hadn’t killed a deadbeat in gosh, three years… had it really been that long? You remembered celebrating three Christmases with your family behind concrete walls, so, yeah, it had to have been that long.

You pulled the knife that Laura gave you out of its holster, the handle a little different than the one you had before, and tightened your grip. “Go for the head,” you coached yourself, “Go for the head.”

You spread your legs to broaden your center of gravity as the first one approached you. Its guts were spilling out of its abdomen, dangling down below its knees as it came toward you with a hungry yawn. Arms outstretched in a coarse and desperate scream, it tried to grab hold of you, but you dodged its grasp. You ducked to the right and rammed your blade into the side of its skull, destroying what little brain it had left. You heard the last of its screams as it stopped moving and finally fell to the ground. Phew! So that’s what that felt like; you’d almost forgotten!

You felt your heart begin to race as you took out the next one, feeling good as you ended the ‘lives’ of the undead. One, two, three fell down on the pavement as you got quicker with your technique, getting used to the weight and feel of your new knife. You wasted a few more as you pushed through them on your path to the Kingdom, stopping as you saw one in particular that looked familiar.

This deadbeat happened to be a woman of middle age, her eyes gray and blue as the veins surrounding them burned jet black. She was slower than the rest, waddling toward you with caution as she wore the face of your mother. Her hands grasped at the air in front of her; your mother’s wedding band glistening in the sunlight on her finger. Oh no, no, no, no. No, it couldn’t be. Your brother would have… wouldn’t he? Alex had to have taken her down when she turned, he couldn’t risk her turning and then… Wait a minute, did he just leave her here to die by herself? Was she all alone in her final moments?

The sound of hissing screams tore you out of your hypothetical list of ‘what if’s. Your mother, or what was left of her anyways, had a giant staff lanced through her head. You blinked dumbly as her blood splattered across your face, those blue eyes closing forever before the staff caused her body to slump onto the floor.

You stared at the blank space in front of you, where she stood before any questions of your mother’s fate were left unanswered. You wanted to say thank you like a normal person, but felt yourself unable to speak. You turned to find that the man who saved your life was just around your father’s age, pulling his staff up and out of your mother as he brought it to his side.

“You know her?” He pulled a rag out of his pocket and began wiping off his weapon.

“She was m...mmm...mmmy...mmmmy,” you stammered, looking back down at her. “She was my mom.” A tear fell down your cheek, and for the first time in your life you weren’t afraid to show such emotion.

“I’m sorry.” The man spun his stick in a skillful circle and planted it firmly between his feet. “I know how hard it can be to put down a loved one.” He placed both hands on top of the staff and leaned slightly forward.

You forced a smile and bent down next to your mother’s corpse, looking at her one last time. You noted the bedazzled shirt she had on, the loosely sewn-in sequins shining a colorful rainbow onto your skin as you leaned in closer. She always loved to be flashy, even when the deadbeats were chasing her down the road.

You laughed to yourself and took the ring off her finger, necrotic flesh and blood coming off the bone. The smell of her rotting body finally got to you once the adrenaline of the kill had worn off; gastric contents and mucus mixing together in a sickening stench that only worsened in the rising heat. You swallowed down your breakfast as it threatened to travel up your throat and into your mouth, wiping the remnants of your mother’s jewelry onto your shoe before placing it in your pocket.

“I’m Morgan, by the way.” He offered, waiting patiently as you took your time to stand up.

“I’m Maria,” you muttered, the first of many lies you’d have to tell on this journey. The name sounded extremely foreign coming out of your mouth. Maria, Maria, Maria, you chanted in your head. My name is Maria.

“Where you headed, Maria?” His squinted eyes widened as he turned to you, the scalding afternoon sun beating down on his nearly bald head.

“Nowhere in particular,” you lied again. “You?”

Morgan laughed under his breath, picking his staff up off the ground before stepping forward. “Nowhere in particular. You part of a group?” He cocked an eyebrow upward, his suspicions rising with it.

“I was… well, she was and my brother was…we were...” The fear that this man may have been planted by Negan overruled your innate desire to trust him.

“Just them?” he prodded.

“Just them.” You looked at your boots as you continued to walk, each stride getting wider with each step. “How about you? You part of a group?”

“I was.” He stared off into the distance. “Didn’t work out.”

The two of you walked alone together in respective silence after that. You kept your hands on your weapons, offering each other food and water every hour or so until you finally reached Glenn Avenue. You stared at the placard as it drew closer, white letters on green looming over you like a warning sign as you thought of a reasonable excuse to turn right.

Morgan signaled to you as the sound of hooves interrupted your paranoid thoughts. He twirled his staff around himself in a protective barrier, readying himself for action as the sound grew louder. Luckily for you and your lying quota for the day, the sound was coming from down Glenn Avenue. You let out a sigh of relief and took out your weapon, feigning surprise and readiness as the sound of screams quickly accompanied the sound of hooves on the road.

“You hear that?” He whispered, glancing at you. “Someone’s in trouble.” Without a second thought Morgan sprinted off down the road, approaching two men on horses as a small group of deadbeats started to attack.

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

Tags: @irrelevantwriter @genevievedarcygranger @chamberofsloths @letsby @negans-network @annablack1102 @negansdirtygirl22 @rasa1945 @bodhi-black @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @namelesslosers @collette04 @mblaqgi @bishsposts @haleyea @ptite-shit @jamiekingofmen @ibelongtonegan @marriedtonegan @chloejanedecker1 @divadinag @dxloverpunk @tylersblurrylittleface

[red-and-blue-sewer-circus-arc]

Rufo the Clown: Audience pt. 2 (revised)

Warnings: voyeurism, possessive behavior, blood, gore, rough explicit smut

“Just like that. Keep facing the closet for me”

Was he fucking with him? Earl made it a point not to look at another mans junk but even he couldn’t help but stare when Rufo pulled his out. His dick was the same shade of white as his face and arms! Earl watched Rufo crawled on the bed behind Miss 504 like it was the most natural thing in the world and slap her on the ass. Rufo pulled her panties up between her cheeks and spanked her again. This time he hit her harder and she gave another little yelp of pain.

“You HAVE been waiting for me, haven't you?”

504 looked over her shoulder at him.

“Of course I have Rufo. Now please. I want you so bad.”

She pushed her ass back against him, her voice was thick with lust and Earl was surprised she wasn’t panting like a bitch in heat. Rufo chuckled. That stupid cocky grin was still planted on his face as he lined up and pulled her back on his cock.

“Careful what you wish for doll.”

Earl watched the expression on 504's face change. She bit her lip while Rufo pushed inside her and when he grabbed her by the hips and started thrusting, her mouth dropped open in a little o of pleasure. There had been a few nights where Earl had jacked off to the thought of her making that face for him.

“Rufo!”

Rufo reached down and grabbed a handful of her hair. He lifted her upper body off the bed until it was flush against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. He pulled and squeezed her tits while he kissed a trail down her neck to her shoulder.

“I love it when you say my name like that.”

Rufo stared down Earl’s hiding spot and sank his teeth into her shoulder. 504 grit her teeth, but when blood started to run past his red painted lips and drip down her breast, she screamed in pain. Rufo didn't stop thrusting as he bit down again and left another set of teeth marks on her body. This time it was his name she cried.

Earl shifted his position in the closet and cursed under his breath. It was barely audible to him, but he noticed the clowns body tense. Rufo pulled his bloody lips from her skin and frowned inside his clown smile. He bared his teeth in anger and slammed her face back down into the mattress, holding her down while he pounded into her.

“You know what I would do to you if I found out you were fucking around on me?!”

He moved his hand from her hip only long enough to slap her ass again before he resumed the harsh pace of his thrusts. 504 gripped the blankets so tight Earl could see her knuckles turn white.

“Only you Rufo… you’re the only one who gets to fuck me!”

That seemed to please the clown. His smirk returned and he changed the angle of his hip to move with her instead of against her. Soon she was moaning louder than Earl thought a quiet girl like her could. Rufo pulled her head up and gave Earl a good look at her face as she came. The manic clown behind her laughed and let her body drop to the bed. He grabbed his cock, now covered in her cream, and gave it a few hard jerks before thick streams of cum shot out and covered her back. Rufo groaned and leaned his head back to try and catch his breath while 504 rolled over and smiled up at him.

“Rufo, I'm going to have to shower again.”

Rufo looked down at her, a sadistic smile planted on his face as he tucked himself back into his slacks.

“Sorry Doll. You know I just can't resist performing in front of an audience.”

Earl barely had time to stand up straight as Rufo flew across the room and threw open the closet door. Earl came out swinging. He put every ounce of weight he had behind a punch meant to knock out the clown, but Rufo ducked at the last minute and grabbed him by the wrist. 504 screamed as Earl’s forward momentum was used against him and Rufo swung him against the wall. His considerable weight busted through the plaster, leaving an impressive hole. Earl felt the tendons in his wrist snap but the adrenaline coursing through his system did wonders for the pain. He tried to stand up and throw a punch with his one remaining arm, but Rufo was too fast for him. Earl didn’t know where the knife came from, he didn't even see it until he was pinned to the wall with the long blade wedged between the bones in his forearm. Earl opened his mouth to bellow his rage and hurt but slim fingers wrapped around his face with bruising force and cut off any noise he would have made. He tried to lunge forward in one last rush but he was held down with impossible strength. He should have been able to overpower the slim man, nobody was that strong, but Rufo held him still without even breaking a sweat.

Earl’s eyes went wide as he finally got a good look at the clown face. The pattern had been carved from his skin deep enough to stick a fingertip in. Earl could make out the twisted knots of scars hidden just underneath the colored patches of skin. Skin, not face paint.

Rufo stared at him with eyes that seemed to glow with insanity from deep in their sockets. When he spoke, his voice sounded like dry, dead leaves rustling in the wind. Heat radiated off his body and Earl gagged against the stench of death.

“Early Early Early. I thought we had an understanding.”

Rufo casually reached out and Earl thought he was going to brush his hair back from his sweaty forehead. Instead, he felt the hot finger of the clown push behind his eyeball and pop it out of the socket. Rufo gripped they eye and pulled until all of the connective tissue snapped and the organ came free. Earl screamed but the vice like grip on his mouth muffled the noise. Rufo glanced at the eye before he crushed it and tossed the gooey remains to the side.

“Now that the cats out of the bag so to speak, I'm going to ask you one more time. Have you been fucking our friend Earl here behind my back?”

Earl could see 504 with his one remaining watery eye. She had been watching the whole thing, one hand covered her mouth and the other arm held across her breasts like he hadn’t already seen everything she had and then some. He silently pleaded with her to do anything, say anything to save him. She moved her hand from her mouth and grabbed the little decorative pillow beside her. It was almost comical the way she threw the pillow at the clowns head. The look of surprise on the clowns face before he turned to glare at her was even better. Earl almost felt like laughing.

“Of course I haven’t! I didn’t even know he was in there! I wouldn’t have done that stuff with you if I knew. That creep saw... everything.”

Her face burned red with embarrassment and she looked away from both of them. So much for mercy.

“I believe you babydoll, but a man comes home from work and finds some rube in his closet he’s entitled to ask a few fucking questions.”

Rufo turned his attention back to Earl, the grip on his face tightened as he leaned closer.

“Your turn now Early. I’m going to let you go and you’re not going to scream. You’re going to explain to me just what you were doing in that closet and you better make it damn good.”

Rufo moved his hand and Earl stammered.

“I was...look pal. You don’t know what she's like when you’re gone. Parading her ass all around in those skimpy outfits. She’s been begging me for attention. If anyones to blame here, it's her.”

Earl ignored the look of indignation on her face as he wet his dry lips.

“Honest man. You gotta believe me.”

Rufo looked him up and down then reached into the pocket of his uniform and pulled out the sweat stained stolen panties. He waved them in front of Earl’s face.

“Final answer Early?”

Earl took a shaky breath and licked his lips again as hope died. In that moment he knew he wasn't going to make it out in one piece.

“Earl. It’s just Earl. They put the E on my uniform because Earl C is the groundskeeper.”

Rufo shrugged and reached into Earl’s mouth. His bloody fingers wrapped around his tounge and he pulled. The muscle stretched a lot further than Earl would have guessed before it tore free. Earl thrashed his head from side to side but couldn’t shake the clowns hold. Blood spurted out of his mouth and hit the clown in the face, but Rufo simply smiled and tossed the tongue down beside the remains of his eye.

“Unfortunately for you, Earl, I could hear your heavy breathing as soon as I walked through the front door. I wonder what you would have done to my girl if I hadn't shown up?”

Earl tried to scream when Rufo pulled the knife out of his arm, but only succeeded in choking on his own blood. Rufo grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him away from the wall.

“You're a bad man Earl, and bad men have to be punished. Oh, I almost forgot.”

Rufo chuckled and ripped Earl’s nametag from his uniform. He tossed it to the woman on the bed.

“Wouldn’t want to make identifying the body too easy for them. Pack your bags doll, I think it’s time we relocated.”

Rufo kept a tight grip on the back of Earl’s neck as he steered him towards the bedroom door. Earl only had a moment to wonder what was in store for him before Rufo changed course and flung him towards the large bay windows that covered the far wall of the bedroom. He let loose a gargled scream as his weight carried him through the windows and over the balcony in a crash of shattered glass. Earl fell five stories, head first, while the clown laughed. His last conscious effort was to put up his hands as the sidewalk rushed up to meet him.

[sagemoderocklee]

12 and 21 for the angst prompts (gaalee)

im going to do prompt 12 another day, i swear, but this was... a lot to write and it’s taken me literally all night and i just wanted to post this now

21 i don’t want to lose youpart 4/5 of if wanting were enough i’d take you by the handTW: suicide attempt (seriously this one is not an easy one to read and if you cannot read it, if you think it’ll be too triggering, please do not push yourself. this is a very personal exploration of my own mental health, but i do not want anyone putting themselves in a bad place. im placing this under a cut so proceed with extreme caution) 

[kofi]

He jumps.

He falls.

He flies. 

The morning air rushes past him as he plummets, his weights pulling him down faster. His heart is in his throat and tears blur his vision as he falls towards the earth. The morning sun is a blur of soft golden hues, a kaleidoscope of light refracting within the salt water of his eyes.

He feels free for the first time in far too long. 

He feels weightless.

He feels wonderful. 

He laughs, the sound swallowed by the wind rushing around him, but it turns into a sob. He is flying to his death, falling towards the inevitable moment of impact. He has jumped towards the unknown, allowed gravity to pull him down, down, down... And when he finally stop--

A memory comes to him, unbidden. It is the memory of a dream, but it makes his heart ache to be on solid ground, not plummeting towards it.

Regret burns through him, like lava pouring from a long dormant volcano. It sears through him, smokes in his veins until he is consumed with it; with longing; with want. 

He wants, for the first time, to live. 

He punches a hand into the solid wall of rock that hides Suna within, dragging himself painfully. He has too much momentum though, his weights too heavy and the pull of gravity even stronger than he is. He pushes chakra into his arm and flings the other one towards the wall, digging his fingers into stone. 

He feels the snap of bone as several fingers break against the stone, but he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t stop trying to hold on. He closes his eyes tight, pushes poorly manipulated chakra into his arms with as much force as he can until he feels himself slow. 

It isn’t enough and the ground crashes into him, shattering his weak right leg and sending an explosive wave of sand into the air. His world goes black before he can pray to the gods of the desert that someone finds him. 

---

Pain has always been a sign of growth--he becomes stronger, faster, harder, better. In the wake of pain, he is one step closer to being splendid. Pain has always been firmly categorized in his mind as “good”, as “progress”, as “someday I will be good enough.” 

He pushes himself to the point of pain because it has always been the only way to measure his worth.  

But when Lee wakes to pain, to agony, to suffering it is beyond the pain of “good” or “progress” or “enough”. His body has known pain like this only once before, and even that pain does not come close to what this feels like. A blury memory, choppy and incomplete, hits him with the force the ground had. 

With the memory comes shame, comes regret. He wishes that he could take it back, wishes that the past could be altered somehow, wishes that he’d known any other way besides pain. 

It takes him a lifetime, an age, an eon to adjust to the pain. 

At the edge of his senses, as he finally acclimates to a body he’d rather not be in, he senses someone familiar. He becomes aware, too, of a dull beeping somewhere in the room and voices outside. His nose stings with the smell of herbs and antiseptic. 

He swallows, thickly. His mouth feels like sand and tastes like ash, his throat feels stuff full of cotton. He coughs, and the presence beside him moves closer, an intensity closing in on him. 

“Lee?” 

Fingertips touch his temple, gentle and unsure, awkward and stiff. 

He sighs, peeling his eyes open to look up into Gaara’s face. He looks sick, exhausted in ways Lee had never thought possible; his eyes are heavy and bloodshot, and his skin looks dull and lifeless. Lee shies away from that word as he looks away from Gaara to survey his hospital room. 

“Where--” He coughs on the question, his throat too dry for speech, and almost immediately there is a glass of water in front of him. He hesitates to meet Gaara’s gaze past the glass, but eventually he does. 

There are tears in his eyes, threatening to fall--and that’s another word Lee shies away from all too quickly. 

He sips the water carefully, and some dribbles down the side of his mouth. It’s room temperature and tastes a little stale, as though it’s been sitting for just a little too long in the warmth of his room. 

“How--why--” Lee wants to ask a million questions once his throat does not feel as though a drought has occurred within him, but he doesn’t know where to begin. Gaara looks stricken, as though Lee’s voice is that of a ghost speaking. 

He swallows again, steeling himself for what he’s about to say. 

“You saved me.” 

The tears in Gaara’s eyes roll down his face. His eyes are crystalline, reflecting the artificial light of the hospital in a way that makes the green of them look unnatural. 

“Did I?” he asks, voice gruff around the words and his tears. 

“I am alive,” Lee says. 

Gaara’s lip trembles. “Are you...? Or are you a ghost?” 

Lee knows what Gaara is asking, what he’s saying with that question. Tears of his own fall, but he has to fight not to sob openly because he can feel how it will hurt, how it will subsume his body with pain; pain he deserves--

He stops himself from that line of thinking, meeting Gaara’s tear-filled eyes with his own. “I do not want to be a ghost anymore.” 

Lee doesn’t know exactly what he’d thought Gaara would say or do at this, but he does not expect Gaara to collapse in on himself, face crumpling and eyes brimming with so many tears that they have become sea foam. He leans heavily against Lee’s bed, hovering over Lee as though he wants to crawl onto him, into him, bury himself within Lee and hold him tight enough so he can never leave. 

It takes Gaara long moments to collect himself. He cries quietly, his face scrunched up in ways Lee has never seen as tears run amuck across his face, down his nose, beneath his chin. They fall to the bedsheets, like rain, darkening the plain white like a scattered spring shower. 

Lee washes Gaara cry in silence. He doesn’t want to see this, but he feels he owes it to Gaara to witness this--to witness the devastation he’s caused. 

“Y-you should have died,” Gaara says. The words hurt more than his body, but Gaara keeps talking before Lee can runaway with the horrible truth that Gaara had wanted him dead all along. “I thought--when I found you--I was so sure. You should have died on impact, there was so much blood and you were unconscious, and--” He breaks off, looking away from Lee as though looking at him is a reminder of that very day, as though Gaara is not looking at a healing Lee but a dying Lee. 

Lee’s voice trembles when he speaks, weak and fragile like delicate glass. “I w-wish I could--I could take it back. All of it. Everything that has happened since I came here, everything.” 

Gaara looks at him with wide, glassy eyes, something flickering behind them that Lee cannot name. “Everything?” 

Lee nods. His memory is like wisps of smoke that he cannot hold onto, but he would never forget their kiss. “Everything,” he confirms.

“No.” Gaara is seething, the word slips from him like some sort of magic, a binding curse that Lee cannot free himself from. “You can’t. Don’t you dare take that back.” 

Lee frowns up at Gaara, confusion heavy on his brow. “But... you pushed me away.” 

“I was scared.” 

Lee comes up short. He doesn’t know what to think of this admission, doesn’t know what he’s meant to do with it. He is stuck now on the fact that Gaara does not want him to take back the kiss, hung up on the fact that Gaara won’t let him take it back. 

“When you first came here, I thought I could help,” Gaara says quietly. “I thought... It was self-important to think that because I’d been through trauma and loss, that I could somehow fix you. But I wanted to see you smile again.

“Sometimes you seemed to be getting better, but then you’d slip away again. We were all scared of what you’d do to yourself, but I thought if I just kept an eye on you it would be okay. You would be okay. Eventually. But you weren’t. And I yelled at you, and then you didn’t come home. I’d thought you had done something, I’d thought you’d hurt yourself but you were there, just sitting on the edge of the plateau, watching the sun rise.” 

He sucks in a breath, practically gasps as though the memory itself has winded him. 

“Do you love me?” 

The question startles Lee so much he flinches. It hurts to move, and the hurting of movement causes his body to seize up in protest. It hurts all the more of this. 

“I should get a medic.” 

“N-no, wait. Please.” Lee shifts, but he cannot push himself up--his left hand is in a cast and his right arm so heavily bandaged he cannot see his skin beneath, but he can feel the pull of his skin and knows it is not a sight worth seeing. 

Gaara moves closer, hesitating at the edge of the bed before he takes a seat. 

Lee wants to hold his hand, he wants to touch him so that he knows Gaara will not run away again. And maybe because he hopes it will offer Gaara some semblance of comfort too. 

After a moment of fighting with tendons and ligaments he knows he damaged, Lee manages to move his bandaged hand enough that it gently presses against Gaara’s thigh. The pressure hurts, however gentle it may be, but he doesn’t care. He knows he should care, knows he needs to stop thinking of pain as unquestioningly positive, but he wants to be a little selfish for just a little bit longer; he wants to feel Gaara as he pours his heart out to him. 

“I do not want to give you an answer that is anything less than the truth,” he manages to say, though the words are not as steady and strong as he would have liked them to be. “For a long time, I have thought about you. And maybe that is...” He pauses, his head beginning to ache. The lights are too bright and he is sure he has some head trauma, but he needs to get this out before he forgets. “In truth, I do not think I know what love means anymore.” 

Gaara is watching him, still as a statue save for the subtle movement of his eyes as they flit across Lee’s face. He doesn’t speak, and Lee is grateful for that if only because he is afraid of what Gaara will say. 

“And I do not think I know how to be as I was anymore, and I know that as I am now, it would be unfair to say I do. I might not. I may just... love that you are here when I need someone.” 

Gaara lets out a shaky breath, lips parting fractionally to let the breath escape. Tears glisten in his eyes, and Lee wants so badly to reach up and wipe them away. He can’t--physically limited as he is--and he shouldn’t. Before Gaara can think to say anything in response, Lee continues. 

“I have hurt you. I have been selfish in my grief. I have thought of only myself--and perhaps that is understandable, perhaps to a point it is even reasonable. But it has been almost a year, and I have not allowed myself to heal. I have wallowed, and any chance at healing I have rebuffed. I was so determined not to go on without my sensei that I pushed everyone away, pushed myself away. And because of that, I have hurt you.

“I never meant to,” he adds, tears coming to his eyes unbidden. “I truly never meant to. I just... I wanted it to stop. I wanted to...” He presses his lips together, fighting tears and the agony that comes with his words. “I do not know anymore. I just--every day it felt as though someone had come and carved a hole in my chest. I did not know who I was anymore--I do not know who I am. 

“And after what happened, I do not know what it will take to get better, but I want to get better. I do. And maybe if I can, maybe if I do then I can tell you without a doubt that I do love you.” He wants so badly to tell Gaara he loves him, wants so badly for something beautiful to come from all the ugliness he’s felt, but he wants it to be real; he doesn’t want to give Gaara false promises and false love. 

His head is throbbing fiercely now, along with the rest of his body. Exhaustion runs through his veins, and it is suddenly difficult to think of all the important things he’d realised as he’d fallen towards his death. He opens his mouth, but only manages to slur on words his mind is too sleepy to remember. 

Gaara reaches out for him, touching his cheek with those same unsure fingertips. He trails them across his face, wiping at tears, then moves to touch his lips. 

“I don’t want to lose you again,” Gaara tells him. 

Lee wants to promise him that he won’t, wants to promise “never again”, but he can’t. He doesn’t know who he is or who he will become, and he doesn’t want to promise that Gaara won’t lose the person Lee used to be. 

“I will get better,” he says, because he thinks he can at least promise that. “When I do, if I know my feelings for you to be true, I will come back.” 

“You’re going?”

“I think it is for the best.” His eyes droop, but he fights against it. “You have done everything you can--too much, in fact. It is time I get better on my own, Kazekage-sama.” 

Gaara’s nod is a tiny, imperceptible thing, barely a motion at all. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.” 

Lee manages to smile, a proper smile, for what feels like the first time. “Thank you.”