#i remember most of my dreams since childhood either from writing them down somewhere or something but man--

[shuicheese]

I'm thinking about my dreams again bc I might actually try to finally map things out (this post made me do it) and I'm realizing a trend;

there's too much water

[alexanderflowerbird]

Yippee December! It's almost my birthdaaaayyy :D Since Fuck Nano is over, I made new banners for my excerpts so you can tell which story you're getting a little tasty treat from. Harrowben and I are gonna start working on TBOB again, but we're also gonna be working on our personal projects too, so there's much good writing to be had. Here's some writing for ya <3 Taglist: @theskeletonprior @thelittlestspider @badscientist @tragedycoded

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“Son of a bitch!” She snarls, because in the window is the hideous, malformed face of one of the monsters that makes its rounds near her farm, has made its home on her land. She doesn’t know who it was before it changed, who it might have eaten. What she does know is that now, as it is, it is ugly as sin and harmless. Well. Harmless except to scare the fucking wits out of her by suddenly appearing in her kitchen window, peering in curiously with a set of milky, bluish eyes that are the size of saucers, fish-like and alien. It has four of them, stacked in pairs and forward facing despite the sheep-like shape of its head. It has hair like a sheep too, except it’s long and tangled, mottled grey and white curls and knotted tendrils hanging down its back and around its huge skull. It flicks its ears while looking in at her, turning long, hare-like cones towards her to listen now that she’s shouted. It’s tall enough that it’s lowered its head to look into the window, and Felina can barely see much of it this close, but she knows it is almost-sheep shaped, barely that, especially when its forward bending limbs end in human-like hands, the skin of them black, the nails on them long and nearly curled over the ends of the thick, calloused fingers it walks on.

 Felina always shudders to see it, but Mercedes likes this one, Felina knows. She’s got some name for it, though Felina can’t remember what it is because naming the monsters is foolish. It had Felina at one point dreaming of Mercedes as a wild-life conservationist, out in the woods somewhere naming wolves and doing some hippy dippy one with nature shit, protecting the world with her huge heart. But now it’s an annoyance because the damn monster, docile as it is, keeps coming around like it owns the place. Felina wonders if Mercedes is feeding it like its some stray cat rather than the abominable horror it is. She’d better not be. She won’t ask, but if Felina catches her at it? There will be hell to pay. 

“Fuck off!” She yells at the window. “Go on, git!” She says, and the monster lifts its head and huffs its breath against the glass before it turns away and limps off. It’s missing a leg, sort of– one in the back is malformed, damaged in some unknowable way that causes it to clunk about when it walks, slow and off kilter. Felina watches it for a minute before swearing again at the mess made new around her feet, sweeping all of it up a second time even more pissed off that the mess was left at all. 

Ever since Felina has moved to this place the mixture of mundane and fucked up has felt strangely normal for her. She isn’t sure why, it’s not like she had a strange childhood or ever experienced anything she’d describe as supernatural, it just… is. It’s just life. Odd and unpredictable and occasionally dangerous. She can’t really remember what it feels like to be in a city anymore, where there is danger but of a different sort. No one out here has time to start a life of crime or get into too much trouble, not when there’s so many things in the territory that can eat people or maim people. The townsfolk don’t tolerate that sort of thing, either. It’s one of the main things that makes this place feel safe, that she can send her daughter into town and know that before anyone even thinks to steal from her or make eyes at her, there will be a wall of adults ready to beat the fuck out of an idiot or outsider who thinks they can pull a fast one on her fifteen year old.

 Most people where she’s from would think she’s fucking nuts for living out here, especially when she lets her daughter go where she wants without having eyes on her at all times. Esteban does. Esteban thinks she’s lost her damn mind, and that one of these days she’s going to be really sorry she moved out to this place and bought all this land. She doesn’t think so. Mercedes is smart and has known the territory since she could form meaningful memories. Every time there’s a town meeting and Chashwi and Lewis tell everyone what new shit to watch out for, what plants are poisonous, what animals to steer clear of, Felina will take Mercedes out to see them together and ask her daughter, ‘do you remember what to do? Were you paying attention?’ 

This hasn’t gone perfectly every time, and Felina still flinches, occasionally, recalling times where she’d tested Mercedes’ wit and being just a child, Mercedes had made a mistake, or she had, even as an adult navigating the ways in which the territory rapidly changes. Racing ten year old Mercedes to Dr.Balakrishnan covered in stings from the newly fucked up red colored bees had been mortifying. Scrubbing 8 year old Mercedes clean of pollen after she’d gotten too close to one of the giant bursting flower pods had been funny, but exhausting. Picking thirteen year old Mercedes up to hold her like an infant while kicking a leaping gator in the face had pulled a muscle in Felina’s back, but they’d both gotten away without getting too hurt that time. Each of these outings would result in Mercedes learning in real time, with her hands, with her senses. Felina shows up to the town meetings because they’re important and she’d rather not be faced with something unfamiliar unprepared, but the idea that anything in this strange, ever evolving place should be completely avoided isn’t something she really believes in. If it isn’t certain death or the Seneca beast, she takes Mercedes to see. She wants her to see. 

[bastillewolf]

Corpse's Bride (I)

Pairing: Corpse Husband / Reader

Summary: When you end up in an unfortunate arranged marriage to salvage what is left of your parents’ wealth, it seems fate has other ideas in store for you; or perhaps it was the Devil who decided to bring back the dead?

Notes: Yea, I don’t know why I wrote this either, and no idea where this series is gonna go. If you have any suggestions, please send them. But I wanted to write something for Christmas since I haven’t posted in a while. I hope you all have safe and happy holidays! Let’s just get 2020 over with, please.

Tag list currently closed.

Chapter I - The wedding

Somewhere through the clouds of smoke erupting from the city, just beyond the hills, lies a small town called Gloomington. Where the streets are always swept and yet seem never clean, where birds fly high through the sky yet never manage to reach the clouds, and where dreams are crushed underneath the wheels of creaking carriages and half-empty fish barrels. It might seem like the most boring old town, with its inhabitants that look like they’re either on the brink of death or very much willing to be, but it wasn’t to you. No, to you life appeared much more interesting, though not by your own volition. You did not turn a blind eye to the grey streets or creaking bones or listening ears, as they had always been the same to you, but the troubles you had yet to bear were much too big to focus on anything else.

Your parents had deemed that on your twenty-first birthday, you were finally fit for marriage. It was the age that they had gotten married, and by tradition, through their parents as well. Why they had decided to force this upon you as well, you did not know, for as long as you could remember you’d only ever thought of your parents to be miserable together. Their time with you was now something of the past, however, because if all went well today, you would be married within just a day or two.

It was already raining, which would’ve made the situation so much gloomier to you if you hadn’t been revelling in the fact that it meant you could take the carriage instead of walk. You didn’t mind getting your shoes or the hem of your dress dirty, but other people did. And the people you would be seeing today would not approve of anything that wasn’t perfect upon arrival.

You only remembered the Everglots vaguely from your childhood during the instance when you’d been playing in a similar storm and one of their maids had shooed you away, saying you were being too loud and an unfit view for their folk. Their house was a different story, however. It stood tall above all other houses, even yours, so it was hard to miss. You weren’t rich, even though your parents liked to pretend they were. Your father owned the biggest and only fishing company in town; the main source of income from Gloomington. The thing was though, the seas were being overfished, and all he was getting from the ocean now were ones the sizes of goldfish.

You presumed this is why your parents decided to marry you off to the Everglots’ son, Thomas. According to your nanny, they were a bunch of washed-up aristocrats. Otherwise, you’d never even caught a glimpse of them, let alone of their offspring. Which is probably why you were so nervous. If he was anything like his parents personality-wise, you hoped he at least made up for it on the outside.

“Stop fidgeting,” your mother said, snapping you from your daze. You looked down to your hands, which had been crumpling a bunch of the fabric of your dress together, probably creating creases. You wonder if you had subconsciously done it, simply out of spite, because the nerves had numbed any other senses. You smoothed it out, crossed your legs and folded your hands across your lap, to which your mother gave a pleased nod.

A glance towards your father told you not much else, he was too busy going through last-minute calculations in his notebook. This must seem like ordinary business to him.

Your heart jumped a little as you watched the horse pulling your carriage nearly slip in the mud. He’d been in your family for fifteen years now, it was a wonder he was still standing. Perhaps the whip was reason enough for such a solemn animal, confined to his leather straps and iron mouthpiece. You tugged on the silver chain your mother had draped across your neck. Some of the diamonds had been taken out, but you could only see it if you looked very closely.

The carriage wavered and eventually managed to stop with another crack of the whip. It went almost simultaneously with the clash of thunder.

Hopping out, you looked down to see your polished shoes had landed directly in the biggest puddle on the square.

“Oh, miss, you should’ve let me put my coat down for you,” the old coachman called out, rising from his seat.

Your mother’s unnerving gaze followed yours down to the puddle around your feet. “Yes, you should have. I told you to watch your step with those shoes. Henry, clean them up.”

The coachman then proceeded to lay down his coat in the puddle anyways, and even after your protests continued to polish your shoes with his previously clean white handkerchief. You thanked him when he was finished, to which he tipped his hat.

“Hurry up. We’re already late,” your mother said. You wanted to rip the whip from his hands and hit her with it, but your composure and good sense got the better of you.

The massive doorknocker hit the hardwood three times because of your father’s shaky hand, which seemed to collapse back down to his side immediately after.

To your surprise, no maid opened, but the lady of the house herself did. Missus Everglot looked down upon you with a smile that looked more like a sneer. Her hair was greying, almost to the point where it was white, a colour matching the black dress she wore. Weren’t you supposed to wear colour for a special occasion such as this? You’d been so bold to wear something green; your best dress, to be perfectly honest. Were you supposed to wear black?

“It is good to see you again,” she hummed, and your parents made noises of agreement.

“Our apologies for bringing the bad weather. But that usually means good luck!” Your father said. You all laughed, though mostly out of politeness.

She invited you in, and you were finally able to see the grandeur of the Everglots household. Or well, what was left of it. The unlit fireplaces on either side of the entrance hall made you wonder if they no longer had maids working for them or if they simply enjoyed the cold. There was only one butler you saw so far, the one who took your coats from you and then scurried off. A big staircase stood in front of you, leading two opposite directions upstairs.

“Ah! You must be the daughter we’ve been hearing so much about!” Mister Everglot suddenly appeared, his arms spread wide with the same smile as his wife spread across his pale cheeks. He also wore black, though he bore quite a bit more weight than his wife, almost to the point where the top button of his shirt looked like it wanted to bail ship.

“It’s a true pleasure meeting you, mister Everglot,” you replied quietly, holding out your hand for him to shake. He barely did, before brushing you off to gloat about things to your parents. “You know, we’ve picked out the finest gold for the rings. The blacksmith in town just did a marvellous job on them-“

The ring on your hand felt heavy. It was your grandmothers’, passed down from your mother and onto you. Now you had to bear the burden of a loveless marriage.

Your silent sigh was interrupted by a quiet clearing of someone’s throat.

You looked up to meet the eyes of a dark-haired boy, who was scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. He asked you if he got your name right. You nodded politely.

“Hi, I’m- I’m Thomas. It’s very nice to meet you, miss.”

You huffed in amusement at his stuttering. “I don’t think you have to call me ‘miss’, Thomas. We’ll be married soon.”

He smiled shyly. “I would keep calling you ‘miss’ if you preferred it. Marriage wouldn’t change that for me.”

You stood there, slightly aghast. This boy was nothing like his parents. You wondered who had raised him because as you had been fortunate enough with your nanny, you couldn’t imagine his having been any different.

“Better watch it there, Thomas.” Another man strutted down the stairs behind him. He looked just about as pretentious as mister and missus Everglot. “Don’t want to scare the little lady off there.”

Sykkuno only chuckled, but you could sense that his friend didn’t have the best intentions. He introduced himself after you, “The name’s Barkis. I’m a… good family friend of the Everglots, I suppose.” He kissed your hand, which made you shiver uncomfortably. You tried your best to hide it, instead turning your eyes to meet Thomas’ again. They seemed much brighter in this gloomy place.

At least, that’s what you kept reminding yourself of as you looked at yourself in the mirror, trying to refrain from fainting as your mother kept pulling on the strings of your corset until you were quite certain a few ribs had been broken off in the process.

“Now,” she reminded you, “This will be good for the family. I know you’re an unconventional spitfire, - I don’t know who you got that from – but you shall learn to listen to your husband. It will save your father’s business and his honour, not to mention your dignity.”

You couldn’t breathe, you needed air. Your mother saw the look in your eyes.

“And as a final warning, young lady, if you dare to try to run, you better remind yourself that this family will never take you in again. Not when you come crawling back with not a penny to carry, not with a baby you got from another man. You will be as good as dead to us, if you wouldn’t have already died in some gutter.”

You nodded, “I understand, mother. I just need some air.”

She gave you one last glance, before nodding. She locked the door after she left.

It allowed you to burst through the doors to the Everglots balcony, where outside the rain had thankfully settled a bit to a slight drizzle. But you didn’t care if your dress got wet. You had to untie the knot at your back.

Quickly.

But you couldn’t reach.

You leaned across the railing.

If you could reach a little further-

But your hand slipped, and you felt your feet being thrown the wrong way as you plummeted down the second floor.

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[tmae3114]

📓!!

Put “📓” or some other version of a book emoji into my inbox and I’ll explain the plot of a fanfiction that I haven’t written but daydream about.

!!!

Okay so I thought this one over for a while because, as we both know, you already know most of my I'll-write-it-someday fic daydreams and I decided to go for an old one that still crops up as daydream material from time to time

It's a DC fic, specifically a Flashfam fic because of course, I'm me. At present, it's loosely set after Infinite Frontier but prior to the Dark Crisis stuff kicking off (so Everything Is Canon and people's memories of previous timelines are showing up but Barry hasn't managed to get himself kidnapped yet) but I've been toying with the idea since Rebirth kicked off

Basically, we're following Daphne Dean. Life is going well for Daphne Dean! She's got her dream job, she's a famous movie star, and she's got so many friends now, which is wonderful after a lonely, friendless childhood.

And something about that just... doesn't feel right. It feels like something is missing. Day-to-day life is fine, everything is going well, but every time she tries to think back, something feels wrong. In adulthood, it's mostly fine, just times she thinks about where she was and what she was doing on certain days and vaguely feels like she must have been somewhere else doing something else, but what? And that's easy enough to brush off. But when she thinks back farther, every time she tries to think about her childhood, something about it feels off, something is missing, like she can't trust her own memories of her own life. She tries not to think about it.

And then her parents die, one after the other. It's nothing untoward for either of them, old age comes for most eventually (and what a world she lives in that it's most and not all), but she's still grieving and the grief feels all the worse for the fact that so many of her memories of her parents don't feel real. She goes to the funerals - helps plan them both, one of them almost on her own because she has no living family left to fall back on (and something about that feels like a step to the left of the truth) - but when the time comes to sort their house, she just can't get herself to do it. Emptying the fridge and the cupboards, sorting the utilities, she can handle that bit, but cleaning out the house and preparing it for sale is beyond her at the moment.

She leaves it be and buries herself in work and tries to ignore the aching sense of something is wrong, something is missing, I'm forgetting something important.

And then... the world changes. Everything ends, begins again, there's a whole multiverse out there...

...and time has changed before and it feels like something is waking up in the back of her mind.

She's not sure what drives her to it but for the first time in years, she goes back to Fallville. She doesn't plan to stick around, just finally sort out her parents' house and head back out, but something catches her eye.

There was a house in Fallville, you see. An old, burned out shell of a house. She'd asked her parents about it as a child and they'd told her it burned down when she was just a baby and the family that lived there had moved away. She felt drawn to that house a lot, stared at its charred walls and felt the strangest sense of familiarity. It's one of the few memories of her childhood that feels real, which is odd in itself because the memory is so defined by being one of the earliest moments she can remember reality feeling wrong.

And now, there is a house in Fallville, you see. A whole, intact house, right there where the burned one used to be, looking for all the world like somebody lives there and just isn't home right now.

Something calls Daphne to the front door. It's locked but that's fine. She circles around to the back door and picks up the spare key under the doormat and walks inside. She knows this house, knows it well. She knows the furniture, the houseplants, just barely wilting, the photos on the walls. She walks through the house and she finds a bookcase and on that bookcase is a photo album and in that photo album is here and she is not alone.

Here's the thing about friends; when you love each other, you become a part of each other. Words and phrases, gestures and jokes, the people you love are written in you in little ways and you are written in them in turn.

Here's the thing about childhood friends; when you've known each other that long, been around for so much of the process of becoming yourselves, you're a part of each other's foundations. You can't tell the story of how you became yourself without telling a little bit of the story of the people who were there with you.

The world rewrites itself because every story is true again and Daphne Dean walks into a house in Fallville that has been burned down as long as she can remember and she finds a photo album that could never have been taken in this lifetime and a dam breaks somewhere in her mind

And Daphne Dean remembers Barry Allen.

(and then they get a happy reunion because Daphne tracks Barry down and then he remembers her and also the title would be from Have We Met Before? because that's the vibe)

[softcallofdutyimagines]

How Do I Love Thee? | Knight!Weaver x Princess!Reader | Medieval AU | Chpt. 1

Summary:

The day has finally come. Your bodyguard, the man you've trusted with your life since the day you were born, has reached the age of retirement. Being the only child of your royal parents, the King and Queen are quite keen on keeping you safe, so naturally a new one must be selected. When the dust of the tournament settles, a champion is chosen, one far younger and stronger then the last...

In an age full of tales of handsome men in shining armor and chivalrous heroes of great courage and honor, could you be in for a forbiden love story of your own?

Tags: Slow burn

Warnings: None, except for a small fight scene involving mentions of blood

“Goodnight my Lady”, your lady in waiting bows her head politely as she exits your chambers, closing the heavy wooden doors behind her with a soft thump. Her footsteps recede off into the night down through the thick stone corridors as you lay awake in your downy bed. Two sconces glow faintly in the night, providing just enough light for you to navigate the large, dark room.

Once you’re sure you’re alone, you grab your small candle and pad across the cool stone floor to steal some light. It catches quickly and you’re off once more to your desk. You pull out your poetry books and studies to retrieve a small leather bound notebook. It contains all sorts of things like sketches and sonnets that you've penned, but most of all it’s filled with your musings of the day.

You tap your quill on the edge of the inkwell and set its point to the parchment.

Today has been a rather sad one indeed. Your old guardsman has retired from your father’s service, the very same man who’s protected you and your person since you were but a little girl. He’s much like a grandfather to you in a way, and it pains you very deeply to see him leave you. Your father has tried to comfort you with the promise that a tournament will be held the very next day to get you a new guard as soon as possible, but the absence of a knight isn’t what troubles you.

You sniffle, a tear threatening fall from your eyes as you pause, recalling a lifetime of memories and yet being forced to let them go. Gathering your strength with a deep breath, you write the final words you old guard left you with:

“Be brave, my little Princess. I know you can”

At last you write that you are not looking forward to tomorrow and that you expect to be quite beside yourself. It’s all you can write before the despondency overcomes you again.

Being the Lady that you are, you retrieve one of your ever present nearby handkerchiefs and dry your eyes. You set your journal back into it’s hidden home and restore your books to keep it safe. With the desk returned just as it was, you tiptoe back to bed and blow out your candle. Moving aside the velvet drape, you think one last time on your faithful old guard, remembering all the memories of your childhood you shared as you climb back under the sheets.

Tomorrow is a new chapter for the both of you, you suppose. You hope his story ends sweetly.

---

The tournament begins with much fanfare and ado as the festivities kick things off. You’re sitting pretty in a lovely silk gown between your mother and father, both equally dressed up. There’s games and feasting and music and dancing… All the things something of this magnitude should include.

And, as you predicted, you’re quite bored indeed.

As yet another jaunty reel plays from the minstrels, you can’t help but roll your eyes and look onwards. Past the castle grounds, past the village, past the fields and farm lands… Way, way out in the distance to the forest and mountains.

That’s where your soul lies.

Being the Princess is all well and good, but in truth, your heart yearns for nothing more than to simply be free. Even if all that’s out there is more grass and trees, just as there is all around you, oh what you’d give for the chance to see it. To touch the grass and leaves you’ve never seen before. To feel and smell the wind in it’s wild, untamed stomping grounds. Some days you dream of just running away, but…

Well, your guard would never allow it. And, here you are, getting assigned yet another figure to keep an eye on you in the name of your father.

A blast of trumpets shatters your daydream as your attention is called back to present. The royal scribe stands on a podium, announcing the main attraction at last. He reads off a long, tiresome list of names “Sir this and that”, “Lord ho hum”, ugh… At least the fighting should be entertaining, you suppose.

There are several rounds and three main competitions: Jousting, Dueling, and Archery. Score will be kept and knights slowly eliminated until a final two are left, at which point, the two will engage in a duel and may the best man win.

Admittedly, you tune out for the first several rounds until the riff raff and washed up old timers are sorted out. Not as though you have any say in the matter, but you pick a few favorites and follow their progress through the competition. Although in all honesty, you pick said favorites by their horses and the colors and patterns of their coat of arms.

However… One knight in particular has caught your eye both in skill and trappings.

His coat of arms features a fierce looking tiger and swords, the style of which tells you his family hails from somewhere out east, and his horse is a lovely dusty grey. Even you must admit, his skills so far aren’t bad either. He’s coasting through the competition with little difficulty and, even with the few close calls here and there, by the time he’s made it up to the final rounds you would almost dare to say you have your heart set on him.

Silently you root him on as he tiredly batters through opponent after opponent, somehow maintaining strength and endurance up until the very last man. A few breaks have been called in between rounds up until this point, but now the last two will be taking a long recession before the final fight.

Food and drink and dance is had once more for peasants and nobility alike while each knight gathers their strength, but you can’t keep your mind off the excitement of the final duel...

When at last, the time has come, you’re on the edge of your seat.

Once more the scribe’s voice rings out over the silent crowd as the two men ready themselves in opposing corners of the muddy sparring ring, “Fighting for the honor of being named the new protectorate of the Princess, Sir Weaver and Lord Fletcher will face each other in armed combat! The rules are as follows-”

The scribe's voice fades away, and immediatly your mind begins to wander.

Sir Weaver…

The name rolls off your tongue as you watch him pace and stretch in his corner of the ring. He’s armed with a sword and shield, classic weapons of the heroes of old, just like in your books and sonnets… His shield is tall and rectangular, with that very same tiger proudly emblazoned on its front. He gives his sword a few test swings and even from here you can hear the ringing of razor sharp steel.

His opponent wields a smaller shield and a rather nasty looking mace, a classic for smashing heads and armor alike. Thankfully you won’t have to bear witness to such violence should Sir Weaver lose, but you don’t much fancy the idea of such a savage weapon anyway. It may have its place in battle, but it doesn’t seem very… Heroic.

After far too much more courtly addresses, a trumpet sounds to begin the fight.

The Lord charges the Knight, mace raised to strike, as Sir Weaver stands his ground like a tower of strength. He deflects the blow easily, as well as the few more that come after it. A smart tactic, you observe, letting the opponent come to him and tire himself out. Lord Fletcher seems to believe that he can smash right through the great steel shield as that’s where most of his strikes end up landing. Sir Weaver’s tiger is quite battered, but holds out well.

All the overhead motions of the mace swings prove to be a disservice soon enough though, as the knight stabs his way through chinks in the armor here and there as the Lord slowly grows more and more weary. His movements become sluggish and desperate, a lethal combo, and before long the mud is mixed red with the wounds of the mace wielding Lord.

To his credit, he fights to the bitter end, but the duel is called before too much blood is shed.

A roar of approval goes up from the crowd. Amidst the cheering and the fanfare, Sir Weaver bows politely before the royal family and makes to exit the arena. You cock an eyebrow. Curious, you would’ve expected more of a show given the grand odds he just overcame.

Regardless, you clap politely and watch the two men exit the ring. It’s nearly night by now and there’s still more to do. Tomorrow your new knight will be sworn in and given his orders and hours and so forth… But for now, you have many things to tell your journal tonight.

---

The next day begins as it always does. You wake up at sunrise. Your chamber maid helps you dress, pick out your outfit for the day, and style your hair. Finally, you’re ready to join your family and the court for breakfast. A few questions come your way asking about whether or not you’re excited to meet your new knight and what you thought of the tourney yesterday, but otherwise you’re ignored as usual.

When breakfast passes, the court moves on to the throne room. It’s easily the most illustrious room in the palace, save for perhaps a few that suit your particular tastes. Small windows sit high above near the vaulted ceiling, raining in sunlight and fresh air from far above. Giant chandeliers hang proudly, holding a dizzying host of candles. The walls are blanketed in gorgeous tapestries, some of which you’ve had the honor of assisting in the weaving of. They’re laced with threads of gold and silk, and when they catch the light just right, they give off an ethereal glow, bringing the stagnant scenes to life.

The typical court proceedings will begin shortly, but first the matter of your new bodyguard is to be addressed. Soon enough, Sir Grigori Weaver of, so on and so forth… is announced to the court. Finally, something interesting for the day. You sit up properly in your throne and take in the sight.

He’s dressed in an appropriately fancy set of gambeson and hose, clearly his armor is off to be under repairs. His one arm hangs freely, the other rests on the pommel of his sword, and he takes a brief look at his surroundings. He carries himself with purpose and a serious air which could almost take a turn for intimidating given a closer look. His face is rough with prickly stubble contrasted by a long, smooth mustache and hair combo. Between the two lies no feature of note aside from a grizzly scar running across a cloudy white, useless eye.

Sir Weaver nods towards you and your mother, then offers your father a proper bow, “My liege”

Your father smiles, and you can already tell you’re about to be stuck with this man whether you like it or not. He tells the knight to rise and after a brief exchange of greeting, Sir Weaver is sworn into your service complete with the whole ceremonial nonsense.

You rise and come forward, standing just a few steps above him on the throne platform. He hands you his sword and kneels before you. Without the help of any prompting, you lead him through the oath phrase by phrase and at last you tap either of his shoulders with the flat of the blade. To seal it all, you extend your hand with your signet ring.

“Thank you, my lady”, he takes your hand softly and kisses your knuckle, “I am yours”

He rises and accepts back his blade while you return to your throne. Your father makes arrangements for a whole new suit of armor to be commissioned for your knight, after all, his safety is your safety, and so forth. But for once, you don’t mind the droning on of court business.

It gives you some time to hide your blush.

[rason-rodd]

All The Time We Need - Jason Todd x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Reader and Jason meet again after two years being apart and reconnect with their long lost love.

Warning : Angst, Fluff, Smut  

Author’s note: A OS definitely inspired by my 2-years long hiatus and that somewhat acknowledges it. It was almost cathartic writing it and allowed me to reconnect with Jason on a writing scale. You can read it as a sequel to “Summer Love and Swimming Pool” or not. Some moments are a bit too cheesy to my taste but I hope you’ll enjoy it nevertheless. NSFW Part is at the end. You can skip that part if you want to.

You actually realise Time flies when you take time to acknowledge it. And sometimes acknowledging is like getting buried under a mountain of sand and feeling each grain slowly chocking you and reminding you there is no escaping. The sands of Time cannot be stopped, nor can they be shoveled. They run and slip through your fingers like dust in the wind and the tighter you try to grasp them the faster they go. And when they’re gone, there is no catching them back.     That’s why Time is scary. Because no matter what you do, it won’t allow you to go back or to put an end to it. And it will certainly not allow you to forget about it either. Time will pave your life until the day you die with a constant reminder that, unlike it, you’re not eternal. And the saddest thing is it doesn’t care about what you think of it.           And yet, it seemed like Jason Todd had managed to tell Time to go fuck itself. “How long has it been?”

He hadn’t changed a bit. Looking as handsome as ever. Always and eternally sporting the same disheveled short black hair and the same mischievous yet tortured blue eyes, eyes that had put you in more trouble than you could remember. “Two years or so … I don’t know.”             All you could remember was a passionate summertime infatuation that had burnt your body and your heart night and day like a hot and dazzling sun. A fading yet intense memory you secretly cherished and replayed in period of loneliness and that you couldn’t seem to be able to replace on the timeline of your life. “Still so beautiful, I see.” You scoffed and he chuckled. “What?”       “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” He scratched his head; arm muscles compressed in a leather jacket à la Jason that made you wonder how he could bear wearing such a light jacket in such freezing weather. “I tend to believe constancy is a quality.” You goggled at his smile, childish, adorable yet naturally so seductive. The same smile that used to make your legs shake and turn to jell-o. “I didn’t know you were back in Gotham.”         “Right back at you. Last time I heard of you, you were in this little town … Hopletown, was it?”   “Appleton.” He corrected. “Looks like Timbo talks about me in my absence.”           “You’re his brother. Of course, he talks about you, just like everyone else in your family.” Judging by his signature small crooked smile on his face he seemed touched by your words, taking even time to ponder over them. Did the family really think of him in his absence?

Shivering, you tightened your wool coat around you, attempting to prevent the cold wind to infiltrate under the cloth and steal your body heat, as you let Jason think about what you had just said. But your reaction didn’t go unnoticed and it managed to pull him out of his train of thoughts. “Do you want to go somewhere warmer? We could have something to drink, catch on. I’m sure you got plenty to tell.”         “Not plenty but I could use a hot tea.” You confessed, already imagining the spicy smell of cinnamon and chai in your nostrils and the hot steam caressing your cold face.     “Amazing.” He grinned, genuinely happy and excited, a bit like a little boy at a toy store, and lowered your beanie to properly cover your ice-cold reddened ears. That gesture got you confused for a small second but it was so sweet and caring you eventually smiled. Ah Todd, always the overprotective type I see.

***

“So, what are you doing in Gotham City? I thought you wanted to ‘travel the world Dora The Explorer-style and get the hell out of this cesspool’?” He quoted you and your genuine chuckle made him smile but only briefly as you gained back your seriousness in a matter of seconds.

He could tell you were not the same girl he used to date two summers ago. You had changed, matured. You had become a woman, a woman who seemed to struggle with responsibilities so heavy they could crush her at any second. You looked tired, weary… sad even. The cheeky light in you was gone. And he wanted to know why. Not out of curiosity but to help you.           “Well, I did travel and it was awesome, like a dream come true. But I guess we always wake up from dreams eventually.” You looked down at your tea, looking at your pale reflection in the hot water, melancholia hitting you like a train. “My mother got sick and, well, her savings were not enough to pay for all the medical care so … let’s say I had to swap my backpack for a satchel… I work at Wayne Enterprises now. Bruce hired me, out of pity I suppose.”         “I’m sure it wasn’t out of pity.” You shrugged and Jason grabbed your hand and you looked up at him. “And I’m sorry about your mother. I know how it’s like to …”     “Do you still think about us?” You abruptly cut him short, not willing to keep talking about your personal issues or to plunge Jason back in dark memories that you know were very hard for him to handle.     Sure, you could have chosen another question, another topic of conversation but the thing was that those words were niggling at you since the moment you two broke up. “I mean do you happen to think about what happened between us?”

Jason didn’t answer at first, more out of surprise than out of hesitation because there was none. There was just one answer to that question. Of course.             Of course he had thought about you all over those two years. Of course he had thought about what happened, about the moments spent with you – however ephemeral they had been -, about that love he had felt and had never learned to completely erase despite the women who had entered and exited his life. Of course there had been nights in which he had replayed the lustful burning memories of you in his arms, against him, against his naked body. Of course was the answer. But not the answer he gave you. “Come with me.” He forced you to get up and slammed a fifty-dollar bill against the table, not caring about the hot chocolate he hadn’t finished or the blueberry muffin you had barely touched. “But … the change.” You tried to protest.         “Fuck the change. I want to show you something.”

***

           Out of all the places in Gotham, you never thought he would have brought you here. “Why are we here, Jason?”       It was an ancient building, far from the fancy city centre and only a few blocks away from Crime Alley. Dilapidated, covered in colorful yet ugly graffiti, this place looked liked a landmark for drug dealers and junkies and it was an understatement to say that, without Jason’s company, it would have normally made you feel unsafe and uncomfortable.         “I grew up here, before Bruce took me in.” You glanced at Jason who was staring at the place with both disgust and melancholia. “I’ve always hated that place. But it was home. And I guess it made me… I guess that is because of that place that I somehow became the man I am today… I mean, if Jason Todd hadn’t grow up here with a junkie mother and a lousy father he would have never met Brue Wayne and never became …” He stopped, on purpose, you could tell it. “Even if I hate to, I come back here when I want to think of my past, when I’m looking for a reason to keep on fighting. This place is like my temple, a memento of who I am. Damn, you must think I’m crazy.”         “ No, not at all… ” You smiled and put your hand on his arm to reassure him. “Just very Romantic for the bad boy of the Wayne family.” You teased him, knowing perfectly that literature always been Jason’s hobbyhorse and that the whole bad boy thing was a persona, a thick armour he had made to protect himself.     “Blame Alfred. He’s the one who made me ready Wordsworth.” He joked, appreciating the small banter. “Follow me.”           You took the warm hand he offered you and followed him inside the decaying building, minding your step and trying to ignore the dirt and the potential rats.          

Once on the third floor, Jason pushed a rackety wooden door that cracked and squeaked on its hinges and you entered what once was his house. “You grew up here?” You asked only to fill the heavy void caused by this dreadful place. “It was the living room. Used to hide under the table there when my parents were fighting.”

You looked around you, trying to imagine a small Jason living in here. You always knew about his crappy childhood but there is a huge difference between what you had imagined based on the stories Jason had told you in the intimacy of your bedroom and this place.       “You asked me why we’re here.” You turned around and spotted Jason knelt on the dusty wooden floor, a small dusty shoebox that he had just taken from under a floorboard between his hands. “I’ve had this since I was a child. Used to keep the things I loved most in it. Somehow, even after I left this place, I never could take it away from here.” He handed it to you and you slowly opened it, careful not to drop it. You could tell this box was important to Jason.

The content left you silent and you sat on the floor near Jason to study it. “I never really opened it. I don’t like getting stuck in the past. It terrifies me.” You frowned, thinking about all the nightmares, all the anxiety attacks he used to have back in the days you were together. “I never showed it to anyone either but hopefully that’ll answer the question you asked me in that coffee shop.” The question? You had forgotten about it, way too overwhelmed by the sudden solemnity of this moment.  “Never?”           “You’re my first. You should be proud” He tried to joke to lighten the mood and it worked for a couple of seconds. Then, you saw it, among a dog toy, a broken necklace, a batarang and other small tokens. A photo of you two kissing and smiling. A Polaroid you had personally taken on the day when Tim had offered you the camera to illustrate your travel book. “You kept it.” You declared in a whisper.     “I told you. I keep the things I love most in that box.” You stared at Jason, at the cracks of melancholia and the vulnerability in his beautiful blue eyes he allowed only a few people to see. “Of course I thought of you over the years.”       You were not the cheesy romantic type. Jason was - something rooted to his love for gothic literature and poetry you supposed. But that sincere and pure confession got you all … flushed? bothered? You couldn’t really pinpoint the feeling but you could feel the shaky warmth spreading in your body, now paralyzed by the beauty of that moment. “Did you … think of me?”

If Time could stop, you would have chosen this moment to stop it. Here, now, away from your stressful life and its issues, away from all fears and all pains, with Jason and only him, forgetting about the past you’ll never be able to change or the future that vows to be uncertain and scary, thinking about what truly matters, now. “What do you think?” He chuckled and you saw his hand slightly twitch, as if he was hesitating to do something. And so you took it in yours and shared an umpteenth intimate look only he could read. “Sometimes I wish I’d never left.” Meaning, sometimes I wish I would have stayed and be with you.           “Trust me, princess. You made the right choice. Your life would have been miserable with me.” He tried to reassure you, in vain. After all, he could barely convince himself? “More miserable than the one I have right now? I seriously doubt it, Jay.” You frowned and finally got up, leaving Jason’s box on the ground, to watch at the sunset and its red golden rays from the shattered window. “What do you think would have happened had I stayed?” You had your ideas; small little ones of pure love, happiness and bliss that Jason would have managed to lock in that little box of his. “I have a better question, Y/N. What do you think can happen right now?” He was towering you, expecting an answer, waiting as he was gazing at your skin glowing under the soft light of the sun and at your shining eyes. “You tell me, Todd.” This sentence echoed in Jason’s head as a call.

And so his thumb brushed your cold cheek and you looked up at his face, your eyes glued to his features observing them and all the small details you hadn’t noticed before. A little scar thin as a needle on his right brow and a much bigger one, an invisible one that you could see in his eyes, the scar left by all the losses and the pains he had gone through recently. Roy, Bizarro, Artemis. Maybe Jason had changed as well after all. Maybe there was no secret to stop time. But he didn’t let you ponder over this and gently pressed his lips on yours.

He needed that. He had thought about it all day and the truth was, you had too. You welcomed his kiss without hesitation or second thoughts and came to press your small body against his - which seemed so tall and strong in comparison to yours – to instinctively look for safety and protection. “I missed you, princess.” He whispered close to your mouth for a brief second before capturing your full lips with his again. “I missed you too.” You confessed, hands over his hard chest, feeling his heart beat loudly under your palms.     Jason was holding you close now, his arms tightly circled around your form as if he was scared for you to leave, scared to be alone again. His fingers weaving in your hair, his head buried in the nape of your neck, he was pecking your delicate skin, smelling the sweet and heady perfume, glad it was exactly like the one he remembered. “Damn, Y/N. You’re still driving me crazy.”  He murmured as he allowed his hands to slide in your coat and under your jumper to caress your bare back, awakening a cheekiness that you thought was long gone. “I tend to believe constancy is a quality.” You quoted him.

***

           As soon as the door to your apartment slammed shut, your coat dropped to the floor and with hasty hands, Jason threw your beanie across the room, showing an excitement you had almost forgotten. It almost knocked an old crystal vase over but he couldn’t care less.   He had waited long enough. Two years to be precise and he couldn’t wait a second longer. “Bedroom?” He asked between two hungry kisses that were making you almost suffocating against him. “ At the end of the corridor.” You whispered, already breathless, as you managed to finally get rid of his leather jacket. ��     “Okay.” He suddenly grabbed you to hoist you up with incredible ease, hands under your ass, squeezing it on purpose. A lustful yet cheerful action that made you yelp in surprise.  “I’m already making you scream? Perfect.” He declared with an amused smile as he rushed towards the bedroom, with you in his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist, his lips devouring yours.     “Wrong door.” You said as he tried to open the bathroom. “Fuck.” You giggled and very soon your body finally bounced on your bed as it landed on the soft mattress.

You attempted to sit down to admire Jason but before you could do anything the hasty young man was already on top of you, right in between your legs, his lips already kissing your hot belly as his hands were slowly pulling up your jumper above your lace-covered breasts.           That’s when your first moan finally escaped your mouth. “God. I missed that sound.” Jason mumbled against your shivering skin as he cupped and squeezed your round breasts. “Do it again.” He demanded, his tongue licking you up until it reached your cleavage. “Jason.” You moaned his name, feeling a very specific humid warmth forming in between your legs as you fingers were struggling to get rid of his green t-shirt.   He cursed and knelt on the bed to take off your jumper that he carelessly tossed on the nightstand. It knocked the lamp and the radio alarm clock to the ground with a loud clinking noise. “Can you stop breaking my stuff?” You joked and he apologized with another amused bright smile. “I’m sorry, princess”             “Are you? Show me how much.” You declared with an audacious confidence you hadn’t seen in a while. “Yes, ma’am.” Jason winked and immediately unbuttoned your jeans to pull them down along with your panties, revealing your wet and rosy womanhood begging for his attention. He sighed and took a deep breath when he saw it, glad to rediscover that little part of you. Slowly, his calloused fingers went to caress it, making you draw a sharp breath as your fingers tightened around the covers. You didn’t want him to tease you too long and you somewhat you know he wouldn’t. Not today. He was too excited and needy for that.     And so were you in a way judging by the certain frustration that made you mewl when Jason’s expert finger slowly entered you while his thumb came to tickle your swollen clit. You wanted him now but you had to admit you had missed his fingers down there, the same way you had missed everything about him. Which reminded you there was something you had to do. “Let’s even the odds, shall we? I want to see how you handle such a sweet torture.”   “Sweet torture?” He repeated with a cute chuckle as you unbuckled his leather belt. “How am I torturing you, Y/N?” You unzipped his black trousers and immediately plunged you hand in his underwear to gently grab his already hard cock, making Jason curse even more crudely than before.           You chuckled and free his shaft from his boxers to jerk him off. He was as thick and long as you remembered. You bit your lower lip, impatient to feel him inside you. “Like what you see?”             “Shut up.” You knelt on the mattress and immediately took his tip between your lips to suck it like a lollipop, enjoying the taste of his bitter pre-cum on your tongue and the sound of Jason’s sharp breath in your ears. “Damn it, princess.” He managed to say with half lidded eyes.   You licked his penis with a grin before finally welcoming it in your mouth with a lustful moan. How much you had missed it. “You know. I think I get what you mean by sweet torture now.” Jason confessed as he weaved his fingers in your soft hair, torn apart by two ideas: one, let you continue your amazing blow job. Two, fuck you like he never did before. But you did not listen and started bobbing your head the way you knew he loved, taking his dick as deep as you could without gagging around him. “Fucking hell, Y/N” Jason groaned as he grabbed your head between his hands to accompany your pace. “You’re fucking amazing.” Then, his hand gently slapped your ass and he bent over to kiss it with a loving smile that was swallowed by another growl of his as his abs violently tensed with pleasure. “Alright, enough.” He pushed you flat on your back and placed himself between your legs again. He kissed your folds and licked your slit to wet it even more than it already was to finally lingered on your clit that he sucked eagerly, forcing a guttural crying moan out of your tightly sealed lips. Damn, that tongue! “I thought you said enough.” You complained, your voice as low as a whisper.

Jason chuckled and smiled brightly before he eventually knelt in between your spread thighs. “God, how gorgeous you are.” He declared as he tapped his hard cock against your reddened lips, a cheeky gesture whose sole purpose was to make you beg. You knew it. “You want this?”       “Fuck, Jay.” You grumbled, moving your hips vigorously against his shaft, looking for a way to finally welcome it inside you. But Jason ignored your whim and bent over your body. “You want me?” His face was so close to yours you could feel his hot breath caressing your lips. “Yes.” You murmured. “I want you, Ja…” He did not let you finish your sentence and caught your lips with a burning eagerness, his hand around his cock guiding it inside you, making you moan in his mouth. “Fuck.” Jason growled between his gritted teeth as he felt himself slowly sinking inside of you. “I almost forgot you felt so tight.” “ I almost forgot you were so big.” You cleared your voice, an inexplicable mechanism to relax and allow his cock to fully enter and stretch you. “I know. Sorry.” He winced, adjusting his position on top of you to admire how beautiful you were around his penis and how perfect you pussy was for him. “Damn. I don’t know if I’ll last long, princess.” Jason admitted with a shiver and you cried out when he suddenly pulled out to push himself back inside of you with one long exquisite move. “That’s alright. We’ll do it again.”

Those last words made Jason grin in a way he had never done before as he was genuinely happy that you didn’t want this to be a one-time thing, a casual lay to remember the old good days.       So he immediately took a nice pace that quickened after each new thrust and you let your hands caress his smooth chest from his strong pectorals down to his divine abs and the chiselled V below his navel, finding him simply handsome. Then you nudged his rear with your ankles, pressing his hips closer to yours to take him deeper inside of you, and started moaning his name again, a strong wave of pleasure forming in your core, ready to drown you. “Jay!” His mouth met your neck and sucked on the thin skin with ardour. “Are you gonna cum for me, princess?” That was too much to handle. “Yeah” You cried out, tears of bliss watering your eyes.       “Cum for me then.” He didn’t have to say it twice. You dug your nails in his back and screamed loudly as your walls clenched around tightly his thick cock. “That’s it, princess.” He said as you kept calling his name on and on, sending him closer to a most awaited orgasm that he eventually reached and let explode in you under the shape of a loud growled “fuck” and beads of white seed right inside of you. “Y/N” Jason groaned between his gritted teeth as he thrust hard and deep in you for the last time, his sweaty forehead against yours. “Jay!” You shouted again while clawing at his back painfully enough to make him wince and hiss.     Then he stopped moving, exhausted and breathless just like you, and watched you sink in the mattress trying to catch your breath. He caressed your hair as you both slowly came down from cloud nine. A kiss on your nose and he whispered. “You’re okay?” and in spite of the silliness of the question you nodded. “Never been better.”

Your lips found each other again and Jason let himself lie down on you, placing his head on your breasts, listening to your hearts pounding and to your loud ragged breaths. “I missed you.” He whispered and he held you body against his.     “I missed you too.” You repeated as you planted a kiss in his wet dark hair. “Did you have to keep your jeans on?” The question escaped with a laugh and Jason chuckled. “You know me. Didn’t want to waste any time.” He managed to gather the little energy he had left to sit down and finally remove his trousers as he thought he would feel more comfortable without them. “Oops. I think I broke your clock.” He grimaced as he noticed you the broken device on the floor and the flickering numbers flashing up endlessly on the screen. “I don’t care.” You said as you pulled Jason back against you. “We’ve got all the time we need.”

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Silver

Summary: A companion series for Like Gold.

Sakura misses him so much. She misses the faint smell of woodsmoke and sage, and mismatched eyes captivating in their intensity and unfathomable depths. The Rinnegan is beautiful, soft lavender ringed by hypnotizing layers of circle and tomoe, but flecks of silver dance in his right, tiny asterisms bewitching in nature, if one gets close enough; she’d first noticed it when they were children at the Academy. She knows they're Itachi's now, a slightly different scattering of luminaries aglow in the deep pitch of obsidian, but they're still as enthralling to her as they had been back then. She dreams of that silver sometimes, recalls it any time she sees something similar in color or reflet.

Blank period, canon-compliant, Sakura-centric, some expanded plot points from Like Gold, fluff and pining, eventually becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 1/?: An Introduction to Electrocardiography

Sakura gazes out the window of her office, a pile of paperwork set aside for a poetic sort of procrastination, trying to indulge for once in a Konoha spring, though she's finding it arduous.

As pretty as it is this time of year, all she can manage to feel is wistful.

Hanami has come and gone already for the most part, though there are a few stubborn cherry blossom trees lingering at the tail end of their blooming. She can see one here from her window, up on the hillside that slopes towards Hokage Rock, clinging to the uneven land. She’s sure its roots have to be all twisted, a labyrinth of gnarled wood clinging to any scrap of land it can wind itself around as its branches and petals try against all odds to reach upwards into the open sky that she can’t take her eyes off of.

There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, but it’s one she doesn’t care to unpack.

This year was her twentieth viewing of her namesake, though Sakura obviously doesn't remember the first few. Her parents take great pride in the retelling of tales from those first few years of her life, the ones she was too little to remember. The highlights come up annually on her birthday without fail, how she grasped at the petals like they were something precious, clutched in her sticky little hands the entire day.

A framed photograph is perched on one of the built-in shelves of her parents' living room, of her and her father on her first birthday. He was holding her up on unsteady legs, ridiculously proud and pointing towards the camera where her mother had been trying to get her to look. Her short pink hair was flying absolutely everywhere, matching the fluttering petals and in-bloom cherry blossom tree in the background, chubby hands grasping upwards. Strawberry cake and frosting were smeared all over her cheeks. They’d had a picnic for her, at the park nearest to their house.

“We came home and cleaned you up, and then your father helped you water your tree for the first time, in the little pink watering pail you unwrapped earlier. You were so cute.” That’s what her mom says every year. Sakura has the sentence memorized at this point, could recite it on cue, if she needed to.

Her parents had planted a cherry blossom sapling in their backyard a few days after they brought her home from the hospital as a newborn, so the tree is around the same age she is. She used to spend time under it often, as a kid, and some of her earliest memories involve sprawling beneath it to study the heavens while her mother gardened. She would also sneak berries from the patch when her back was turned. Sometimes her dad would join in her pilferage, and they would sit beneath the tree like a couple of bandits with stained lips, though those first few years she can remember he barely fit underneath it, as tall as he is. Many a tickle fight had been had, shaded by those branches. She would read books there on nice afternoons, when she was a little older.

The tree is fully grown now, also on the final cusp of its blooming for the year, floriferous wood expanded outwards to drape her childhood stomping grounds in a sea of soft pink. They have a picnic under it every year, in her family’s backyard, when they celebrate her birthday together. Her actual birthday has come and gone, but her birthday dinner is two days from now. Her parents swung by her apartment on Sunday afternoon for a bit with outlandishly large cupcakes, but her mom had mentioned they’d do dinner and a gift on their usual night, Thursday, since it works so well with their schedules every other week.

“We have to have your picnic, under your tree, like always. It’s a tradition! My beautiful girl. I can’t believe you’re twenty. It seems like just yesterday you were only yay high,” her dad had told her, gesturing below his knees before hugging her too tightly, ruffling the hair she'd inherited from him before they left. The cupcakes were strawberry with cream cheese frosting, one of her favorite treats. They’d left her with four extra to enjoy between then and Thursday, one for each day if she wanted it, turning her birthday into more of a week-long affair than a one-day celebration.

She and Ino had demolished two of them while watching some of the terrible movies they love to hate together, later that evening. It had been a smorgasbord of strawberries, really, because they'd washed them down with strawberry daiquiris, sugary sweetness topped with ridiculous amounts of whipped cream. They'd sat on her balcony, after, sipping a little tipsily and just looking.

"You should try to enjoy your namesake more this year, Forehead. You're so busy that I'm not sure you've realized, but you've really grown into it," Ino had said, beckoning vaguely towards a Konoha beginning to bloom, renewed with a warm breeze, spring ushered in by a fluttering of pink petals. Ino likes to give compliments in roundabout ways, she’s learned over the course of their friendship; crass as the blonde can be, she does have her moments. Her words meant a lot to Sakura, so she’s trying to take them to heart, to stop and smell the cherry blossoms, so to speak. It won’t be long before Konoha crescendos into the sweltering heat of the summer.

She loves her parents and her friends. She really does.

But birthdays are weird, Sakura thinks.

Last year, Sasuke had sent her a letter on her birthday. She’s reread it so many times that she has it more than memorized; it’s stitched into the muscle tissue of her heart at this point, or maybe scarred into the lining of her aortic valve, sempiternal markings adorning the tunnels that sustain her, causing her breath to catch every time.

Sakura,

Hanami has come to the wilderness in the Land of Honey. Bees are awakening and foraging for the first pollen of the season, with which to begin again. Cherry blossom petals are everywhere, lining the pathways and floating on the water.

Happy birthday.

-Sasuke

It had been short, simple, and even a little poetic; she had cherished it, as she does all of his other letters. She’d cherished the pressed flower with it just as much; a cherry blossom, neatly flattened with a precision that screamed Sasuke, near exactly the same shade of pink as her hair.

Sakura had started crying when she unfolded the paper to reveal it sitting atop his words. His hawk had waited patiently at her office window for a response to be written and tied to its leg, perched atop the windowsill and watching the goings-on of the village below, absolutely no concept in its predator brain of how much she delights in seeing it fly, a graceful tether to the boy - now man - she has been in love with for ages.

Cherry blossom petals are everywhere. Is there a hidden meaning there, or is she making a mountain out of a molehill?

She’s tried not to read too much into the letters. She's not sure if he sends any to Naruto or not; she's too afraid to ask, because she'll either get a heart-pounding hope if he doesn't get them, or a soul-crushing disappointment if he does. She can't imagine him sending a yellow flower to Naruto, but he may very well have sent him a different gift for his birthday.

Maybe he just thought she would like a flower, which she did - it’s pressed for safekeeping, along with all of his other correspondence to her, sporadically and chronologically throughout a book she keeps on her nightstand, An Introduction to Electrocardiography. It is her take on an album of small things she holds close to her own heart, things she wishes she could read in his. Sakura didn’t want to buy an actual album for such a thing; that felt too formal, for something as ambiguous as her ties to Sasuke, overflowing on her end as they may be. So she’d settled on a book about deciphering the heart’s tells based on science only, electrical impulses and repolarization, the sizes and positions of the chambers, how to diagnose conditions utilizing one’s findings. It’s one she doesn’t need access to anymore, extremely familiar with EKGs after years of study. She’d wanted it to be something no-nonsense, all hard facts and data on how to read activity plotted over time.

Evidence-based. Are letters evidence, though? She’s not sure that would hold up as empirical proof in any of the scholarly journals she’s studied or submitted work to since beginning her research. She thinks wryly, though, based on what she has witnessed get published, that scientific verification doesn’t always matter if you know the right people.

She’s thought many times sifting through it that perhaps it is too optimistic, too hopeful of a book subject for such a thing. Sakura has agonized over it, frankly, wondering whether it was an inappropriate choice.

...But now that they’re in there, it might ache worse to move them somewhere else.

It’s the last day of March now, and she didn’t get a letter this month, which is unusual, because she’s gotten one near each month in the time that he’s been away. She’s paged through the book a few times over the past several days, rereading and admiring the preserved sakura blossom, frozen in suspended animation indefinitely on a page about precordial leads.

Sakura hadn’t really expected anything from him for her birthday, other than a monthly letter like he usually sends... but this year she didn’t even get that. She’s trying really hard to not be disappointed. She has so much to be thankful for, in the grand scheme of things...

...But the petals of the cherry blossom from last year have faded over time, she’d evaluated yesterday, sitting in her bedroom. It might be like her, always pressed in a book, fading whilst stuck indefinitely between the boundless teeth of academia. There is always more data to record, more evidence, with which one can prove or disprove their findings.

No letter this month, though. Nothing to record, no new evidence.

It might be time to move the letters somewhere else, she thinks pensively. Maybe a place where she’s not tempted to look at them all the time; their placement in the book, small scraps of paper that stick out in only a couple of places, makes it easy to go back and reread them. She’s pretty sure she has an empty shoebox in her closet that she could move them to, in a pile rather than catalogued between pages rife with information and a fragile sort of hope. Maybe she’ll do it tonight, put it up in the far right corner of the upper shelf, shoved towards the back so she can’t reach it without the stool, so she’s not tempted whenever the next bout of heartsickness slams into her like one of Tsunade-shishou’s fists used to. She needs to go by the library after work first, to return some things, but maybe when she gets home, she’ll do it. She could eat a cupcake, too; that might make it a little easier.

Sakura misses him so much. She misses the faint smell of woodsmoke and sage, and mismatched eyes captivating in their intensity and unfathomable depths. The Rinnegan is beautiful, soft lavender ringed by hypnotizing layers of circle and tomoe, but flecks of silver dance in his right, tiny asterisms bewitching in nature, if one gets close enough; she’d first noticed it when they were children at the Academy. She knows they're Itachi's now, a slightly different scattering of luminaries aglow in the deep pitch of obsidian, but they're still as enthralling to her as they had been back then.

She dreams of that silver sometimes, recalls it any time she sees something similar in color or reflet. There’s an extremely unique necklace in an antique shop she visits with Ino and Sai from time to time, and occasionally on her own, over on the northeast side of town. It’s a salt-and-pepper diamond, dark grey with inclusions, dainty and set in what must be a hand-fabricated setting. It hangs from a silver chain, towards the back of a display case filled with other vintage and distinctive pieces, but it’s the only one she ever finds herself drawn to. It is so similar to his right eye, dark smoke near black, speckled with beguiling silver startling in its clarity. The bevel cut reveals new flecks dependent on the angle at which you view it.

Sakura studies it closely on each visit, because it is so hauntingly breathtaking and it reminds her of him.

Ino has said it’s not her color, and that she should stick to warm tones and gold, for which she is better suited; Sakura has not confessed to her why it catches her eye so much. Sai has agreed with his girlfriend on the coloring note, sensitive as he is to such things, but the way he studies her every time she tears herself away from it makes her suspect he knows exactly why it captivates her so. It’s been sitting there for years at this point; she has to mentally talk herself out of buying it on each visit. It’s beautiful, but she would spend far too much time gawking at it, and it might hurt more with extended study than the gentle tugging at her heart she experiences when she’s in that old building throughout tiny fragments of lackadaisical afternoons.

Sasuke has been gone for a long time. She hopes he's finding the peace he's been seeking, that he's seeing the world with new eyes just as he'd imagined. She thinks of him every day, sends out little orisons like petals in the breeze in the hopes that they’ll find him, wherever he is.

I wonder where he is now.

Try as she does to enjoy the breath of spring Konoha is right now, and her namesake as Ino said, all she can seem to do is shift her vision to the sky, hoping against hope for a glimpse of a familiar bird-of-prey that will stay an ample amount of time for her to craft a response, before it abvolates away for another month.

Sakura smiles, then, close to laughing at the absurdity of it all, because she is so predictable. She loves this village despite its many flaws and challenges, despite the things about it she and Naruto and Kakashi-sensei and Ino and even Tsunade-shishou, off in the Land of Wind, are trying to change, but even after so many years, she’s still pining for something beyond it, something in the wilds of the sky just beyond her reach.

There’s always next year, she supposes, pupils drawn again towards the outstretched branches of the cherry blossom tree on the hill, before trailing her eyes along further. She can grow a little more to try to reach him. When she was little, she had wanted to grow tall so she could try to touch a star, like the branches of the tree in her backyard did when she and her father laid beneath them on balmy summer nights. He would tell her ridiculous stories about all of the constellations, things she knew had to be untrue, even at the ripe age of five. Precocious, he’d always called her, but in the loving, joking manner he had.

Her gaze follows the horizon, leisurely taking in the rest of her home. It really is a lovely day, despite her yearning. Spring is here again, and today's is a gentle sunset, one last little bit of sunlight with which to conclude March. The temperature is already spiking, unusually warm for early spring, but summers in the Land of Fire are always hot. She really should finish her paperwork, but it’s hard to find the motivation just yet.

Something possesses her, then, to turn her neck more, take in more of the skyline's continuation. She wants to see all of it.

And then Sakura’s eyes fall on an achingly familiar figure cloaked all in black, perched only a roof away and observing her, and she thinks she must have nodded off, because she has to be dreaming.

She subtly pinches herself in the millisecond of time that follows, but she is very much awake.

The words are blooming out of her throat before she can even process what’s happening, exultation sinking into her every vein. “Sasuke-kun!” She moves to crank her window open the rest of the way, and he hops from the neighboring roof down into her office, all nimble legerity that she still thinks has to be a mere mirage conjured from her memories. When he straightens to his full height, she muses that he has to have grown taller. The mere sound of his footsteps on the tile flooring, as familiar a refrain to her as if he’d just walked out of the village yesterday, are a treasure beyond price.

“Sakura.” His voice is a rich timbre that she has desperately felt the absence of; hearing him say her name almost makes her want to cry. She smiles wider instead, to the extent that it almost hurts, and her gaze latches hungrily onto the very eye she was just daydreaming about. A storm of soot and silver, beveled into countless fragments like some kind of dark, rustic diamond, and so staggeringly beautiful that she’s pretty sure she’s blushing just from beholding it. Gods, it's not fair for someone to be so handsome.

“When did you get back?” She asks, utterly overcome with joy. This is better than a letter or any birthday gift she could have received, brighter than any star she’s beheld.

“Just now.” He’s smiling, a small and subtle upturn of lips that is so characteristic of him. Then his words hit her, and her face must be getting redder.

Just now? As in…

“I’m sorry I missed your birthday,” he adds before she can simmer on that for too long, and she has to blink in bewilderment, because that is the absolute last thing she expected him to say. Sakura wonders how much heat can creep into one’s face before they spontaneously combust.

Then she realizes she should probably respond, as humans tend to do in conversations. “Oh! Um… it’s okay.” She folds her hands in front of her shyly, grinning like an idiot. “Thank you for remembering.”

There is a lengthy moment in which she just soaks him in, hoping he can read in her eyes how much she’s missed him. He is still so beautiful, prized eyes and aristocratic angles that have solidified a bit more into the face of a man in the time that’s passed. His hair is different now, covering his Rinnegan eye. His cloak is a little more threadbare, too. He’s tall.

His expression, normally unreadable, is calm. Content, even.

There’s a question nagging at her that she knows she needs to ask. She tries not to bite her lip as she asks it, braces herself for the possibility of not liking the answer.

“Are you… just back for a little while?”

Did you find what you were searching for?

He gazes at her for so long that she thinks he may be glimpsing her soul, peeking into her ventricles to see his own words immortalized there, seared into her core to be felt each time her blood pumps.

“...For more than a while.” And she smiles the biggest she ever has. Oh, this is so much better than a letter or a gift.

“Well, welcome back, Sasuke-kun. It’s… very good to see you again.” It feels as if a piece of her heart has been returned to her, something of the divine stitched back into her chest and full to bursting in omneity.

There is a pause, and then he’s reaching his hand out towards hers, initiating physical contact with a touch that is feather light, so gentle she thinks she is going to start sobbing.

She can’t help it; she pulls him into a hug, tinged with elation. She hopes he doesn’t mind too much; he stiffens for a brief moment, but then settles, wrapping his arm around her and settling his head atop of hers, and she could die happy right there, embracing him with feelings momentarily set free from where they’ve been whelved into her chest.

He smells faintly like sage and smoked cedar, just as she remembered. She can hear his heart thumping, a strong cadence, and it grounds her. Oh, she’s missed him.

“...I’m home, Sakura.” Soft words float above her head, and she can feel the vibration of them through his chest, right by her ear.

Oh, she’s crying.

Sasuke lets her embrace him for a long time, for which she is so grateful. She knows he’s not one for physical contact; it’s a privilege to be allowed into his space even for a single second, let alone for an extended period.

She draws back eventually, glancing up at him again through the tears still collecting in her eyes. Her face blazes when he reaches to wipe them away tenderly with a calloused hand, careful and with a lenity that she’s always known was there, hidden under the surface.

She could just stare at him for hours, she thinks as he lowers his hand. He’s still looking down at her with one of the softest expressions she has ever seen him wear. She really hopes she’s not dreaming.

It’s tremendously hard to get it together, but she tries, because she doesn’t want to spend the entire time crying, not when he's finally back. There are so many questions she’d like to ask him that she’s finding it a challenge to pick one with which to lead.

He surprises her by speaking first, quietly. “I… had something made for you.”

It takes a moment for the words to compute.

Made for me?

Her processing speed must be exceptionally slow, stuck in the utter mush her insides have become, because he adds, “...For your birthday.”

Sakura blinks, and furrows her brows in confusion. “Made… for me?”

He nods. “...I’m sorry it’s late.” The way he speaks it is cryptic, like the apology weighs more than one needed for a tardy gift. Doesn’t he know she doesn’t care? He could have showed up in July with something for her, and it still would have made her knees weak and her heart thump furiously in her chest.

Made for me? She’s still stuck on that sentiment as he breaks eye contact and turns to rummage through his satchel, beneath his cloak.

Sasuke pulls out a medium-sized flat box, a simple white, and she doesn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t that. Something that comes in a box is a lot more formal than a pressed cherry blossom, something more… permanent.

She reaches out to take it on autopilot, and is stupidly distracted by the way his hand brushes against hers, a small spark that makes something in her quake. She wonders if he felt it, too.

Sakura clutches the box with both hands like her life depends on it, murmuring softly, “Thank you, Sasuke-kun.” She’ll wait until later to open it, after he’s left; whatever it is, she doesn’t want to embarrass him, and she also isn’t sure she can tear her eyes away from him just yet, anyways.

Is it just the lighting in her office, or are his ears a little flushed? She didn’t notice that before; maybe he’s had a drawn-out journey back. She wonders how much ground he covered today, if he’s still winded. He might need to rest.

But then he mumbles, voice husky with what she assumes is disuse, “...You should open it.”

His words echo in her head again. I… had something made for you.

“Okay,” she answers in a hushed voice, so she doesn’t scare him away, shifting slightly to set the box on her desk carefully. Suddenly she is very nervous, anticipation settling into her gut.

When she lifts the lid, she swears her heart ceases beating.

The most exquisitely intricate uchiwa fan she has ever laid eyes upon is placed in the box before her.

It’s carved into a likeness of a cherry blossom tree, branches twisting lissomely into bamboo framework, impossibly fine. A different set of words is reverberating in her head now.

You should try to enjoy your namesake more this year, Forehead. You're so busy that I'm not sure you've realized, but you've really grown into it.

Made for me?

“O-oh.” Sakura is not sure what she expected, but it wasn’t this. She fights back the tears, biting her lip and wide eyes soaking it all in, enjoying her namesake in a way that is entirely unprecedented in its sheer severity. The amount of time it would have taken for someone to sculpt and bind and sew is unimaginable; every detail is finely wrought, flawless down to the silk and stitching, lacquered and carved pale wood shifting effortlessly into eighty slivers of bamboo, intricately webbing silk together with the lithe grace of gossamer. It’s a cherry blossom tree, petals and all, pearlescent thread shifting slightly, gorgeously in the light, unimaginable detail. She has stitched people back together countless times over the course of years, but even her expert dexterity would look like a child’s first embroidery stitching in comparison. The stamen within the petals are nearly more detailed and finely milled than an actual, real life cherry blossom, plexure sutured in a fashion so baronial that it’s impossible to believe human hands were even responsible for it.

The silk. Oh, the silk. The color shift bears a striking resemblance to the Uchiha insignia. This is not a gift one gives to a teammate.

Oh, she's crying.

This has to be a dream, some kind of paracosm her heart thought up to give her brain the high of a lifetime. Hope burgeons and unfolds in her chest cavity, bleeding into her extremities like the pale pink shifting into red before her eyes. She’s never, ever going to forget this, not even if she lives to be one hundred years old.

Made for me?

She picks it up with disbelieving hands, grasping it more carefully than she’s ever held anything in her entire life, as if she’s going to wake up at any moment and it will dissolve into synapse, lost in the hazy juncture of morning the way one tends to lose awareness of the contents of a dream upon coming to lucidity. To her absolute bewilderment, it stays solid in her hands, a finery made even more unbelievable by touch. The grooves of the carving are as gentle as his hand had been on hers earlier. She thinks it would have had to be commissioned at least a few months in advance, outlandishly expensive. She’s never seen silk like this. She doesn't know; she's smart, but she's no artisan. Maybe she should ask Sai. She's crying.

She adores it.

Tears won’t stop welling in her eyes; she thinks they may be escaping from a tender spot inside her chest that’s been reserved for him since she was a child, a leak in a metaphorical dam. She takes a steadying breath, blinks, almost has them conquered. Get a grip, Sakura.

Then Sasuke’s hand is on hers, gently turning the handle over.

Her name is carved into the pale wood, on the back in formal calligraphy, Sakura daintier and more perfect than she could ever write it, as if it had just been uncovered in one of the inner layers rather than whittled there manually. Sasuke presses her fingers to it before loosening his grip, and in that second it feels as though his lost hand is in the wood, caressing her from split atoms in the grooves from the other side.

The tears spill over her cheeks - she admits defeat - intricacy of the entire thing blurring out of focus but still somehow burned into her retinas for all eternity.

Made for me, made for me, made for me-

Her voice finds her after a few more tears fall. “It’s beautiful.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, overwhelmed with complete and utter awe, trying desperately to choke down a sob. “Thank you, Sasuke-kun. I… I’ll treasure it. Always.” She cradles the fan closer to her chest, her heart - maybe An Introduction to Electrocardiography wasn’t a poorly-chosen book, after all; there is much to be read from something this precious - and regards him with watery eyes. She wishes she wasn’t crying; the distortion of the tears is making it hard to see the silver she’s loved and missed so much.

His hand lifts to her face after a moment, and to her surprise, he wipes away her tears again. She barely catches the something-more in his eyes, then, through the waterworks, precious metal flashing and pouring into the words scarred into her ventricles to live there forever, fortified in silver, but he is looking at her so -

“...Always,” he agrees, voice a little breathless, sparking scintilla near hypnotizing her in their luster, and he seems so happy -

Then he leans down to press his lips gently to hers, and this is better than her heart stopping, like when she opened the box. This time, her heart soars, and she touches a star she’s been dreaming of for eons.

[nonbinarychaoticstupid]

do 41 for catradora

ghost/living person au

behold! another thing i banged out and didn’t edit! kjjdnjjhdn this was fun! i decided to call it hello, my old heart after this song because i am cruel

(also... i think after i write the sequel bc i can’t just leave it like that i might expand this at some point or maybe write multiple versions? i like this a lot jejtnjrtnrnnm)

Adora doesn’t remember most of her childhood. Or much after that, really.

Everything up to the age of 18 is a... haze. Memories of life, of friends, of her identity, are either buried so deep she has to struggle to find them, or gone entirely. Faces, names, places, all gone somewhere she can’t follow.

It’s a given at this point, another piece of the debris of a life her carers left her with. She can’t fix it, and she can function without knowing her neighbour’s favourite colour, so why does it matter? It doesn’t hinder her too much, nor does it really make an impact on her functionality. It does annoy her, though, for reasons she can’t really explain.

There are things left behind in the fog of memory she... needs. Things that might explain this hole in heart, this deadening sense of loss that seems to follow her everywhere now. Things that might make everything make sense again.

Specifically, there’s... a memory of the traces of a memory. Someone Adora hurt, or someone who hurt Adora, or maybe both. And the girl who walked by her side for the first 18 years of her life, the girl who vanished at the drop of a hat, the girl she didn’t allow herself to grieve for. 

She knows how important the girl was to her. And missing her, dreaming about her without knowing why, hurts more than the loss. There’s something... something between them she has to fix. And it might hold the key to everything.

If she could remember, if she could find those shattered memories and piece them back together, she might remember why they took her past from her, and why Catra vanished. Why Catra died.

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

She doesn’t know exactly why she came here, to the shell of the abandoned home on the hillside. Maybe because it holds her last memory of a memory of Catra, alive and standing in front of her, laughing as she turns to push the door open. Maybe because it’s where she feels her memories... return, in whatever capacity they are able to,

It’s darker than she remembers it. The hole in the roof has since been covered with tarpaulin and framed with a web of crumbling scaffolding, leaving dark, angular shadows climbing the walls and forming ominous shapes on the floor. Adora couldn’t begin to try and decipher the patterns there if she tried.

If she focuses, she can trace the paths they left in the dust together as kids, winding around battered marble columns and up the staircases and back down again, like trails in the snow. 

Like... 

Adora pushes back the tears. Why am I crying? What is it about this place that-

Oh.

A memory. Of... her.

“You’re trying to remember me, aren’t you? Stars, I’m so sorry, Adora.”  

If she focuses, she can remember the first day they came here together, a pair of awkward 14 year olds with too much energy and too little time, and hid in the shadow of the stairs on the left, waiting for the night to pass. The details are blurred together, half-buried under a white haze, but if Adora tries, maybe she can -

She can’t. 

“You can. If you want, you can. What they did to you - it isn’t permanent. You can break out of it if you try. It’ll hurt, but you can. I did.”

She shakes the - the memory (a memory, nothing else - something she’ll have to sit and examine later) off. 

Adora picks her way across the floor, careful not to disturb the spiderweb of shadows. It feels... familiar, instinctual. Something more than muscle memory. Almost... almost like she’s being guided by the past she can’t reach.

There are memories here. Adora can feel them in the back of her mind, pushing her gently forwards, urging her on. 

She makes her way into the centre of the main hall of the building - it was a mansion once, she realises - and tries to picture it as it was before - well-lit, grand, beautiful. She tries to see it how Catra would have (because she knows how much she loved this place, even if she doesn’t remember it), filled with stars and candles. 

Adora switches off the torch and stretches out her hands, as though feeling her way forward, except there’s nothing to touch but air. And it feels... heavy. Like she’s being watched.

Except there’s no-one here. She’s alone. 

I’m alone. I’m alone... right?

“No.”

A growing feeling of terror rises, unbidden, in her chest, and she whirls around, brandishing the torch in front of her like some sort of sword, doing her best to  clamp down on the cry building in her throat.

Nobody. Nobody’s there. 

“I am. I’m right here. Adora, I’m right here -”

Adora lets her shoulders drop. She feels... defeated, for some reason. Empty. 

But the feeling doesn’t go away. And she can’t leave until something happens. She can’t leave until - until she gets her answers.

“What answers do you want, princess?” 

Okay, the voice was definitely real that time.

Adora spins around again, nearly dropping the torch, and - there she is. Or rather, a memory of her - a girl no older than seven, with a tangle of dark hair and vivid heterochromatic eyes, her outline flickering and fading and - 

She reaches out to touch her - and is met with empty air. The girl meets her eyes, and something in them looks so desperate that it makes her breath catch in her lungs, and then she just - vanishes. Melts into nothing. 

She almost cries out. Almost fucking sobs. Because she was right there, all the answers could have been within her reach, and she just watched the girl she almost remembers melt into dust- 

“Not her,” the voice tells her gently. “She’s not real. She used to be, but she isn’t now.” 

Adora shakes her head and doesn’t answer. 

“There are more of them here. Memories. Kinda.” 

“What happened to her?” Adora whispers. They’re the first words she’s spoken in a while, and her voice sounds disjointed and out of place, echoing over and over down the hallways.

Something settles on her shoulder (at least, she thinks it does). “She’s... a fragment. That’s the only way I can think of describing it.” A laugh, one she... recognises. “I think they’re all part of the memories they took from you. They’re shadows. I’m the only real one. Well, real-ish.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Turn around.” 

Her limbs don’t want to co-operate. Because I’m afraid of what I might see.

It takes a monumental effort to get to herself to rise, turn inch by inch, raise her eyes past the cracked floorboards. It takes even more to comprehend what she’s seeing.

“Hey, Adora.”

Catra. It’s - Catra.

Catra - but not. Not quite the girl she watched disappear from her memories three years ago. Her eyes are slightly hollower, her hair is shorter, and she’s... dead.

Very obviously dead, too. It’s not like Adora could miss a stab wound in the front of her shirt.

But... but she’s there, she’s standing right in front of her, wearing an infuriatingly familiar half-smile, and she wants to cry - 

“Ca... Catra?”

Her smile widens. “That’s me.”

“You’re here,” she whispers, and it comes out as more of a sob. She’s here she’s here she’s here she’s here - 

“You’re here,” Catra - Catra -  echoes, beaming. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” 

And Adora can’t do anything except let out a small sobbing noise in response. 

“Do you... remember?” she asks softly, hesitantly, hands toying with the fraying hem of her shirt. 

Adora shakes her head. “Not... much. I remember knowing you.”

Catra nods carefully. Her form has this odd translucent quality to it; she wonders if touching it would cause her to flicker like a hologram and vanish, only to re-materialise again in another place. “That’s something,” she offers. “Better than I’d hoped for, to be honest.” 

Her eyes fix on the torch in Adora’s hand, then flick back up. “I’d put that away if I were you. Light kind of... uh, dispels ghosts. That’s what I am. A ghost.” A smile. “I think.”

Adora stuffs it into her pocket without registering the movement. “H-how -”

“How do ghosts work?” Catra guesses. “Not sure. How am I a ghost? Again, not sure.” She shrugs, as though brushing it off. “It’s been... a long time.”

“I missed you,” she says, in a much smaller voice than she expected. “I missed you so much. I missed - I missed knowing you. I-” 

Catra smiles, and the movement causes her face to flicker at the edges, like static. “I missed you too. A lot.”

Adora bites back a sob. “Wha- What happened to you? How did you- ?” She shakes her head, shrugs. “Long story.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Adora catches herself staring at the outline of her form, the trails of half-shadows it leaves on the floorboards. In the half-light, she could almost be real. Alive.

She’s dead. She’s dead. It would hurt less if it wasn’t so clearly her fault.

“And - what about you?” Catra asks, breaking into her thoughts (which is a relief). There’s genuine concern in her eyes, she realises. 

She really cares about me. I must’ve cared about her, too - I do care about her. I just - why?

“I... also a long story. I think you know most of it already.” She huffs a laugh, blinking back tears. “More than me, at least.”

Catra nods again, slowly. Her eyes flick up and down, taking everything in like she’s seeing it for the first time. And some sort of realisation crosses them, then fades away as quickly as it came. 

“Do you want to... come back?” she asks. 

“Come back?”

“Come back. To the house. I could... I could show you what happened. If you want. It’s getting late, and Glimmer’ll be worried about you.”

Despite herself, Adora almost laughs. “You’re worried about me getting in trouble with my roommate for coming home late?”

Catra grins. “I’ve interacted with Sparkles before. She’ll be pissed, trust me.”

Adora smiles too, and for a moment, it could almost be - before again. Before her memories cut off and leave her with a white wall of nothing. Before Catra died.

“I don’t know if I can,” she says softly. “I might be... I might be dreaming, or you’ll be gone when I come back, or -”

“Trust me, I’m not going anywhere,” Catra cuts in. “I kind of can’t.”

She sits down on the floor and crosses her legs, a clear request for Adora to join her. “It’d be easier if I show you now, but I don’t want to make you pass out and have to figure out how to cart your ass back home.”

“Show me what?” Adora breathes. This is it. This is it. I might be able to... to fix things. Finally.

“What happened to me. And what happened to you. It’s a long story, like I said.” She smiles at her, a little sadly, and presses her palms flat against the floorboards as she sits down. Adora wonders vacantly if she can feel it, if her hands are passing through the wood right now, if she’s solid or just a... a ghost.

If she’s really gone.

Thinking about it fills her with an even deeper sense of loss, somehow. She can’t shake the feeling that it’s her fault, even if she knows that’s not true. And it hurts.

For a moment, they sit facing each other under the shattered skylight, and it could almost be - a memory she can’t quite reach. It could almost be just them again, like she knows they were.

“Are you sure you’ll be able handle this now?”

She nods. Once.

Catra gives her a small, sad smile. Her eyes are transparent, filled with guilt and an emotion she can’t quite place.

The room starts to fill with a soft blue light. It creeps up through the floorboards, making the shadows stand upright and wheel towards the fractured ceiling, making Catra seem to glow from within. Adora has to force herself not to stare (then wonders why).

Smoke tendrils begin curling up through the floor beneath them, wrapping around their legs. She swallows her panic in time to see Catra lift her hands from the wood, leaving scorch marks in their wake, and glance encouragingly up at her. It’s... comforting. Familiar.

“Try to relax, okay?”

Adora nods again. “Okay,” she whispers. It’s all she can manage.

The smoke curls up around her torso and expands, filling the entire room with a blue haze. She narrows her eyes against the strengthening glow, closes them entirely - and opens them again when the door swings open and nearly flies off its hinges.

Before she can move, before she can do anything but cry out, Catra’s hands - Catra’s solid, real hands - clamp as gently as possible down on her shoulders. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s not real,” she whispers. “They can’t hurt us again.”

“Again?”

She turns to meet Catra’s eyes, and for the first time since they saw each other, she looks... serious.

“Again.”

And two kids come running through the door.

Adora almost gasps again, because... because it’s her. Her and Catra, covered in mud and soaking wet and shivering, hair in disarray, eyes filled with sheer terror.

As soon as Catra skids in, past Adora slams the door shut, hinges screaming in protest. She watches it happen as though underwater. It feels... it feels familiar. That fear in their eyes - it’s real, and she remembers it. Except she doesn’t.

“Are you okay?”

Past Catra nods, clutching her wrist to her chest. “I’m fine. Are they gone?”

“I don’t think so.” Past Adora jogs over to her and helps her to her feet, smiling faintly. Despite everything, despite the wound at her temple and the blood caked on the hem of her shirt, despite the rain and the terror in her eyes, she’s smiling.

And Adora... remembers.

She remembers everything at once, a hail of flashing images and thoughts and words and feelings. She remembers emotions she didn’t even know she had experienced - burning, horrific grief, loss, missing her so badly she wants to scream at the sky and quite literally burst into flame, choking on sobs in bed - sheer, unending terror, pushed deep down into the centre of her chest, the need to protect, protect her, keep her safe, because she can’t be scared if Catra is - 

Someone is calling her name.

Someone is... Catra is calling for her, holding her against her chest as she trembles, whispering her name over and over again in her ear. 

“Adora, Adora - “

And Past Catra... Past Catra is bent over on the wood, coughing and crying her name, letting out choking sobs, a hand pressed over the wound in the centre of her chest. The door has been blown open again, letting in the wind and the rain, and Past Adora is gone.

“I’m-” She sits up, which is much more of a struggle than it should be. “I’m here. What happened?”

Catra gives her a concerned look. “You- passed out, I think. I mean, I know I said you would, but I didn’t expect.... this.” 

Her voice has begun to distort again, fading into a soft, static hum. The vision, or whatever it was, has begun to flicker and die into nothing, the threads fraying and unravelling until all that’s left is the girl bleeding out in the middle of the room.

Adora detaches herself from Catra’s fading grip as carefully as possible. Because, fuck, the things she remembers-

“You didn’t see half of that, did you?”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t.”

Catra’s face falls slightly. Adora can’t even imagine what the experience was like for her, having to relive her death again for the sake of her memory. 

“But I did...” She clears her throat, rests a hand inches away from Catra’s. “I did remember. Everything.”

Her eyes light up from within, something that has nothing to do with the faded blue glow sinking back through the floorboards. “You did?”

Adora nods. The movement makes her head spin. She remembers... everything. Especially falling in love with the girl sitting opposite her, watching her with wide eyes. Especially the - the magic they tried to wield on her to make her forget, to make her immune to loving. And the way she tried to escape, to take Catra with her to keep her out of their reach, and it backfired in the worst way possible. She remembers her memories being stolen from her one by one, sucking the grief out of her until there was nothing left. 

Most importantly, she remembers waking up in her bed and feeling for the space where Catra should have been the day after they told her she was dead.

“I did,” she whispers. 

Silence stretches out between them, and Adora wonders if they could possibly be thinking about the same thing. 

Without saying anything, without thinking twice, she blurts, “I love you.” 

Catra’s eyes widen.

“We never said that. When you were alive. I always regretted that. I wanted to tell you, and I never got to, and I’m sorry for that. But, stars, Catra, I love you. I love you.”

She’s staring at her like she’s never seen her before, like she did the night - the night they kissed for the first time, the night she can remember with almost perfect clarity now, the night that was hidden from her for so long - 

“Adora -”

“I know it’s been - wow, it’s been years - and I know so much has changed, but I just - I have to tell you that. I have to -”

And Catra laughs. Softly. Her hand comes down and through Adora’s, leaving a wave of - of warmth in its wake, and settles against her palm, and it feels so close to getting to hold her again she swears she could cry again.

“I love you too, idiot.”

[melanielocke]

Lost in the Shadows - chapter 11

AO3

Chapter list is getting a bit long, link to all chapters is on my pinned post.

Taglist: @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite

Cordelia dreamt of a castle in the middle of the forest. She wasn’t sure what was happening, all she knew was she needed to get away, this wasn’t right. There was a woman with empty eyes and long dark hair, something similar to what Thomas had described when he’d seen the washer woman? She was carrying a basket with bloodied clothes and bent over into a stream to wash them. This had to be her, the same woman Thomas had seen.

‘Bearer of cortana,’ she hissed, her voice an awful shriek. ‘Beware the thief of souls.’

Cordelia woke up and when she checked her phone she realized it was noon. Everyone had to be up already, she rarely slept this late. She had gone to bed at eleven yesterday and fallen asleep rather soon, which meant she had slept for thirteen hours. Cordelia wondered why, she rarely slept this long. Yesterday had been a long and exhausting day for sure, but this exhausting? She picked out a simple dress and changed. Dresses were easy in that regard, since it only required her to pick out one item of clothing and she was done, instead of having to match several pieces.

Lucie was eating at the table, and Cordelia wondered if that was her breakfast or lunch. Considering the time, probably lunch.

‘Did you sleep well?’ she asked. ‘I was beginning to wonder if you were going to wake up at all, or if you needed a prince to come kiss you awake. Or princess. Royal figure of indetermined gender.’

‘I did have a weird dream,’ Cordelia said, rubbing her eyes. ‘I only just woke up. Which is weird, because I don’t usually sleep for thirteen hours.’

‘You must be very well rested then,’ Lucie said, getting up from her seat to make Cordelia some toast.

Cordelia yawned. ‘Not really. Any news?’

‘You’re the only one who slept late,’ Lucie said. ‘Thomas and Alastair went to take another walk, they’re not back yet. I’ve been theorizing on what Tatiana is doing, or what Grace is and where she came from, but so far I’m not getting any further than her trying to bring back Jesse.’

‘Alastair is an early riser, always has been,’ Cordelia said. ‘Thomas too, apparently.’

Alastair often had nightmares and with his irregular sleeping pattern, Cordelia sometimes wasn’t sure if he slept at all. And he wondered why he was always tired.

‘Uncle Gideon still thinks he might be able to reach his sister, and went into the village again,’ Lucie added. ‘Dad is with him, he doesn’t trust Tatiana but is willing to give it one more chance. So far, they didn’t find her.’

Cordelia didn’t know Tatiana and didn’t want to judge, but if her intention was to bring back her son, she wasn’t sure Gideon would be able to change her mind.

‘Have you ever heard of the thief of souls?’ Cordelia asked.

Lucie frowned. ‘Maybe… It does sound like something out of a book, maybe. Although that could have been thief of hearts too. No, doesn’t ring any bells.’

‘In my dream someone said “Beware the thief of souls”,’ Cordelia said. ‘It could be just an ordinary dream, but I can’t be sure. It might be important.’

Cordelia tried to connect the term with what Lucie had learnt about Jesse Blackthorn. He’d died, and he’d disappeared somewhere, reappearing recently around the same time a washer woman warned Thomas of unpaid debts.

‘What if Jesse didn’t just die?’ Cordelia suggested. ‘What if this thief of souls is called by that title because it takes people’s souls in exchange for whatever someone asks for, and that’s what happened to Jesse.’

‘And then Tatiana made another deal to get him back, and right now he is a ghost,’ Lucie said. ‘Which might explain why the debt is no longer considered paid even if Jesse is still dead.’

‘But if that’s true, then how can we save Thomas?’ Cordelia asked. ‘We’d have to give back Jesse.’

‘Or we defeat the thief of souls,’ Lucie suggested. ‘That way we can save both Jesse and Thomas. No one deserves to be held as a price by such a being.’

‘Can something called the thief of souls even be killed though,’ Cordelia mused. ‘It sounds like a very powerful, perhaps even immortal being.’

‘They say cortana can kill anything, right?’ Lucie said.

‘You’re right, they say it can even kill immortal beings. But I’m not sure even with cortana I would stand a chance against such a thing, there’s also the matter of fighting it. I’m not giving up on either of them and if it comes down to a fight, I will fight. But perhaps we’re overlooking something and there’s another way to save them both.’

Still, if there was a way to kill such a thing, it was cortana. Cordelia would give it her best. She’d always wanted to be a hero, now she would have to prove she had what it took.

‘I don’t like giving up on Jesse’s soul,’ Lucie said. ‘And we definitely can’t let Thomas die.’

‘Either way, I’m going to practice,’ Cordelia said.

She and Alastair had practiced fighting together in childhood, both carrying wooden swords that had been made to match cortana in weight distribution. Since the real sword was so sharp, practicing with it together was too dangerous, but the wooden swords had worked. Alastair had lost interest in his early teens after cortana had chosen Cordelia, only joining her in practice when she begged him to.

She was used to the sword now, to its weight, the way it felt in her hand, and she knew how to fight with it. She’d never actually fought anything though, and according to her father that was the best way to learn. He’d trained her when she was very young. Their training together had become less and less frequent though, and for a long time Cordelia thought it was because he’d gotten sick.

She practiced her movement with the sword, repeating combinations of both attacks and defenses in one fluid motion. Cordelia had never doubted that someday she would fight evil with cortana. It was her destiny after all, and someone had to carry the sword. She’d always wanted to be a hero, like her father once was.

But now everything was coming much closer than she liked. Now Thomas’ life was in danger and Cordelia had no idea how to save him. Now she realized cortana alone might not be enough. Not when she had no idea what to fight, no idea what was coming to claim Thomas’ life. She wasn’t so sure anymore if this life was going to be what she dreamed it would be. She was scared she would end up like her father. Alastair refused to admit it, but Cordelia suspected he shared that fear, even if he had decided he didn’t want to devote his life to the supernatural.

‘That looks good,’ Lucie said. ‘Could you teach me, how to use a weapon?’

Cordelia frowned. ‘I only have cortana, I don’t have any other swords. Alastair does have daggers though. When he comes back, you could ask him to borrow one. Even if you don’t know how to fight with it, you would have a chance to defend yourself.’

Cordelia continued with some more complicated moves, practicing swift dodges followed by attacks. She had to be ready for anything. Lucie returned inside, and emerged a while later with a glass of water.

‘You need anything to drink?’

Cordelia gratefully took the glass of water and drunk it all as fast as she could, spilling a few drops. When training, Cordelia tended to get lost in herself and forget to drink. Lucie had the same problem when she was writing, but had several daily phone alarms telling her to drink.

‘I looked up that boy in the lake to see if they made any progress in the investigation,’ Lucie said. ‘So far it seems like he drowned, but the parents requested an autopsy because they think it’s unlikely since their son is such a good swimmer.’

Cordelia had expected as much. ‘At least now the parents have some closure. Poor child.’

‘I can’t imagine,’ Lucie said. ‘And the story of being trapped, it’s so similar to what Jesse said. Although the boy didn’t mention seeing any monsters or being stalked by something.’

‘There are vague stories of people getting trapped in places in the wild, but I’ve never seen anything that proves it’s real,’ Cordelia said. ‘Nothing like you described, at least not in the stories I remember from my father.’

‘I imagine most people don’t live to tell the tale,’ Lucie said.

‘I know, but… My father might have survived such a thing, and I don’t think I ever heard about it from him.’

Cordelia suspected that with the many years her father had travelled the world to slay evil creatures, he had told her and Alastair the most exciting stories and there were a few she might not have heard. Though she imagined something trapping people would be considered exciting. Perhaps her father did know more, but Cordelia was terrified to contact him, and she didn’t want to ask anyone else to either.

She still felt betrayed by him. She could sympathize with an addiction, it was an illness and she couldn’t blame him for seeking something that eased his pain. She knew her father had seen things most only saw in horror movies, she understood why he might want to forget. But he’d lied to her about it. She knew why Alastair had wanted to protect her, she didn’t blame him for not telling her the truth. Her father though? He’d gladly gone along with Alastair’s attempts to keep her in the dark, pretending to be overcome with sickness when he was drunk. Pretending the scent of alcohol was really medication for his illness. He’d often asked for her when he was sick, and she’d gone to read him stories, to keep him company while he rested. She hadn’t understood at the time, why Alastair didn’t like her taking care of him, why he’d insisted Father was sick and needed sleep even when her father kept asking for her.

As a dutiful daughter, she’d always gone when her father asked for her. She’d read him stories, kept him company, believing he was sick and not drunk. She had given up other obligations for him. She’d missed school parties she’d been excited about, because she couldn’t bear to leave her sick father after he’d asked her to stay.

Only now did she realize that as a father, he should have encouraged her to go anyway and have fun. That taking care of her father was not her responsibility and he should not have expected her to give up so much for him. Alastair had always tried to convince her that it was fine, that he could take care of Father too and he didn’t need her there. A couple of times he had managed to convince her, Alastair insisting she would regret it for a long time if she missed Lucie’s birthday party. She was still grateful that Alastair had practically dragged her away that day. No one else had shown up for Lucie, all the other children she’d invited thought she was weird and at that age Lucie had been desperate to be liked by her peers. Cordelia had almost abandoned Lucie too.

Now she understood why father had always asked for her, and not Alastair or her mother. She’d always believed it was because she was more like her father, because she was more affectionate whereas Alastair and her mother were rather closed off. Now she understood her father had preferred her because she was the only one who didn’t know he was drunk, because she would be kind and feel sorry for his sickness whereas Alastair resented him for being too drunk to be take care of his children. No, even if he knew the most about the supernatural from all his travels, Cordelia was not ready to call him to ask and she would never ask Alastair to do such a thing. No matter how betrayed she felt, what he’d been through was worse and he should never have to speak to their father again.

‘You alright, Daisy?’ Lucie asked.

‘Just thinking,’ she said. ‘Maybe my father does know more, but I can’t… I really can’t ask him.’

Lucie nodded. ‘I understand. If you really think he knows more, perhaps dad can call him instead to ask. And perhaps uncle Gabriel and aunt Cecily know more as well.’

Cordelia figured she could ask, but she feared her father would make it difficult for them. She’d learnt just how manipulative he could be, and she could easily imagine him refusing to talk to Will unless he’d let him talk to her.

Cordelia decided to practice a little longer, it had been a while with everything that had happened lately, and there wasn’t much space or opportunity at her aunt Risa’s apartment. She couldn’t be unprepared.

Lucie sat down to watch, book in hand, but Cordelia didn’t think she was making any progress reading. Instead, Cordelia caught her staring at her movement. Perhaps Lucie was studying her movements, in an attempt to learn more about fighting herself. Ultimately, it all came down to practice though. You didn’t learn how to fight by watching other people do it.

‘Aren’t Alastair and Thomas taking a little long?’ Lucie wondered. ‘They left early in the morning.’

‘I figured they’d be at the cottage with Sophie,’ Cordelia said. ‘They’re not?’

‘Mom is there with aunt Sophie,’ Lucie said. ‘She just texted me, we could come over for some tea as well. She mentions all four of us, apparently aunt Sophie would like it if Thomas came back for tea as well. So mom must have assumed they returned here after she left.’

Cordelia frowned. ‘What time is it?’

‘Four in the afternoon,’ Lucie said. ‘Dad also texted that he and uncle Gideon couldn’t find Tatiana and are coming back. But I haven’t heard anything from Alastair and Thomas. I’m not sure about Alastair, but it’s not like Thomas to disappear for so long and not let anyone know.’

Alastair could lose track of time on his long walks, but this was extreme even for his standards, and he would have at least texted her by now if he’d changed plans.

‘That is one long walk’ Cordelia said. ‘I’ll call Alastair.’

She turned cortana back into her necklace and took her phone out of her pocket, calling her brother. He didn’t answer, which was unlike him. She tried again. Nothing. She texted him instead, asking him if he was alright and when to expect him back. Alastair didn’t receive the message, maybe his phone had died. He rarely forgot to charge it though.

‘He’s not answering,’ Cordelia said. ‘I’ll try Thomas.’

Thomas didn’t pick up either, after several tries, and when Cordelia texted him he didn’t receive anything either.

‘Nothing either.’

‘Perhaps they don’t have cell service,’ Lucie said. ‘If you go far enough into the woods, that would happen.’

Cordelia guessed Lucie had a point, but that didn’t explain why they were spending almost a whole day into the woods. They weren’t experienced hikers, they must get tired at some point, right? And they would have at least let someone know if they would be gone for so long, this was worrying even for Alastair.

‘Maybe we should go looking for them.’

‘They could be making out though, maybe they don’t want to be interrupted,’ Lucie suggested.

Cordelia frowned. ‘In the middle of the woods?’

Lucie shrugged. ‘Who am I to judge?’

‘They’ve been gone for long enough that I think we should go looking,’ Cordelia said. ‘They could be in trouble.’

She put on some different shoes that were better suited for the forest and texted Will they were going to look for Alastair and Thomas, warning them to come find them if they took too long.

‘Do you really think they could be in trouble?’ Lucie asked when they walked into the forest, nervous.

Cordelia understood Lucie was scared, but if she was then how had she run after Tatiana into the woods just yesterday evening? If anything, her friend was chaotic.

The forest was a bit darker than she was used to in the bright sun, which was odd. The fog was a little thicker than usual, and Cordelia made sure to stay close to Lucie.

‘I don’t know,’ Cordelia said. ‘But only one way to be sure.’

A howl pierced the air. Cordelia could only tell the general direction it was coming from. It didn’t quite sound like a wolf, but it was similar enough.

‘Stay behind me,’ Cordelia said, removing her necklace and taking cortana into her hand. ‘I don’t know what that is, but I’m not going to let it harm my brother.’

[selenitawars]

Pressentimento

Never Be The Same - Part 7.

Pairing: Sam x Daughter!Reader, Dean x Niece!Reader, Castiel x Platonic!Reader.

Summary: To save Dean’s life, Sam changes a big part of his past, hoping that he’d only forget memories with his college girlfriend. But, not only he changes his life, he also creates a new one.

Word Count: 2332.

Warnings: None.

A/N: Yes, I’m back after over a year and a half. I know I’m a dumbass for making y’all wait for so long, but, honestly, I want this to be a fun writing, so I try not to pressure myself. Won’t make promises. Either way, always love to know your opinions. Hope  you enjoy this comeback haha!

Pressentimento masculine noun 1. act of feeling in advance, more through emotion than reason, the occurrence of a future fact; suspicion. "I have a p. that this will not work" 2. knowledge of what will happen, obtained by intuition; forecast, hunch, omen.

You still hadn't explained everything to your father nor your uncle. Cas remembered one of the episodes that occurred with you when you were younger, around ten or so. It was hard for you. Every time you tried to explain yourself, things were hard to explain. All the time, something blocked you from exposing the fear inside you, the fear of letting things out.

The way their "new" memories came to them didn't help. It was so unpredictable. Cas remembered you praying first and then, mixed memories, tiny ones, which made him assume a lot about you already; and worry as well. Dean remembered more, like the time Sam was soulless and you lived with him for months, you concluded he was remembering things by the impact they had in his life. As for Sam, well, apparently things were coming more chronologically for him, but a little late, since he also had a lot of Camila to remember.

You tried to think how to talk to them about your crisis. The big ones. It was so complicated. When it started happening, you had your godmother to help with calming down and understanding how sensible you were; but even Vanessa had to talk with the Winchesters to fully understand what made you so much stronger and sensitive. Anyway, she wouldn't help you now that she was in the list of people to whom you never existed.

Oh, and your mother...

Looking at pictures of her nowadays became an addiction. You couldn't sleep before searching a little more about her, not that you've been having much sleep or any of this helped. You wish so bad you could talk to her. And now that Sam told ya you reminded him so much of Camila, you really studied her, trying to find the resemblance.

How would you tell them there's more? More of you to worry. You wanted to wait for a time when the memories hangovers weren't so heavy on them. They were all trying to act normal, but it was obvious - you've never been at home for this long, they were never so quiet. Dean wasn't even drinking, to make sure he wouldn't be more confused.

You were lying down on your bed, trying to ease the headache. It was normal to have a day just to be tired, but after the all day just resting you still got a headache by night. Went to get a pill to make it better and when you swallow it, you realize something.

"I don't exist." You whisper to yourself.

For the first time in that day, you felt useful. Even with the headache, you got in front of the computer and started to do your thing. For some reason you got happy when you confirmed your theory.

"I was never born."

"You gotta stop thinking about that." Dean warned you.

"No, I mean... I don't exist."

The three men stared at you with confusion, you repeated.

"I don't exist."

Still nothing. The room was filled with silence while you hoped for the clicking in their minds. It never came. You sighed.

"I never existed! Never did anything!"

Sam looked at you like he was starting to worry, while holding a bowl with cereal. Just like Dean, who chewed his, probably thinking you've gone crazy.

"I don't understand why you're so excited saying it." Cas finally said.

"Isn't it obvious?" They once more, didn't react. "There are no records of me, at all. Nobody knows about me. I only left the bunker once."

"What's your point?" Dean asked.

"We should keep it that way."

"What? Why?" The brothers said together.

"Well, if nobody knows I'm here, we're in advantage. It's always good to have a secret backup, right?"

"Like... as a surprise element?" Castiel suggested, you nodded. "Y/N, you don't truly expect us to treat you like a secret weapon..."

"Hell no." Dean agreed.

"It's not like it."

"Well, I don't see your point." You father stated. "I know this seems messed up, but, we can fix it. Don't worry."

"I'm not worried, I'm thinking!" You made them quiet. "C'mon, think with me: I barely left the bunker, how could anyone know about me?"

"We know about you." Dean answered.

"But you've seen me. And your memories, are just yours, this doesn't mean the world knows about me."

"Ok, but you'll need to use an ID sometime. Or will you live forever here, inside the bunker?"

"Dean, you should know it's easier to make a fake ID look real if there isn't a real one to prove the fake one as fake."

Sam took a deep breath.

"Ok, so we leave it as it is. How much long do you think it would last?"

"Not much, I know. But at least, for a while it could be useful."

"I don't see how, Y/N. I'm not using you as my secret-spy-soldier or whatever."

"Sam is right. It's not worth it."

"Castiel?" You looked at him, only to find the agreeing look. You looked down.

"Look, how can you be sure nobody else remembers you?" The angel tried to clear your mind.

"For most people I know, I never happened. And the others, will probably only remember me when they see me, if they do. Until then..."

"That's not right." Sam interrupted. "I had this feeling about you, before we arrived on that day; like I left something behind, but I couldn't remember why."

"So did I."

"I got one your prayers for not getting news from us." You stood there, silent.

"That's it? A feeling you forgot something?!" You left for your bedroom, a little ofended they didn't listen to you. Your idea was good, logical. You genuinely thought they would see it as a good thing out of all this.

Reflecting on it, you finally notice: you may not know your family as well as before. At first it sounds crazy, but this is all crazy, ain't it? And after doing their exercise for a couple hours, thinking about your childhood, the events that crossed it and when it all began, you got yourself some questions.

You fell asleep while still thinking, trying to find logic somewhere and always getting to the same point, a lost point. Somehow while sleeping, you had no dreams, didn't wake up once; not even the fact that you were with a jacket bothered you.

"Hey, man. You good?" Dean noticed Sam squeeze his eyes.

"Yep. Just those flashbacks. I hate to have them by day, but I can't sleep no longer."

"Like a constant hangover, thank God it's not a heavy one." Sam did not answer. "Sam?"

"Right..." Sam stared at the floor, seeing stuff in his mind. He blinked multiple times after a little.

"You all right? You seem shocked. What did you remember?"

"It's just... Y/N's suggestion."

"Dude, that was today."

"Very funny!" Dean smiled a little to ease his brother. "It got me thinking. Why would she want that?"

"Honestly," Castiel entered suddenly. "I think she is trying to get something good out of this."

"Good? I see her point, but..."

"Not good." Cas interrupted, correcting himself. "Useful, at least."

"It's not as useful as she thinks." Dean says as if it's obvious.

"It's the only thing she has to offer." Castiel putted it in a weird way, but made sense. They silented for an instant. "Still, how does that has to do with your flashback, Sam?"

"I thought that maybe I should listen to her. Maybe there was a point."

"You, Sammy, considered the possibility of being saved by her?"

"Obviously not. I wondered: what if her non-existence helped her get away from this craziness. Like, she could get to any school if we put some effort."

"You concluded it fast." Cas commented.

"Well, yeah. Then I... questioned." Sam felt the gazes at him. "How did she get dragged into hunting in the first place? Why did I not stop it? And one more thing popped up: why did I leave college?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Dean couldn't understand his brother.

"Dean, if it wasn't for my anger towards Jessica's death, who knows..." He explained. "So why I left Stanford, making Camila stay behind and after weeks drop out too?"

Castiel took a seat.

"Why did you?"

Sam opened the door, showly. You were in your bed, far from his atmosphere, enjoying a rest you needed. He passed the door carefully, took a look at your room and turned the lights off. Ever since that hunt days ago, when he saw you sleep at the motel bed while he was reading about the case, the day he woke up before you and as you slept in the car coming back home, Sam felt peace as he watched you.

It was the moment he could breath easily and a little relaxed. You were resting, next to him, nothing could hurt you in your sleep. There, you were safe and wasn't leaving soon. So he couldn't help watch you once more; just stood by the door for a couple seconds, smiled at the taught of you having a break from this madness for some hours. Grabbed the door and heard your move, turning to check if he had woken ya.

"Sorry."

"Don't be." Your voice sounded lazy. "I have a light sleep."

"So do I." You nodded. You knew it. He regrets commenting it.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

"No, tell me." He understood you couldn't sleep anymore.

"You don't want to talk now."

"It's about earlier, I know." You said while rubbing your eyes. "Just spit it." He gave in and sat in your chair.

"Why do you wanna do it?"

"Why don't you?"

"Why would I?"

"You've always wanted this." He gulped.

"What? No!"

"You never wanted me to be in risk, you hated the fact I made you all vulnerable, now nobody knows I'm here. I know this isn't permanent and things can change, but for now, you could finally be at peace. Nobody knows me, none of you have to worry."

Samuel digested everything you said and got his answer prepared fastly enough.

"For a long time I asked myself if Jessica never died, would I be here? And you know, as things turned out to be, as I found out more and more throughout the years I got the answer." He paused. "I would. Because if it wasn't Jess, it would be Dean or dad, or a friend."

"What do you mean?"

"I left college for revenge." You got surprised. "It wasn't Jess. Not anymore." That sounded weird. "I made a choice and I know now that somehow, at some point, no matter how many times... I would make that choice again. As soon as somebody I care about got in danger. So I left college. For you."

Sam got back from his first hunt after two years. Camila was waiting. They talked and she was serious when she told him to call Dean. Leave as soon as he could. She said she had a bad feeling, he had to find his father. Was something repentine, fast and clear - the fear in her voice stopped Sam from questioning.

"The way she talked to me... her eyes, getting sudden tears. At first I tried to calm her, jokes on me, I blamed her hormones. Camila proved me wrong. I knew she had that sometimes, like with tests or bad decisions, maybe something simple like knowing staying in was better than going to a party. She was always right. If not totally right, fast enough to avoid regret." He looked down as her voice came to his head and repeated her words. "'This is your family we're talking about, Samuel! Your child's grandfather.' She screamed. I was scared." You two laughed a little. "She begged. Aggressively. But, I didn't leave because she did."

"Why then?"

"I called Dean to get back there and pick me up because once we talked, I got that bad feeling too. And was suddenly afraid. Afraid something would happen to either of you." You stayed silent. "I hoped things would be more simple, soon I'd be back and things would go back to normal. You would be born and grow up, normal. We would be a family..."

"Please, don't say normal." He smiled.

"Your mother's bad feeling... I don't know what is was about exactly. She got scared too in that moment and it was the only time I saw her that scared. But I know that mine became true. Only, it was even worse. There was no blame. Of all things that happened in those months, how worried I was with my father, you, Camila and even Dean... The hunts, the confusion and overwhelming information all at once. The fear. Your mother's death was the most sudden and painful." You saw a tear run down his cheek, followed by a couple more. Sam had more to say but you spoke before, in the heat of the moment.

"She knew." He looked back at you, now with red eyes. "I think she knew something bad was going to happen."

"She knew we would be in danger." By we, he meant himself, his uncle and your grandpa.

"No. Not that. She knew that something terrible was happening already and would get worse. But she didn't tell you to go to stop it." His tears froze, lost in your words. "Like you said. Camila was always right about this bad feelings. She was certain." You were sure thanks to your own experience with it.

"About Dean needing me more than her?" You denied.

"About you needing the rest of your family once I was born."

[yandere-sins]

Omggg i just had a dream about denki being a ghost inthe forest in the back of my house and bening really yandere towards me and being my friend so wanna write this bb🥺🥺

Wow, dude, that’s... tough? Let me know if you ever get someone to interpret this dream, I’d love to know what it meant!! But until then, hope you can enjoy this here ^^

I suppose, warning for body horror. It's a ghost story after all!

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««     

You couldn’t hold back the heavy breaths falling off your lips as you collected yourself. Running parkour through the forest wasn’t something you had done in what felt like forever. As a child, you had spent much more hours in between trees and thicket, but having grown up, it seemed more rational not to go out into the forest anymore.

With an uneasy feeling in your tummy, you looked around. The sun was setting slowly, and though - had you started tracking back the way you came from now - you might have made it back before night fell, you couldn’t help but worry. Cellphone signal was sparse around these parts, and you didn’t exactly enjoy camping out in the wild anymore. Back home, they’d surely start to wonder where you ran off to too.

“What are you looking at?” he asked. No leaves were rustling under his steps, but you weren’t exactly afraid of his presence. “The sun is going down,” you noted before looking back at him, standing in the shadow of a tree, shrugging. “What’s the big deal, you’ve been out here before in the dark.”

“Yeah, well, but I was a teenager back then. You know, rebellious phase?”

A burst of light laughter fell off his lips, as you passed him by, his presence trotting after you. Denki was unlike any other friend you had, honestly, unlike any person you knew too. Neither was he exactly alive nor something you could really explain. Often had you thought he might just be an illusion, an imaginary friend you made up when you were little. But everything pointed against this, as he was still here, even though you were of age now.

“Is it still far?” you asked him. It was his idea to go deeper into this forest after all. You were just visiting your family when you saw him stand at the farthest end of your parent’s property, which switched into forest instead of a plain grass field. It hadn’t been your intention to go hiking, but you couldn’t exactly just ignore him.

Not after all you’ve been through together.

Following him through another bush, you wiped your face, feeling like a million bugs just sailed down on you. “Do you remember this place?” he asked, and you opened up your eyes again to see, a big lake spreading out in front of you. At the sight of it, you had to admit feeling warmth spreading through you, fond memories of your childhood resurfacing.

“That’s where I met you first,” you admitted, and he hummed in approval, you two standing on the edge to the water, looking out into the lake. “You were so tiny back then, I still remember it! Didn’t even reach my hips yet!”

“Stop teasing me!” you laughed along as Denki grinned at you, gesturing your height. “You didn’t change at all!” you chuckled, shaking your head. “You always teased me back then too.”

“Just because you were crying and asking for your mommy! You’d get lost a lot the first few times you came into the forest after you moved here!”

“Well-” you chuckled, hesitating before you could admit defeat. “I guess I did.”

Denki nodded, his eyes sliding over you as he took you in. It’s been a while since the last time he saw you. Life had certainly changed for you, school, work, relationships - they all changed. “You changed a lot,” he mumbled after a while, brows furrowed, though you weren’t sure if it was disappointment or disapproval in his slightly translucent eyes.

“You’ve grown - a lot. You’re bigger now than me.”

As a matter of fact, his hand reached up, gesturing between you and him, showing you overtook him by almost half a head now. Kaminari Denki - his name was one of the few things you knew for sure - had always looked the same to you. Always the same height, the same blonde hair, and toothy grin. He told you once that ghosts don’t really change anymore. That’s at least, what he said. Even if you had your doubts, he called himself a ghost of something long gone, leaving you to wonder what he meant.

“Well, life goes on,” you sighed.

“For you,” he noted, a grin on his face that didn’t exactly match his rather sad expression.

“Yeah... I... I don’t think we’ll see each other much more in the future.”

“What?” he retorted. Standing a bit closer to you now, you averted your face. It felt like you were breaking up with him when he looked at you with those big, puppy-eyes, and you couldn’t exactly bear to tell him the news. “Yeah, I decided to move to a different city. I might be back once or twice a year, but well, that’s it.”

“Oh.” The way he said this, made you feel guilty for no certain reason. You two hadn’t been as close as you were when you were younger, especially after you distanced yourself from him and the forest for the sake of hanging out with other friends - real friends - and having to study hard for your exams. True, he had been there in really tough times for you. In times where you had no one, and your parents didn’t make your life easier either. Maybe that’s why it was so hard to ‘formally’ tell him you two would have to go separate ways.

Somehow, you could understand the sadness in his eyes, making it incredibly awkward for you to stand so close next to him. Kicking some loose stones into the lake, you nodded before taking a deep breath. “Yep, so that’s how it is. I better get back before it gets too late-”

“Can I show you one last thing then?” he interrupted you, and you began to stutter, unsure what to say. Something inside of you told you to not go with him. To turn on your heels and get back to your home. This forest had nothing you didn’t know about already, and the most exciting things here were mushrooms. But at the same time, you felt like you owed him this. One last favor. One last adventure with him.

His eyes sparkled up hopefully when you nodded, and he swiftly surrounded you, non-existing feet hastily climbing back into the thicket. With a sigh and the thought of ‘what did I get myself into’ you followed. It became hard for you to keep up with him, more than once losing sight of his luminescent ghost-form, but his voice led you back on track and after him. It got harder and harder to see properly as the rays of sunlight disappeared behind the horizon, and you took out your phone camera to light your way and not stumble over too many roots.

“Where exactly are we going?” you asked, much too late, this question should have been one of the first you should have asked.

“Somewhere special!” he called back, and again, you felt the tug in your stomach to leave. It was getting late, and you had strayed far beyond the forest you knew as well as your pocket. “You have to see this!” he announced, and once again, against the better judgment of your gut, you complied, following him deeper in.

“We’re there!” Denki finally announced when you were already beyond out of breath and nerves to continue. A clearance opened up in front of you, moonlight shining down at the singular tree trunk in the middle of it. “So... what is it?”

“Well, come look!” he urged you, his form now much whiter and visible since it had become night. Hesitantly, you approached the trunk, exchanging more than once glances with Kaminari, who was snickering and grinning excitedly.

“I thought it was only appropriated to show you. I wanted you to know all about me before you decide to go.” His words were but a murmur over your shoulder, making you flinch by how close they sounded suddenly. It got abundantly clear that whatever he wanted to show you couldn’t be good, and you acted carefully as you shone your own light on your surroundings additionally.

Another careful step before you felt a hard resistance under your foot, crunching under the pressure of your weight. “Ouch!” he fake cried out before chuckling, and you shone your light upwards to the trunk, a truly horrifying sight being revealed.

Stumbling back, your hand began to shake uncontrollably. You had to grip it with your other hand before you could even control it, tearing yourself away from the sight. Unfortunately, Kaminari decided to sit on the trunk, making it hard to have a conversation with him without having the remains of a body in the corner of your eyes.

“Yep, that’s me,” he introduced almost nonchalantly, knocking against the skull of the skeleton. “Lost my way out here. Every time I decided to just go in one direction, I would accidentally sidetrack and end up back here. My phone had no connection, and no one knew where I was. I guess... it was just meant to happen.”

“Why...” you muttered, shielding your eyes from the sight. “Why would you show me this?”

“Hm?” he finally looked up at you again. Even for a ghost, he was awfully calm, showing you his remains. “Because you are all grown up now, Dummy! Couldn’t have shown you this when you were still so small, could I?”

“N-No! But I still don’t want to see it now!”

“Bummer,” he admitted, truly sounding disappointed about your reaction. “I was so happy when I met you. Finally, someone that could see me, who I could talk to! I’ve been dwelling in this forest for many years before you came around. I was so lonely, [Name].”

That’s enough, you thought. On his sob story you would gladly miss out, considering you were standing in front of his skeleton remains, talking to his ghost. If that alone didn’t make you crazy, you’d rather be cold-hearted than endure the sight anymore. Turning on your heels, you walked back to where you had come from.

“Don’t leave me, [Name],” you heard from behind you, soft and scared.

“I can’t stay, I’m sorry. I will send someone to bring back your remains and bury them, I promise! I just- I just have to go.”

“But you will get lost if you leave now. Stay with me.”

“No!” you said firmly, immediately feeling bad for being so harsh. Fighting your way back out of the clearance, you looked around, phone light in hand as you moved towards where you thought you had come from. The next ten minutes were spent stumbling over roots and vines before you shoved aside another bush, your eyes widening at the sight of Denki, sitting on the tree trunk you had tried to leave, staring at the sky.

“It’s no good. It’s dark, and you don’t have a compass either, right?”

“No, I have one,” you hissed back, opening up your phone to change to the compass app on it. “Wait!” he called out, immediately by your side with his translucent fingers slipping right through the phone. A spark threw both of you back, and you let go of the machine, the ungodly sound of it cracking reaching your ears.

“Fuck,” you whispered, panicked by now. Moving to pick it up, you saw it fell right on a root, cracking your display into two. “Stay, [Name],” he tried again, his eyes full of sorrow as he looked you. “You’re all I have. We always had so much fun, did we not?”

Shaking your head at him as you gave him a flabbergasted look, you quickly turned around, running this time. You had to get back. You couldn’t stay there. Not after knowing... what happened to him.

Out of breath and with tears in your eyes, you broke your way through the thicket, getting stuck on a root sticking out from the ground and falling right into his non-existing arms again. You were out of the clearance again before Denki could even say another word. You didn’t know how long it took for you until your legs finally gave out, tears falling from your eyes as he sat down in front of you.

With his hands on your shoulders, it wasn’t like he touched you, but you were able to imagine what it felt like, slightly comforted by the feeling, even if it was a placebo. “My family... I’m sure they are looking for me.”

“Yeah, of course. Just stay here for the night, we can try to find a way back in the morning.”

It took you another few shaky breaths before you slowly agreed, even though you didn’t get an inch closer to the skeleton that sat farther away, watching you with a crooked neck. “It’ll be alright. I’m here,” he assured you, while you pulled your hoodie over your head, laying down on what you assumed was a good place to lie in the grass. “We went through much worse than this, remember?”

His cheering up wasn’t half bad, at least your thoughts changed from the feeling of panic to the nicer memories. “I’ll always be your friend, you know? Even if you were far away, I’d still be your friend, but I like it much better when you are here. I’m glad you’re staying the night, [Name], it’s been forever since we had a sleepover!”

Denki chuckled, as his translucent body settled down next to you. “I got you. You don’t have to worry about a thing. Just sleep, and tomorrow we’ll find a way back, I promise.”

“Okay,” you whispered, exhaustion falling over you as he managed to calm you down. “Goodnight, Denki.”

“Goodnight, [Name]. I am so glad you’re staying.”

[crystalirises]

The Final Answer (36 Questions AU 13/13)

IT’S OVERRR AHHHH

THE TRUTH

In the following weeks, a series of letters would be sent between the two. A hesitant beginning to their slowly blooming and possibly hopeful correspondence. It began like this:

~~~

‘Hey To Dream,

Hello. This a stupid way to start. It’s Fundy. I know you’ve probably moved on, and I’m bringing up old wounds. I still have your mask, your creepy and I-swear-almost-sentient mask. In the past few days, I keep remembering our last conversation. Your answers. The honesty in your words. I didn’t want to leave it half-finished. I didn’t want to look back at a memory where I left you without a single answer from my end. Written in this letter are my answers to the remaining questions. You don’t have to reply to this, Dream. I don’t even know what you’re doing now, and I doubt you’d want to hear from me anyway. But, ya here’s my answers. I hope you read them.

Question 20. What does friendship mean to you?

    Friendship is a welcoming embrace. Friendship is the smell of freshly baked cookies and bread wafting through the wind. Friendship is a heterochromatic mixture of red and green. Friendship is black shades hiding pure white eyes beneath. I only have three friends, Dream. Three. I love all of them equally. Pathetic, huh?

Question 21. What roles do love and affection play in your life?

    Love and affection in my life are scarce, you and I know that. My dad was too busy raising a nation to even care for me and I never knew my mother. The only source of affection I ever got was when I pestered anyone… anyone… to look at me. Eret. Niki. Ranboo. You. I wanted to feel something, Dream. I wanted to feel wanted for once in my life. I really thought that with you I would finally be the first choice. For once, I thought someone loved me enough to choose me before the world… but you showed me that maybe I can never be loved like that. It’s okay, I’ve come to accept that. You don’t have to apologize for it, Dream… You are not responsible for the pain I had to carry throughout these years and you are not responsible for not being the metaphorical “cure” I thought you were. Ignore what I wrote, this was stupid of me to write. 

Question 22. Alternate, share something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items.

    I love the way you mimic a dying tea kettle laugh every time a joke is made, the little wheeze you make each time as you try not to collapse on the spot. I love the way your eyes sparkle each time you catch a glimpse of a perfect view of the Essempy, your own admiration for the country you made obvious in the way you glance at it. I love the way you always come home, exhausted and ready to cuddle in the bed. I love the way you tend to the garden when you think I’m not looking (those roses don’t water themselves, Dream! I know you wake up early in the morning just to water them! You think I believe that water fairies exist? REALLY DREAM?). I also love the way you care, you don’t show it often but I know you do… I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you if you were a heartless monster. Dream, you may be a liar and a tyrant… but you are not heartless.

Question 23. How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?

    Well, you know my life… shitty dad… absent mother. I can’t say that my family is as close as most, but I love them, ya know? I still remember the days where my father didn’t have a nation to worry about, and though he never had the urge to settle down until Tommy begged him to come to the Essempy, I always remembered how he would wrap his arms around me during the night… the lullabies he would sing to get me to sleep. He loved me when it was just us against the world. I miss that Wilbur. I miss my dad. My childhood was… shitty. But at least back then Wilbur still loved me. So… like you, I didn’t have a tight-knit family and I suppose we both didn’t have a happy childhood. Lucky us, I guess.

Question 24. How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?

    In truth, I can’t remember much about my mother. Wilbur never tried to tell me who she was or where she went off to. I never knew her, but I still want to. I always held onto the hope that she was out there in the world, alive… looking for me, maybe? Stupid, I know. But Wilbur refused to tell me anything about her and Ghostbur doesn’t even remember what happened to her. My only hints as to who she was are her name and that she loved me dearly… that she didn’t want to leave. Wilbur’s unreliable though, ya know? So I don’t know what the true narrative of the story is. For all I know, Wilbur really fucked a fish… Do you think he actually fucked a fish or…?

Question 25. Make three true “we” statements each. For instance, “We are both in this room feeling ... “

    Well… we aren’t exactly in the same room right now… Where are you right now, actually? Stupid question lol. I’m just going to go off on assumptions. We are both feeling… hopeful? We are both feeling… guilty? We are both feeling… We have both moved on, I assume. Ya know it’s really hard to answer this question without knowing what you’re currently doing. I haven’t seen you in… a month, which isn’t much but definitely enough time to have forgotten a lot of stuff… Also enough time to cause mass destruction somewhere but what you do in your free time isn’t something I have to worry about anymore. I should move on to the next question… yaaaaaaaa...

Question 26. Complete this sentence: “I wish I had someone with whom I could share ... “

    I wish I had someone with whom I could share how I truly feel felt about you. Niki and Ranboo are great… but they don’t like you Dream, and they don’t like me talking to or about you. So! I’ve had no one to talk to about you… about how I feel felt about you. It would be nice to talk to someone who didn’t actually hate you or know you since if I asked anyone else they would probably tell me to avoid you like the plague. I just want someone to tell me if… if I still love you. ANYWAY, MOVING ON...

Question 27. If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know.

    I’d like you to know that I will still scam you. I don’t care we’re on bad terms right now, Dream. Are we still on bad terms? I. Will. Scam. You. :) It’s fair game, Dream. Especially now that we’re on bad terms (are we?)… gives me more reason to do so actually (bad terms or not, I’ll do it Dream)… though I’m not sure what I’d be trying to swindle out of you, knowing that a lot of the personal things you do have were also my stuff or stuff I gave you… Would I be scamming myself? Either way, I’m still scamming you! :D

Question 28. Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you’ve just met.

    I loved every side of you, Dream. I loved the husband. I loved the man who hid behind the mask. I loved the tyrant. I even loved the liar, as terrible as that might be. I loved every single side you had, no matter what you do, no matter what you did. I loved you because I thought you shared the same sentiments with the way you loved me. I would’ve tossed everything away for you, Dream. I would have left my country, my family, and my friends if it meant having a normal life with you by my side. Then you screwed it up. You fucked it all up. I don’t care if what you said was a slip of the tongue (It wouldn’t be the first time your tongue “slipped”. I still remember the George incident, Dream), the fact is… you said it, and you didn’t immediately apologize when I confronted you. You knew what I was going through, Dream. My dad was dead and I didn’t know what to do. Then you… this isn’t part of the question. This shouldn’t have been part of my answer. Fuck. Forget it. Forget I wrote that. Don’t even talk about it, Dream.

Question 29. Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life.

    Wilbur. The war. The crayola suit. It’s all coming back to me, Dream. Wilbur used to baby me, like I didn’t just kill a man in front of him. It was the middle of a bloody war and he looked at me as if I was a kid and I’m just: ‘Wil… I’ve killed in this suit.’ You would think he’d expect more from his own son as I am the general’s son, his son… but no I was just his ‘wittle champion’. OH FUCK YOU WERE THERE DURING THE END OF THE WAR. You saw him— He yelled ‘suck it green boyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy’ at you before turning around to pinch my cheeks. OH MY FUCKING—

Question 30. When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?

    The last time I cried in front of another person was with you. I couldn’t bring myself to cry in front of Niki or Ranboo, they tried to console me but I didn’t want to burden them with my own problems. You were the last person to see me cry, Dream. You were the last person to hold me as I sobbed and screamed at what you’d done. I cried in front of you, and you cried in front of me… fitting. The last time I cried by myself, it was on the second night after I left you back at the cabin. I curled up on the couch, your mask in my hands as I willed myself not to run back to you. I wanted to run back to you so many times within this one month we’ve been apart. Sometimes I would dream that you came to Drywaters to take me home back. But we both know that wasn’t possible. For both our sakes, it couldn’t be.

Question 31. Tell your partner something that you like about them already.

    We haven’t seen each other in a while, but I still like your mask. It took a while to get the bloodstains out but I think I did a good job of course I did a good job, this is me we’re talking about :) I still like it, and I may or may not occasionally fall asleep with it in my arms. Definitely not… that hasn’t happened. Don’t think about it, Dream. Don’t.

Question 32. What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?

    Well, I don’t like jokes about Wilbur being dead. Like I know I’m an orphan now but can I please have a break? PLEASE D: Seeing my father’s ghost is bad enough without people having to remind me, ‘oh you’re dad is dead, right?’. Thank you for telling me and mocking me for my dead father. I really appreciate it. Though… I can’t imagine what it must be like for you, Dream. Ya, you’re dad didn’t come back to haunt everyone but his grave has been desecrated so many times now that I doubt his remains are even buried there anymore. I also may or may not have watched Quackity eat his heart and Tommy and Tubbo steal his bones. For what it’s worth, I only stole one thing of value… you can have it if you want… a keepsake or some shit. His sword should probably go to you, huh? I’m rambling again, this wasn’t part of the question (but tell me if you want the sword because if you don’t say anything I’m keeping it).

Question 33. If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?

     I would regret not telling Wilbur Ghostbur that I forgive him. He's my dad and it's been a month since I last saw him. I care a lot about him, Dream. I haven't told him because I'm scared I'll end up crying in front of him. It isn't fair, I know. But I don't want his pity. I don't want anything from him... But honestly, I doubt I'd be able to tell him anything without him running off as he usually does. It's been a month though, and I can't bring myself to hate him anymore. I just want him to know I forgive him... But I can't say that to him... I don't think I can.

Question 34. Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?

If I had to run back into a blazing fire (and if we're honest, I might have been the one to start said fire, I mean who else could’ve done it?) I would go back to save your mask. I wouldn't want to part with it after you just gave it to me. It would probably be stupid, running into a burning building... especially with my room being on the second floor. But I don't think I could leave your mask behind to burn. It's stupid but it's like a keepsake... Of you. It's the only one I have now since we burned our wedding rings. I still have nightmares about that, it felt as if my entire world burned before my eyes.

Question 35. Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?

This is a bit of an unfair question. My dad's dead and I might never even see my mom. I would say, Wilbur's death did disturb me. I always held onto the hope that after Schlatt was taken down, Wilbur and I could resolve the issues we had. I always wanted him to be proud of me, you know that. Now, I have him back but it isn't him. Ghostbur is not Wilbur, he will never be Wilbur. I know that's supposed to be a good thing but how can we move on - how can I possibly move on - if Ghostbur doesn't know what he's done. Watching Wilbur die... You know how inconsolable I was for weeks. I just wanted my dad back, Dream. I didn't like the man I saw when I first entered Pogtopia and I don't like the man er ghost who came back. Neither of those men were my dad. I never got the chance to truly apologize. And I never will, Dream. I never will.

Question 36. Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how he or she might handle it. Also, ask your partner to reflect back to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosen.

Have I gotten over you? I think I did, but what do you think? I mean what sane person would leave a letter on the doorstep of their old home where their estranged husband may or may not be living in? I don't know, Dream. Have I moved on from you? Have you moved on from me? It's strange. I thought it was over but I can't stop thinking about you. Every night when I go to sleep, all I can think about is what you're doing... where you are. Have you been getting any rest? Cause I don't think I have. Oh wow that was horrible, scratch that. Just... Have I really moved on if I can't stop thinking about you? When every moment, when I finally think I've forgotten, your face pops into my mind? Does that sound like the thought process of a guy who's moved on? I don't know... could you help me answer that question? Ugh that sounded cheesy. Just... I don't know if I've moved on. That's all.

There. 17 Answers for the 17 Questions I never finished. I don't expect a response, you might never even find this. I don't expect you to find it. Why would you stay in our old cabin? I honestly expect to see a crater by the time I go there. For what it's worth, at least I got to finish the questions... One month late but that's better than never. Do with this what you will, Dream. Burn it. Bury it. Tear it into confetti. Shove it down someone's throat. I don't care. I said my piece. I'm done. I'm done with this letter. This is the end. Goodbye. Ughhh why did I write thisssssss. Don't blow up Drywaters for this please :(

Yours Sincerely From,

Fundy (obviously, I mean who else would send you something like this?)’

~~~

‘Dear To Fundy,

I appreciate that you took the time to answer the questions, though I know it's been a month since we last spoke. I can only imagine how painful it was for you to remember and unearth old memories. I’m sorry. You really didn’t have to do this, not for me Fundy. These past days have been relatively busy, I'm sure you would understand as you are building a new country. Rest assured that I won't be sending a declaration of war anytime soon. You deserve to be happy, Fundy. I have no doubt that you'll be a great leader, you're definitely a great founder. I hope Drywaters prospers under your leadership, and I am willing to form an alliance... Only if you ever need it. I hope you've had a wonderful month, I'm... Surprised to hear from you, in all honesty. As for if I've moved on... Well, I did find your letter. What does that say about me, Fundy?

I missed you. I missed talking to you. It's nice to hear from you again :)

Ever yours From,

Dream’

~~~

Then came the following letters:

~~~

‘To Dream,

Hey. I didn’t think you’d find the letter… and my hat. I’ve been well. Drywaters is doing great, and we’re a neutral country, Dream. No wars. No conflict. Don’t even try to pull anything. 

From,

Fundy’

~~~

‘To Fundy,

I wasn’t implying anything, Fundy. But my offer still stands. New L’Manburg may not be as kind towards Drywaters than the Essempy. But… no politics. I don’t want to talk about politics.

From,

Dream’

~~~

‘To Dream, 

Fine. No politics. Just you and me… and whatever it is we could talk about. I’ve been meaning to ask, have you… have you been staying in our cabin? Or did you check? There’s no way you still live there… by yourself. Dream. Why are you living in our old house? Do you have nowhere else to stay? Are you homeless, Dream? *insert raised eyebrow here*

From,

Fundy’

~~~

‘To Fundy,

I… don’t have a house. Shut up, I already had Techno laugh at me. I really didn’t see the point of living anywhere else… I never had a house to call a home until we built our cabin. I couldn’t bring myself to leave it to be swallowed by the earth overtime. No matter how much I hated being reminded of what I lost… Also, did you just use ** at me?

From,

Dream’

~~~

‘To Dream,

You didn’t leave our house… that’s kinda simp of you, Dream ngl. At least I can sleep easy at night, knowing you’re sleeping somewhere safe. You always did insist that our cabin be some… sort-of mini fortress. I still remember how long it took me to convince you that we didn’t need a five foot obsidian wall… And ya, I did use ** at you. What ya gonna do about it?

From,

Fundy’

~~~

‘To Fundy,

I am not a simp, why would you say that? This entire conversation has devolved, Fundy. It wasn’t supposed to devolve like this. But… I haven’t smiled like this in a long time. You always somehow find a way to make me laugh. Deities I miss your laugh. I miss you. Sorry, forget I wrote that last part. I shouldn’t say that.

From,

Dream’

~~~

‘To Dream,

Don’t. Don’t apologize for feelings you can’t help but feel, Dream. If it’s any consolation, I missed you too. Niki and Ranboo have noticed my change of attitude. They say I’ve moved on but how can I tell them that the only reason I’ve changed is because I’ve begun to talk with you again and because I think this is closure? What is this, Dream? What are we doing?

From,

Fundy’

~~~

‘To Fundy,

I don’t know, Fundy. I don’t know. Is it horrible to say I haven’t stopped loving you? Is it horrible to say that I don’t know if we should move on? I don’t know, star Fundy. It’s been a month. I thought it would be over. I thought you wanted it to be over. I thought I wanted it to be over… what do we do?’

From,

Dream

~~~

‘To Dream,

Batry is getting tired of flying between the two of us.

From,

Fundy’

~~~

‘To Fundy,

Would it be too forward of me to ask you out?

From, 

Dream

P.S. FOR A SMALL MEET-UP. FOR A SMALL MEET-UP.’

~~~

‘To Dream,

Simp.

From,

Fundy

P.S. I would love to, Dream. I would love to have a small meet-up with you.’

~~~

‘To Fundy,

Don’t call me a simp, Fundy :(

...is tomorrow a good time?

From,

Dream’

~~~

‘To Dream, 

Tomorrow is a good time. Meet you halfway?

From,

Fundy’

~~~

‘To Fundy,

Yeah. I’ll meet you halfway.

From,

Dream’

~~~

It ends like this:

~~~

‘The truth is’

Fundy donned on his black jacket.

‘The truth is hard to explain’

Dream donned on his green sweater.

‘Because the truth is’

Fundy opened the door, the sun shining on his face.

‘The truth can shift and change’

Dream closed the door, leaving the cabin in shadow.

‘The truth is’

Fundy began his walk towards their old home.

‘The truth is all about you’

Dream began his walk towards Drywaters.

‘And your honest point of view’

Fundy felt his heart skip a beat with each step.

‘And what’s true for you’

Dream felt his step falter with each heartbeat.

‘Doesn’t have to be true forever’

It had been a month.

‘And sometimes the truth isn’t always’

Yet it felt like a whole other lifetime.

‘For the better’

Fundy took a shaky inhale of air.

‘It’s something that we aspire to’

Dream took a shaky exhale of air.

‘Or maybe, that’s something we say’

Fundy didn’t know what to expect.

‘Until it gets in the way’

Dream didn’t know what to do.

‘And you’re just putting words on a feeling’

Fundy knew he had to confront his demon.

‘I’m not talking about cold, hard facts’

Dream knew he had to confront his angel. 

‘Like science, the alphabet, or math’

Fundy felt the sand beneath his feet.

‘But the truth you use to keep track’

Dream felt the grass beneath his feet.

‘Of who you are and why you act’

Half a day away.

‘The way you act’

Until they meet once again.

‘But the truth is’

Would Dream have changed?

‘The truth doesn’t exist in’

Would Fundy have changed?

‘Black and white’

Fundy brought out the mask.

‘And sometimes two sides’

Dream brought out the hat.

‘Can both be right’

Fundy gave the mask a little kiss.

‘The truth is that you will never really know’

Dream hugged the hat closer to his chest.

‘The truth’

Fundy walked, the desert heat beating at his back.

‘Is that you will only think you know’

Dream walked, the grassland chill caressing his cheek.

‘What’s true for you’

Who would they find?

‘Doesn’t have to be true forever’

A changed man or the man they left behind?

‘And sometimes the truth isn’t always’

Fundy began to see green.

‘For the better’

Dream began to see orange.

‘It’s something that we aspire to’

Fundy tied the mask to the side of his head.

‘Or maybe, that’s something we say’

Dream placed the hat on the top of his head.

‘Until it gets in the way’

Fundy knew there was no turning back.

‘Until it gets in the way’

Dream knew the only way to go was forward.

‘The truth is that you will never really know’

Fundy began to run.

‘The truth is that you will only think you know’

Dream began to sprint.

‘The truth is that you will never really know’

“Dream!” Fundy smiled.

‘The truth is that you will only think you know’

“Fundy!” Dream wheezed.

‘The truth is that you will never really know’

Fundy paused in front of him, his heart no longer aching. “Hey.”

‘The truth is that you will only think you know’

Dream paused in front of him, genuine fondness on his face. “Hey.”

‘The truth can change’

They both stood at a crossroads. Which way do they turn?

‘The truth is…’

If you had the chance to fall in love all over again, would you take it?

-----------

prev

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AND IT’S DONEEEEEEEEE

Yayyyyy 13 chapters hnggggggg.

But thank you to those who read up to this point, I hope you guys liked it :D

Now I am off to sleep. Goodbye.

[puddleduckswellies]

11, 18 & 31?

Thank you, Im guessing this is the “3 things…” ask!

11 - 3 books that you would recommend everyone to read.

My number one pick for this would be Jackdaw Summer by David Almond. Despite the entry level-3 writing style, this has been my favourite book since I first bought it from the old bookshop in the highlands. I haven’t read it in many years and yes maybe my memories are clouded with nostalgia but I still think about it often and would definitely recommend you to read it.

“One hot summer's day a jackdaw leads the two boys into an ancient farm house where they find a baby, wrapped in a blanket, with a scribbled note pinned to it”

“I want to be crazy as the moon, wild as the wind and still as the earth. I want to be every single thing it’s possible to be. I’m growing and I don’t know how to grow. I’m living but I haven’t started living yet. Sometimes I simply disappear from myself. Sometimes it’s like I’m not here in the world at all and I simply don’t exist. Sometimes I can hardly think. My head just drifts, and the visions that come seem so vivid.” - David Almond, Jackdaw Summer

~

My number two choice is also a childhood favourite which was bought in the very same bookshop as the first, however i bought it several years later. It is Dark Isle by D.A Nelson and is the book that introduced and got me into the fantasy genre. I love it because it is so individualistic and well written. It really does create a world unlike any other I have heard of. Or maybe I’m just biased because it is set in my home country. But seriously if you are looking for a new fantasy novel to read you should give this one a shot.

“A dragon with a grudge, a resourceful dodo, a talking rat and a young girl who learns to be brave. All on a quest that takes them into another world.”

“And so it began to rain. Cold, harsh raindrops fell like tiny arrows against the dragon’s unmoving, stone hide. She braced herself against the terrible weather that was to come, forever alone and miserable.” - D.A Nelson, Dark Isle

~

My final recommendation is a classic. Richard Adam’s Watership Down. I’m sure many of you have heard of this book and have also read it, but if you haven’t I highly suggest you do. The 1978 movie is a masterpiece in it’s own right but I feel that there was so much cut from the book to hit their runtime that the two stories have become very different. However if you do not want to read the book (which I would understand as it is very long and wordy) then I would say that the movie is a good substitute. Either way I can be certain that this story will affect your life even if it is only a little. On my trip to Yorkshire last year I couldn’t help but think about the Down and the tale I had grown up with and whenever I see a rabbit I think of Fiver and Hazel. I love the way that Adams was able to create and entire society to show us how humans are seen from the eyes of a rodent.

“Set in England's Downs, a once idyllic rural landscape, this stirring tale of adventure, courage and survival follows a band of very special creatures on their flight from the intrusion of man and the certain destruction of their home. Led by a stouthearted pair of friends, they journey forth from their native Sandleford Warren through the harrowing trials posed by predators and adversaries, to a mysterious promised land and a more perfect society.”

“There is nothing that cuts you down to size like coming to some strange and marvelous place where no one even stops to notice that you stare about you.” - Richard Adams, Watership Down

~

(Other books I love which are a bit less nostalgia based: faceless by Alyssa Sheinmel, The Rest of Us Just Live Here by Patrick Ness, and Orangeboy by Patrice Lawrence)

18. 3 dream jobs you had in your childhood

When I was younger my main dream was to be an Astronaut. Growing up watching Doctor Who I thought spacemen were the coolest people ever. As I got older I began to want to go to outer space for a different reason. It looked so peaceful up there and quiet, floating about in nothing with the stars and planets. Then I got to high school and realised how boring I found the non floating part of being an astronaut. Now i’m on a search for somewhere quiet and peaceful that doesn’t require me to know the laws of maths to get there.

I also had a brief moment of time where I wanted to work on a stage in Theatre (as many kids do). But I was/am a shy and overly conscious person and didn’t particularly like being watched never mind putting on a performance. I soon realised that I didn’t enjoy the idea of being on stage, but more so being recognised and working as part of a team. I really just wanted to have fun and get along with others naturally like other people could.

My third choice is also one that lingers into my adult life. Park rangers have always been a point of envy for me, being able to work outdoors in the quiet, making sure nature is safe and sound. Sometimes I regret studying what I currently am and wish I could just give it all up and switch to study geology and biology, but I know I don’t have the brain or patience for it, so for now I’ll stick on the path I have chosen

31. types of flowers you love the most

To be honest my favourite flower isn’t even my flower of choice. See, I don’t really know much about flowers and I prefer things like ferns or trees. However, my mother loves flowers. She has basically taught me everything I know about them. So my favourite would have to be her favourite, Rhododendrons.

Despite not being fussy about flowers I do still like some more than others, mainly because of memories associated with them. The Clover would have to be my second flower of choice. I know it’s more of a leaf, but when I was younger I remember playing hide and seek in the field after school, with the grass high over my head and the purple clover flowers standing out against the green. They signified the start of summer and the time for going out with friends and never knowing what you would do.

My last flower that I love is Foxglove (Digitalis if you must). It was another flower that showed the start of summer as a child and it was nice to see them appearing out of nowhere overnight. The name always amused me as I imagined little foxes using the flowers as mittens in the winter (something I am now definitely going to attempt to draw). I also enjoy them because I love to watch the bees fly into them and you can only see their wee bums wriggling while they work.

[squishneedsahero]

Growing Apart

Lost to Time | Part 2

Word Count: 2121

Summary:

The story of an original character, Allison Bennett. Growing up black in the short period between the world wars wasn't easy but Allison had friends who stuck with her no matter what. She was ambitious and had a million things she wanted to achieve in her lifetime and would try only to be told by the world that due to who she was it wasn't possible and she'd never live up to her dreams.

It had been 8 months since Allison had left from Brooklyn. She hadn't written or heard from her two friends back home. She was busy with her job being one of the few black nurses at the hospital camp she had been assigned too and many women despite it being a time of war wouldn't work with the black soldiers. At least that was what Allison told herself when she thought about the fact that she hadn't even tried to write her friends. She told herself that they must also be busy with stuff back in Brooklyn and that's why they hadn't written her.

Her not writing them didn't have anything to do with how she had left things with Bucky. How he had kissed her and she had run, scared of the feelings and how the world would see them. Them not writing her had nothing do do with that either she told herself. Bucky hadn't told Steve of her rejection and now the people she was closest to in the world didn't ever want to speak to her again.

Luckily Allison is busy through the day, keeping these thoughts from her mind as she worked. This unfortunately left them as one of the few things on her mind as she fell asleep, on the nights when she wasn't lucky and tired out so completely that she was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

All too soon yet another day began and she arose to dress herself in her uniform before going to get breakfast. When she entered the cafeteria the other women were gathered in different groups, which was normal, but they all seemed to be talking more than usual. She stopped, once she had gotten the little bit of food she was rationed, and stood with a group of women about her age and joined their conversation.

The women pause for a moment before continuing on in their quiet conversation. According to them a few women had received their first letters in months the evening previous, alongside these letters came news papers from the states. There was a new hero raising hope among the Americans, a tall broad shouldered blond man named Captain America.

Allison caught a glimpse of a picture on the front page of one of the papers, it had a black and white photo of a man in a uniform. The uniform wasn't a typical one most soldiers would wear. A hood partially covered his face but from what Allison saw the man was handsome in every sense of the word. She didn't dwell on thoughts of the man for long, quickly moving on to her tasks for the day.

All too soon another year had passed and Allison still had yet to hear anything from her friends. At this point thoughts of them had stopped bothering her through the night, but as she helped the injured men each day she couldn't help but have fleeting thoughts of the two men she cared for very much.

At this point some of the craze around Captain America had settled but on the occasion their camp received a newspaper the women were all quick to look and find any pictures or stories of him. Just this last time they had received a paper they had learned that he had moved from touring the United States to actually helping the war effort by fighting the enemy with a group of other men.

The Howling Commandos, as Captain America's group had been named, had been making great progress in the war efforts. They were heading the fight against Hitler's lead science division, Hydra. They were keeping them from inventing any new weapons to use against the Allies which would turn the tide of the war.

More years passed and Allison was transferred many times around England to different encampments to aid the war effort. Sooner than later the war was over, the Allies had won the fight.

All too soon Allison finds herself back home in Brooklyn, moving back into her apartment and finding a job at a diner. There are a few letters waiting for her when she arrived home, the letters were more recent, which was why she hadn't received them in Europe.

After she set her things down she went and picked up the letters from the floor just inside her door. She looked at them and read the names of who had sent them. She only recognized one name, one of the letters being sent a month before by Steve.

The letter read: "Dear Allison, I hope everything is well with you. I know it has been a while since we last saw each other, but I wanted to let you know Bucky and I are doing well. Being Captain America and leading the howling commandos has been a lot of work but it's like a dream come true for me. I'm finally able to help people the way I always wanted too growing up. Having Bucky by my side has been amazing, he's as great as he has always been. I should get going, we are about to leave to catch a train but I wanted to write you. Hopefully this war will be over soon and the three of us will be back together in Brooklyn soon. Much love, Steve Rogers."

As she reached the second paragraph Allison had nearly dropped the paper. The entire war she had been reading stories of her friends without even realizing. They were heroes and she had spent four years thinking they had forgotten about her as soon as she left.

After she has taken some time to absorb this news Allison turns her attention to the other two letters in her hand. They had both been typed and as she saw that she felt a wrench in her gut. She had seen envelopes like these clutched in the hands of crying women many times.

She slowly gets herself to open the envelopes, dreading what was to come. As she reads the first lines she joins the millions of women who had shed tears at the words, "my condolences," as she learned of the death of Bucky and that Steve had gone down with a plane and was missing in action.

Just like that, in the space of less than an hour she had learned the two people she thought she had left were heroes and in fact hadn't forgotten her, being just as if not more busy than she had been. And she had also learned she'd lost her two best friends.

In the moment she doesn't find any solace in the words that made the two letters different, killed in action and missing in action. Allison finds herself mourning her two friends and cries herself to sleep that night. How could she have been so dumb as to have left things off the way she had with Bucky? Why did she let her confused feelings prevent her from reaching out to either of them for four years. Now they were both gone in an instant and she had no way to make amends.

After that she throws herself into her work, not taking any time for dating or herself. She would work as many hours as she could only to then wake the next day and do it again. It's weeks before her higher up notices how tired Allison is and sends her home early for the day. It was when she hadn't heard a customer call to her by name multiple times asking for a refill of his coffee that the older woman and had really noticed something to be wrong.

Allison found herself at home during the day with nothing to occupy her mind for the first time in years, possibly the first time in her life. The time she had missed by not mourning her father by focusing instead on leaving for England was catching up to her. All of her pain was hitting her all at once. She had lost everyone she had left in less than the space of 5 years and hadn't processed any of her grief properly.

It's as she sits on the edge of her bed that she notices the three letters still sitting where she had left them on her bedside table. She reaches over to pick them up, wanting to burn the two which had brought all this pain. As she holds them in her hands she rereads them for the first time since receiving them.

It's during this reread that she notices the difference in the wording. Her grief stricken mind latches onto that difference, the possibility that Steve was still out there somewhere just lost and waiting to be found. For the first time in years she gets out that old notebook she'd carried around as a child. She hadn't filled it, but she had kept it to remember how she had met her two friends. But now she had a reason to write in it more.

Allison carefully pasted the letter from Steve along with the two from the government into the book. Once she had done so she got up and left the house. She started walking not sure where her feet were taking her but willing to go. It wasn't long before she arrived in a library, she quickly found her way to the section with maps.

For the first time since the war had started in the US she found herself with her head buried in a book. She began searching maps, collecting news articles and finding any information she could about the whereabouts of her friend. If Steve was still out there she would find him.

As she read and researched she came across tons of information about Steve Rogers and his childhood friend James "Bucky" Barnes. There were stories upon stories of their childhood and the adventures the two had shared. But in these stories there wasn't a single mention of her. Sure there were mentions of an Allison here and there in the stories, but this girl wasn't her. The Allison portrayed in the stories was a blonde haired damsel,  dumb and always causing drama for the two boys whenever she came up. As nothing more than a potential love interest this Allison had essentially wiped their real friend Allison from everyone's memories.

Despite being forgotten by the world Allison spent years of her life working to save money for a trip as she studied to figure out where exactly she wanted to travel too. Her research on Steve and his time in the military eventually lead to her needing to learn more about the super soldier serum. She needed to find out if there was even a possibility of him being alive after this long.

This research lead her back to her interest in the medical field. She'd always had a passion for that even before she had left to be a nurse. Eventually Allison began experiments with different solutions, trying to find out if her friend could still be out there just needing to be rescued.

This is all she does, she has her head stuck in a book and when it isn't it's when she is waitressing. She doesn't have a life outside of her research, spending all her time stuck on this single thread of hope she still had someone out there who cared for her.

One night as she is lying in her bed, attempting to get some sleep a new idea comes to her mind. An idea she hasn't tried. She remembers having the thought before but hadn't been desperate enough to pursue it as it seemed absurd. There was no way it could be the answer but she found herself out of bed again and in her night dress she began trying this thing that felt like the last hope she had left.

She does the math, puts the formulas together and figures out what she needs for this final experiment. She has the items at home already and knows that she won't be able to sleep until she tries. She gets the stuff together and begins mixing the different chemicals.

As she prepares to add the final ingredient she clutches her notebook in her hand. It's become a lucky charm for her at this point. She takes it to work with her, in case she need to write down a new idea, she doesn't go anywhere without it. She keeps it close to her as she adds the final ingredient to the mixture and the room is illuminated with a bright flash of light and Allison falls to the floor, her notebook still in her hands.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #411

“everybody’s got loaded stories, and i know for a fact everybody sees a bullseye on my back”

Have you ever been to jail? No. Opinion on snow? I absolutely love it! Not big on the slush it leaves behind, though. It gets ugly. What are you best at drawing? Meerkats. Are you scared of going over bridges? Nah. If you had endless energy and stamina, how would you spend your days? Plenty of exercise, lots of exploration with my camera, doing chores much more regularly... stuff like that. What mental or physical space do you go when you want to recharge or relax? I go to my room and watch YouTube. Did you have/use a comfort object as a child (do you continue to have one)? I actually don't remember. Now as an adult, if I go somewhere, my purse is actually like my comfort item in that I like to sit and sort of hug it to feel more secure. When was the last time you said something you regret? What did you say? I'm unsure. What do you tend to get carried away with? New hobbies/interests. It will be like all I care about for a long while, ha ha. Do you believe we have souls; do you believe in a life after death? Yes to both. Do you still talk to the person you last made out with? No. Have you ever seen your best friend cry? Ugh, yes, and it's the absolute worst. What kind of vitamins did you take as a kid? We had those Flintstones ones for a while, but for most of my childhood, we had gummy vitamins. Have you ever gone to court? Well, yes, but not for like your ordinary court hearing. While hospitalized on one occasion, a lawyer visited to speak to the patients informing us that we could argue against our discharge dates if we believed we were going to be committed for too long, which I thought I was, so I signed up to bring my case in front of a judge. So yeah, I've been to court, but not for ordinary reasons. Are you friends with your neighbors? "Friends," no. The people to our left like just moved out, and I don't even know if we've ever been outside at the same time as the family on our right. Favorite color? I like baby pink. How long has it been since you’ve seen The Lion King? I saw the CGI remake when it came out, if that counts? I don't know about the original. When did you last hold hands with someone? Sometime when I was at my sister's house, my niece grabbed my hand to drag me somewhere, ha ha. Have you ever had a crush on your sibling's friend? No. Have you ever gone to a beach? Multiple times. How good is your eyesight? It is very, VERY bad. I need new glasses severely. What’s the best wedding you’ve been to? My former dance teacher's. Have you ever had a negative encounter with the police? What happened? No. What’s your favourite thing to cook/bake? Do you eat it often? I don't do either. How do you flush the toilet in public? I generally use my elbow. I don't like standing on one leg, so I don't really use my foot like I'd prefer. Favorite horror movie? Silent Hill is dearest to me overall just because of what it is, but as a horror film, I think the original Blair Witch Project is best. Do you have your wisdom teeth? X-rays have only ever shown two are present, but I have enough space for those. What would you name your pet snake if you had one? It would depend on their appearance. The snake I have currently is named Venus because her coloration is similar to the planet. Do you like peanuts? Only when covered in chocolate. Where do you typically shop for bras and underwear? Do you tend to keep it simple, or have a variety of different items? Have you ever gotten a professional bra fitting? I don't get new undergarments (or clothes in general) frequently, but historically, my bras are bought online and underwear just from Wal-Mart. I don't really get the second question? I mean I don't have a style when it comes to those types of clothes, if that's what you mean. I've never had an actual bra-fitting, but I absolutely need to but keep putting it off. It seems like NO bra fits me properly all-around, and it's ridiculously annoying. What (if any) types of xrays/scans/other diagnostic tests have you had done? Was anything found? Idk man, a lot. I've had xrays on my wrist (found a fracture), teeth, legs... maybe more? I've also had an ultrasound on my liver for reasons I don't recall. I either had an MRI or CT scan (I can't remember which) when I got a concussion, and uhhhh... I can't think of anything else. Were you breast or bottle fed as a child? If you plan to have children, which do you think you’ll choose? Do you think one is really better than the other? I was nursed, and if I hypothetically had children, I'd definitely try to do the same. It was so incredible to me that I've never forgotten this: when I was at the hospital while my sister had her first baby, there was a chart on the wall of how many more nutrients were in breast milk versus formula milk, and the list was GARGANTUAN. Like, unbelievable. Now, do I think it's BETTER? That's a complicated question for which, in short, my answer is no. More nutritious, well, given what I just said, obviously. But breastfeeding just doesn't work for all mothers for a plethora of reasons, like the time demand, they can be self-conscious, it's painful... and all those things are okay. A mother should do what works best for her. Neither one is "wrong" or makes someone less of a mother because they feed their child less traditionally. Do you find that you have become more selective in terms of friendships as you’ve gotten older? Did the friendships you thought would last over time end up that way? Absolutely. There are just some kinds of people I absolutely do not tolerate anymore. And no, not most. We just drifted apart with time, or given most of my closest friendships are/were online, they just fell off the face of the earth. What are you doing right now? This and re-watching John Wolfe play Bloodborne. Bloodborne is such a comfort series to me... somehow, ha ha. Yet another game I've never played but desperately want to. Where are you? In my bedroom, as always. When you get yelled at, do you yell back or let it go? Depending on who it is, I might yell back, but most likely cry, ha ha. I hate being yelled at, like a lot. Is the person you last texted single? That would be my mom, so yeah. I've hoped she'd find a partner forever... She, probably more than anyone I know, deserves love from the *right* guy. I worry a lot how lonely she may become whenever I move out. Are you easily scared by horror movies? Not at all. Are you friends with any of your ex boyfriend/girlfriends? Girt and Sara, yes. Are you lonely? Be honest. Very. What has made you happy today? It's too early for this. What has made you sad today? Nothing, really. Last thing eaten? I had leftover pancakes from yesterday. Are you wearing anything that’s not yours? No. Do you like to wear makeup? I mean it makes me feel prettier, sure, but the actual time investment doesn't feel worth it for me personally. Especially when you're not even that good with applying it. Have you ever attempted to write a story or novel? Many times when I was younger. Would you rather have perfect hair or perfect skin? Perfect skin. I hate my skin, it has so many blemishes. What’s your middle name? Marie. How big is your bed? Queen. Do you drink? Only a bit for special occasions, really. I'll have a daiquiri on your average day every once and a blue moon. Would you fall apart if that last person you kissed walked out of your life? That's an understatement. Do you prefer pasta, salad, or coleslaw? Pasta. I hate coleslaw. Do you find smoking unattractive? Yes. Where’s the last place you went besides your house? The TMS office. Do you eat breakfast daily? Yes. Who were you with the last time you went to the movie theater? My dad. Do you like your cell phone? No, but it gets the job done. I just wish I had a phone with a good camera. Has anyone ever sang to you? Yes. So, what if you married the last person you kissed? That's the dream, but I acknowledge and accept it just might not work out like that. Do you usually answer your texts? Almost always. Have you ever changed clothes in a vehicle? Yes. Who has seen you cry the most? My mom, for sure. Have you ever just laid down outside and stared at the stars? Yeah, Jason and I did that one night on the trampoline. Have your friends ever randomly stopped by your house? In the past, yes. Think to the last person you kissed; have you ever kissed them on the ground? No. Do you have a condom in your room? No, got no use for one. Do your siblings ever pay for stuff for you? Yes. What brand is your digital camera? Canon. Do you own expensive perfume/cologne? No; I really don't get the point. When was the last time you went tanning? Ew, never. I find NO appeal in just lying in the boiling sun. Do you like the smell of fresh cut grass? No, I hate it. Do you get embarrassed easily? Like you would not fucking believe. It's one of the things I hate most about myself, because I'm embarrassed about everything I like and what makes me me. Has anyone ever thrown you a surprise party? No. Do you always wear your seatbelt? Absolutely. You couldn't pay me not to. Do you sing in the shower? No. Have you ever been called a slut/whore/something along those lines? Only playfully among friends. Have you ever stood up for someone you hardly/didn't even know? Yes. Have you ever fallen in love with a really good friend of yours? Yes. Do you own a blacklight? No. Do you like fruit better than vegetables? Definitely. Have your friends met the last person you kissed? Of my current friends, only Girt has. If you’re straight, have you ever thought about kissing the same sex? If you’re gay, have you ever thought about kissing the opposite sex? I'm bisexual, soooo. What does your laugh sound like? Do you have a loud laugh or a quiet laugh? Bro my laugh is so fucking loud and obnoxious. Is there a reality TV show you would consider taking part in? No.

[i-am-just-a-kiddo]

favourite male fictional characters

Thank you @vishcount​ for tagging me, this was a lot of fun! 💞 I originally planned to follow your example and put ten characters here but suddenly it became a lot more oops. also i hope you forgive me for following your format, it’s neat 

I am tagging @isabellaofparma​ , @the-cloud-whisperer​ and @sassyassassy​!

I chose the characters that impacted me deeply on a personal level throughout my life (often shown by how long my love lasts over the years and if i was inspired to write for them). 

In no specific order under the cut: 

Legolas

The Lord of The Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien. 

I think it’s only fitting I start off with this magnificent guy. Maybe I gotta admit, i’ve just had a crush on him ever since I was like, nine years old? He’s the character I will fight tooth and claw for (though I guess he doesn’t need me to do that). I love Orlando Bloom’s portrayal of him, eventhough he is vastly different from the books. Book Legolas is such a delight as well, he feels so whimsical and playful and his banter with Gimli is just gold. I was sad when The Hobbit trilogy came out and I was so disappointed by how they butchered his character, it just did not feel authentic anymore (maybe I am also just bitter about the forced hetero storyline for him. makes no cents, this elf is GayTM your honour. and he will meet his soulmate Gimli in a few decades).  Either way, Legolas is the love of my life, thanks for coming to my tedtalk,

Peter Pan 

Peter Pan, J. M. Barrie

Another childhood crush of mine. The gif I chose if from the 2005 movie because we always used to watch it and it is to this day one of my favourite movies. It’s so dreamy, so magical, yet also incredibly sad and sweet.  I have this very strange fascination with Peter Pan. There is something incredibly unsettling about him, especially in the book. He represents something every child wants - who doesn’t want to escape their bedroom and fly away to experience magical adventured far from the adult world? And yet he also represents the impossibility of it, the curse he carries around with himself because he will forever stay alone, no matter how many lost boys he gathers around himself. And Wendy - it’s a love that was never meant to grow and mature, it’s a fleeting dream for the both of them.  I have seen many different adaptations of Peter Pan and I have my favourites, though I want to give a special mention to the book Peter Darling by Austin Chant. It’s a retelling of the story how we know it, in which Peter returns to Neverland after having finally grown up BUT the main points I want to highlight is trans Peter? Heck yes. Gripping and compelling gay love story with our favourite original lost boy Captain Hook? YES. 

Snufkin

Moomins, Tove Jansson.

I have discovered Snufkin for myself only last year, and yet I know he will stay with me forever. In short - I vibe with him, he vibes with me. His anxieties about being with people and longing for solitude? His fear of being loved and being important to someone to a point he doesn’t know what to do with himself? This man just wants to roam freely with his own mind and yet he always returns for something that captures him. Mum, I love him because I have rarely felt this seen before. Also, Snufkin said ACAB. 

Prince Jing - Xiao Jingyan

Nirvana in Fire (2015)

This too is a darling I have only discovered recently. I watched Nirvana in Fire this year and let me tell you, it’s the best show I have seen in a long while. It’s absolutely amazing and it also ripped my heart out. All the characters are absolutely amazing and I am still not over it.

To be honest, I contemplated between Xiao JIngyan and Mei Changsu, because character-wise I think the latter is a lot more interesting and compelling. He makes for a fantastic heartbreaking and flawed protagonist.

However I have to admit - it was love at first sight with Prince Jing for me and I’m still lowkey mad abt it rip. Seems like I am not immune to Pretty Prince Propaganda. But apart from that, I adore him for his genuine

goodness,

his almost naive drive to be better and seek justice. He lost everything, and for the longest time did not have anything to fight for. So alone and lost and bitter, it makes me sad how much it hardened him. He is heartbreak and clumsy kindness hidden under a skin of scars that was inflicted by his father and many others. I see his sad cat-eyes and I cry, that’s just how it is.

Edmund Pevensie

The Chronicles of Narnia, C. S. Lewis

I grew up with these books and movies - they have always been part of my life and it will probably always stay that way (only last night I rewatched the first movie and sobbed).  Imagine my surprised when I finally watched the last movie about five years ago and was incredibly impressed by how they adapted the book; also imagine my brain suddenly going CASMUND in bold letters at Skandar Keynes’ and Ben Barnes’  performance in that movie.  From there, I rediscovered this story completely anew for myself. My favourite Pevensie sibling has always been Lucy (and still is, because I identify with her so much and she feels like home to me); however this new discovery of Edmund’s character was overwhelming. It’s interesting to see characters you’ve grown up with from a more grown up point of view. I don’t want to lay out all my thoughts here, just know I am so heartbroken for him, and so so proud as well. His character arc is amazing and maybe that’s how the last movie makes me even more emotional. Seeing Edmund and Lucy still holding on to Narnia but knowing that that door was closing for them? Not to mention what happens in the later books (we don’t talk about that).  Also did I mention Casmund. Here, have my incredibly emo and depressing take on Edmund’s character that I started writing four years ago and which will forever stay a WIP. 

Nie Huaisang

The Untamed (2019)

My son. My soul. My bane of existence. The tragic thing about him is, that he does not really exist in canon as I have created him for myself. He’s a secondary character in the show, always so relatable yet still brings the ultimate twist of the story, yet he still remains this incomplete shadow. The movie

Fatal Journey

gave him a lot more and I cried tears of joy and devastation. I don’t know why I latched on to him so much, but apparently he is the one that I project on, the one that feels like he sits somewhere inside my chest. I don’t know what else to say - this year he has been everything to me. I spend a lot of time in his head while writing, and maybe that’s how he’s there forever now. Nie Huaisang saw my brain and went it’s free real estate. All my love for you, you dramatic art hoe.

Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock Holmes, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Ah, another lifelong companion. There are many adapations that I adore - starting from the origin of it all, the books and stories which I have all devoured; the 80s adaptation with Jeremy Brett which was incredibly wonderful; to BBC Sherlock which shaped and traumatised me (I still like the first three seaons but I am too hurt to think about it); to the numerous movies -  but by far my most favourite performance is Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes. Somehow he manages to capture the Holmes I see in my head when I read the books, the sharp yet polite eccentric detective, who loves his companion so much and who has desire to help others.  Sherlock Holmes will always stay special to me, in so many different ways. He shaped my youth and I know he will stay with me. (also what would you say when I told you he helped me discover that I can, in fact, be queer AND ace at the same time? thanks pal).  What else is there to say? Sherlock Holmes is a universe that you can dive into and find many amazing treasures. 

Isak Valtersen 

SKAM (2015)

There he is, the boy that changed my life. SKAM changed my life. All of the characters did. However, Isak is special for many, as I imagine. I remember winter 2016, when tumblr was flooded by these norwegian white boys kissing in a pool and cuddling and I was like ‘nah’, this doesn’t look convincing.  I don’t know what changed my mind but I remember sitting down at last and watching all that was released of season three and it was only downhill from there. I remember starting to follow the real life updates religiously while watching the other previous seasons in between. The one clip that completely wrecked me was when Isak went to the school nurse about his struggles with sleep - it felt like for the first time I saw someone on screen that could understand me on so many different levels. The entierty of seaons three is so personal, I would tell you to go watch it if you don’t know what I mean. The entire show in fact. It’s a masterpiece and it feels so real. This show impacted my life in a way that no show has managed to do before. I miss it so much. I miss Isak too sigh. 

Shang Xirui

Winter Begonia (2020)

Technically, for me personally, Shang Xirui is the nonbinary, gay and ace representation I need in my life (or at least that’s my own personal take on him), but since that is not official, he’s still here on this list. Of course he is because wow, it’s been a long while since I’ve seen such a compelling character on screen. I went from disliking him to being absolutely heartbroken over him. I don’t think any other character in this show captured me as much as he did. There are so many layers to him and discovering all of his sides is a wonderful, heartbreaking, painful and also beautiful journey. I’m not sure I understand all of him yet, but I am willing to try and dig and just ponder his existence. This too, is a perfect example for a flawed yet authentic protagonist. Also he is the most beautiful thing on this planet, or at least that’s how I have been feeling ever since I watched this. I wish to write more of him in the future. 

Aang

Avatar: The Last Airbender (2005)

I grew up watching ATLA and my favourite characters have always been Toph, Zuko and Uncle Iroh. In recent years however, I completely fell in love with Aang all anew. 

I think especially in the past, I had these prejudices against main characters and found them all the most boring personalities ever. In recent years this changed a lot and especially Aang is a prime example for that. Watching him from the perspective of older me, I find so much wisdom in this young boy. Somehow he represents all I wish to be in my life but at the same time he shows his flaws, he carries this sadness with him that will accompany him all his life. This inner battle and chaos that he has to face day to day and in the end - he is just a young boy. So much has been taken from him and yet he learns how to not let it overtake him, that anger and hurt. He tries his hardest to be better than the day before, even if sometimes the world crashes down on him and he gets overwhelmed. He is a child recruited by adults to manage their mistakes and play into the hands of predestined fate and in this essay I will -

Harry Potter 

Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling

I am surprised myself. I thought I would put Fred and George here, or Remus and Sirius, however I realised that none of them quite capture this feeling of lifelong change, of personal, deep impact that Harry had on me. 

As with Aang above, I used to think Harry was the most boring protagonist, yet my opinion took a 180° turn in the past years. Many of the things I wrote for Aang apply to him too - the fact that he was a child, that lost so much, and was always faced with challenges that a child should never have needed to face. Something I want to address is how my favourite book, The Order of the Phoenix, lays all of this out. Harry is just as flawed, just as vulnerable and angry as anyone else. I know some people did not like his ‘emo behaviour’ in the fifth book but for me it just showed how human he is, how he was just a teen like myself at that time. As for many, this boy shaped my entire life, shaped a generation, and I will forever be grateful. I’m sad and angry at how J*R behaves, and how she puts us in the position of doubting our love for these stories. I know I will always love them, but I will not turn a blind eye on all the problematic shit is carries with itself and what the author piles upon us. 

Lan Wangji & Wei Wuxian 

The Untamed (2019)

I will try and keep this short, because if you want to read my thoughts about Wangxian just go to my ao3 and find the  over 70k i wrote for them.  I decided to put them here together because I can’t seperate them and I can’t choose between them. Each of them carries something I recognise in myself, and each of them is the opposite of me. They each own my heart and soul and I know there will never be a fictional couple like this for me ever again. They’ve snuck their way into my heart and have never left. They deserve to be here, together, because my love for them is indescribable. Bless them.  + Bonus:

The Doctor

Doctor Who (1963/2005)

Technically, the Doctor doesn’t count as a “male” character, but since he has been presenting as male up until recently, I needed to include him. I chose the Tenth Doctor because he is the one that broke my heart the most. I adored Nine but he was there too short, and I do love Eleven and Twelve a lot, and Thirteen absolutely owns my heart, Ten has just always been the one that made me cry the most. I loved this era of Doctor Who, I loved how sad and hopeful he was, how heartbroken and yet determined to help wherever it was needed. Doctor Who is always that show, when I return to it, I am reminded that maybe, humanity and the universe isn’t all that bad. 

phew, this took ages damn. but i had so much fun! i decided to leave out honorable mentiones because we would be sitting here until tomorrow lol.